The Mechanics of Murder | Part 1

There was one hell of a racket happening somewhere. Metal crunching, an explosion or two, and several loud yells that weren't recognizable after bouncing between the buildings. So, it might have been a bit strange to see Ada come running around the corner and down the alley behind the Inn. She looked a bit like she'd been dropping into a big bucket of scissors -- there were tears in her clothes, and tell-tale signs of cuts here and there. Her tealy hair was nearly everywhere but its proper place, and as she pressed herself back against the brick back wall of the Inn, it would seem that her robot arm was smoking, and she was very much out of breath. What a day!

Izira came strolling via the other way, her movements more sedate that the other. She wore black heels with a green-blue dress that nearly matched the hiding woman's hair. Her own hair was auburn, falling in loose curls about her face. She was watching her steps, slow and ease like the walk was a dance and she was keeping track. Right hand was expertly wrapped in white bandages.

Ada was catching her breath, but it didn't stop her from turning her head to see the woman walking down from the other end of the alley. Before there was even a chance for her to stop the brunette, Ada heard a crunching sound and turned to see a mechanical creature popping up at the other end of the alley. Decisive action made her step up, and she aimed her robot arm at the metal creature. And then *click*click*click!* Nothing.

Panicked, she grabbed the nearest door and wrenched it open, immediately snatching the brunette's arm and pulling her into the dark, cramped space. It smelled a bit like a wet mop, but it was cover. Ada even braced a foot against the wall as she held the door closed by the handle. "Stay still, if you can..." A quiet warning, as the metal footsteps grew closer.

Izira's eyes flared open at someone suddenly touching her, firelight flickered alive in those amber-brown irises. It seemed even in the dark, she could see the other. The fact that it was a woman and not some man that grabbed her only settled her in the slightest, hardly showing, way. Having missed the giant robotic whatever it was that was outside, her attention focused solely on the other and the warning. Or words. That Izira hadn't really made out or understood as she'd been distracted by her own anger at the time. "What are you doing?" Hisses through clenched teeth.

Had she even considered it, Ada might have figured that anyone would be worried about being grabbed and pulled into a dark room, but this was different, right? As she held the door closed, she talked through clenched teeth of her own. "Keeping us alive, I think... I hope." That last part was practically whispered, but no less important to the situation. She had more to say, but there was a great *slam!* as something hit the door Ada was holding clothed. Which, of course, makes Ada squeak and knocks her right back into the one she was trying to save. "Uhhh..."

Izira chuckled. It was odd and detached sounding for the situation they found themselves in. But in the dark, her eyes were glowing lights. Catching the woman as she was knocked back and setting her aright off towards the side. "It wants to play? Does it like fire?" Head turning from the door towards the woman.

It was really too dark for Ada to see anything, aside from the other woman's glowing eyes, and the glowing displays on her own robot arm. There wasn't a ton of light, after all. Another *slam!* on the door caused her to shrink back some, but she answered the question. "I don't know if that'll help. I tried missiles, but that only worked once." Her words were whispers, like the thing wasn't already aware of their presence. "You can try fire. I think I have a match..." And she dug into a pocket.

"Don't need a match." The other would have to see the smirk to hear it. Izira moved her hands, palms up, into the space between them. Instantly flames consumed her hands, the bandaged on the right one catching fire and burning away. The scent of that smoke filling the small room. Her right hand was covered in small marks, looking like something had scratched up her hand. Hardly anything that would have needed to be bandaged, really. Not now. But when it was bleeding from broken glass - that was another issue. Needless to say, the lady heals fast. "Get the door, will you?"

The small broom closet was lit up from the flame, which was enough for Ada to see. She noted the woman who was creating the flames, her eyes sort of wide with wonder. This wasn't the type of situation she often shared with anyone, aside from maybe her fianc?. But this? This was different. Now she was looking up at this brunette, with her fire and her glowing eyes, and Ada grasped at air, trying to get the door handle, while gawking at her sudden companion. "Oooh... you're beautiful."

Certainly some emphasis there as she gawped and gawked. Not a second later, though, she opened the door to reveal a large metallic being with hardly any features at all -- mostly just shiny, polished silver and a red mechanical eye.

"Yes. I've been thinking about doing something about that." A vague comment towards the woman calling her beautiful. Once again, not half as bad since it was coming from a female and not a male. Still, the idea of attempting to scar her face rose to the top of her thoughts. The focus behind those fiery eyes vanishing as she went away into her own little world.

Then the door was opened and the sound of the metallic beast and the sight of the red eye brought her back to the here and now. Taking a step forward, the flames of her hands kicked up a notched. "Machines are very interesting. I wonder how you work." Another step and the flames were alive and licking up her lower arms. Heat could be felt in the air surrounding them. Such heat it caused the air to wave and look misty. "How about I take you apart to find out?"

The machine's red eye moved in its socket, looking over the brunette and the surrounding area. It wasn't long before the machine spoke, its mechanical voice booming in the narrow alley. "Non-target, vacate the premises. You have ten seconds to comply." There was no vocal countdown. Ada, however, seemed to see the error of her ways and realized the pretty brunette wouldn't be in trouble if she hadn't been pulled into the broom closet. Woops!

"Caught me at a bad time. Not in a complying mood today." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Stepping forward and making to grab the left metallic bicep of the robotic being. The flames on her hand billowing as they ignited further under a tight grip.

Already, the rubber coating on the wiring inside the machine was starting to melt, causing all sorts of errors that the machine seemed more worried about correcting than finishing its objective. It's right arm started pulling off paneling, but the high heat of the flame fused many wires together, and before very long at all, there were more words from the robot. "Emergency shutdown. Error 302." And then the machine was silent, and the red eye was dark. It seemed to have done the trick.

There was a pause, Izira watched as the thing shut down before her. A moment before the flames died down from her hands, but the heat remained. A threatening warning as she kept her hand on the arm of the machine. Fingers near twitching for further action from it. She tightened her grip to steady those fingers before turning her head back towards the closet. Having not heard anything from the other she was unsure if the woman was still there, but it seemed she was. Izira puzzled a moment over why she wouldn't have run and saved herself. But the thought faded and her expression was one of indifference. The flame in her eyes had died down, leaving the amber-brown eyes merely appearing brighter than usual. A well shaped brow rose in unvoiced question at the other.

Ada slowly pulled herself from the shadows of the closet, peeking around the doorframe at the silent hulking mass. Her rose-colored eyes took in everything they could, before she turned to the other woman and hugged her rather tightly. She was having a bad day, it seemed. And, while Ada had seen a lot, and done a lot, there was no doubt that she was beginning to wear a bit thin. So, a hug seemed to be the best she could offer. "Oh, thank you, thank you. I'd be dead if it weren't for you..."

A hug. Izira was awkward beneath it. Having not been in the most touchy, feely of moods since the break-up. Since she broke the bond to keep her emotions from betraying herself to the man who left her. Since the fire regained itself full force within her body and started to weak havoc on her sanity once more. "You owe me. Good to know." Turning her head away from the hugging saved-person and back to the sleeping robot. She glared at it a moment as though that would make it behave should she removed her grip, which she didn't. "What to do with shiny here?" Thumb tapping on the arm that she held.

Ada let her grip of the woman loose, and moved out of the broom closet, running her sleeve across her face to wipe away the sweat and dirt and blood. "He'll disappear when he wakes up again. I've seen it four times already today. It learns, or something." Ada grabbed at the machine's arm and pulled it down onto the ground, jumping back as it made an indent where it fell. "Thank you for your help. Just name what I owe you..." Already, she was distracted and back to the machine, trying to grab the darn thing and move it away from the doors. It was too heavy, but she was trying.

She relaxed as the woman's grip released her. Hand coming off the machine as it fell, eyes following it down to the ground. Izira crossed her arms before her body. The blue-green dress was undamaged by any of the actions. A sweetheart top with short, triangle sleeves that were thin where they attached and thick where they covered the flesh of her shoulders. Fabric cinched under her chest, the rest of the material slightly loose over her form. The dress ending just at the knees. "Why not destroy it? Dead things don't come back."

Most of the time...

"Every time I try, it comes back bigger and stronger... I just-- I don't want it following me home..." Ada obviously had her concerns, but she seemed too distressed for anything proper to happen. So, she let out a frustrated sigh and then stood to run her robot hand through her hair. "I'm all out of rockets, it seems..."


((This is adapted and edited from the play of June 19, 2008, with permission, as well as in conjunction with the Perchance to Dream Playable . For more information, please PM or e-mail Adalia Dodd.))

Night Terrors

?Those with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares.? - Mahatma Gandhi
The first thing Ada came to notice was her arm; arms, to be exact, as they were both a matching pair of flesh and bone. It seemed curious, but something about it felt right. She didn't question that the robot arm was still there when she went to sleep -- didn't question that for someone to have replaced her robot arm, they would have had to sneak into her and Ghent's bedroom, and complete the work without alerting either of them.

She rolled over, resting her arm down on the cool cotton of the bedsheets. The bed was empty, aside from herself, but she didn't question it. From what she could tell from her groggy, somewhat skewed perspective, it seemed as if that side of the bed had been empty all night. A second tick in the column marked "abnormal," but she didn't feel alarmed. Instead, she felt a bit like going back to sleep.

Something was slipping through. At first, it felt like nothing more than a dream, but as Ada focused on her surroundings, it started to become apparent that what felt like a dream could easily be reality. Parts of her were throbbing with pain, and she could only manage to get one eye open, but she had to credit herself with being alive. Strange voices seemed to hover around her, and once in a while, a white object would turn dark as it moved in front of one of the bright lights and became back lit, creating a vague person-like void in her vision.

The robot that had been chasing her had nearly succeeded in its apparent objective. The smoking near-corpse that was Adalia Dodd had been picked up from the market. She was the fortunate one, though -- there had been another there that wasn't so lucky. She remembered being aware enough to see the sheet-covered gurney, before she was wheeled away. There had been boots hanging out -- black boots that looked familiar.

Reality struck like a branding iron, sending Ada upward on the table where she was being tended to. Her forehead struck the low hanging light, sending bright specks into her vision, and causing yet another ache to add to the list. Commotion erupted around her as doctors and nurses scrambled to find the proper form of sedation, but it was too late.

"Ghent..."

His name felt like it was choking her on its way out. The pain did little to stop her rage.
Reality came crashing down pretty heavily. The other side of the bed was no longer cool, but it should never have been cool in the first place. Frantically, Ada searched the covers and the sheets, like she would find Ghent hiding there amidst the folds. Instead, she found nothing but herself.

The sheets were ripped aside to reveal bare legs that were scarred, but well-healed. And the two arms? The left was scarred, and the right was perfect -- soft, smooth, creamy and only marred where it had been attached at the shoulder. It wasn't right, was it? This wasn't how things were supposed to be.

Slowly, her rose-colored eyes lifted to look around the bedroom, seeking out some sign that life hadn't changed beyond all normal recognition. The bedroom wasn't tidy -- there were clothes strewn everywhere, and she could pick out what looked like dinner plates sitting around on partially exposed flat surfaces. The curtains were yellowed and dusty, and the windows looked like they had a thousand years' worth of scum on them, blocking out any real bright sunlight.

Everything was filtered -- dark and lonesome and difficult.

One thing did seem to catch her eye, though. Off to the side was a very neat and clean writing desk -- red wood, polished to a mirror shine. As she made her way out of the bed, and toward the table, it felt like she was walking through a soggy swamp. The clothing and various other objects on the floor felt cold and tricked her into thinking that dampness was involved, but she didn't dwell. No, the desk was her primary objective.

The closer she got to the desk, the less steps she wanted to take. Ada could already see the picture that was leaning up against the back of the desk -- could see his smiling face, and the red hair, and the dark eyes. Each step closer felt a little more like she was being robbed of air. His medal of valor looked polished, like she'd run her fingers over the finish enough times to make it shiny. And the oak leaves, and the glasses, and that handsome face smiling at her...

It was too much. Before she could make it all the way to the writing desk, her knees buckled, and she came up just short of the desk's edge, sending her face down into the cold clothing that was carpeting the floor. She felt weak and sick -- like her heart couldn't bear to live, but her body and mind wouldn't allow her to die.

It was a memorial.

Ghent was gone, and all that was left were those tactile trinkets arranged around a picture -- a testament to her lost love.

"Come on, one more." The voice was male, but she wouldn't have cared what gender was behind it.

"What's the point?" The amount of detachment in her own voice was hardly surprising to her -- she had gotten so used to hearing the flat, discordant sound.

A short pause followed, as the man seemed to consider his answer. "If you don't even out these two arms, then you'll have too many problems down the road." And, even then, he didn't seem that certain.

Ada blinked slowly, and dropped the barbell weight onto the bedroom floor. While it was only five pounds, it still caused quite a noise when it hit the hardwood. She didn't flinch, either -- just slowly turned herself in the chair to face the red desk. Ghent's picture was there, but she hadn't added the other parts yet. His smiling face was just serving as a reminder of how badly things had gone.

"He wouldn't have wanted you to give up."

It hit home like a knife to the heart. She could feel the emotions below the surface, boiling and writhing around her insides. So much of her had fallen numb since she had found out that what she was feeling presently felt like it was searing her from inside out. Her eyes settled on the image of Ghent, trying to peer into those dark eyes, but it just wasn't the same. A picture couldn't replace him -- there was no real life there.

Her fists clenched, and it felt like a chore to the right arm. But it didn't matter, did it? And when she turned, she grabbed hold of the man's shirt, shaking him viciously, snarling like an animal. "What do you know?! You don't!"

Two-three-three didn't seem surprised by the outburst. Instead, he simply took her anger and didn't bother fighting back. Each time she shook him, his unkempt jet-black hair ended up crossing his vision, but he didn't look away or blink. His eyes mirrored Ada's in color, even if they appeared to be much smaller on his face. He just wouldn't fight back.

Ada drew back and landed a punch with the right arm, but she could already feel weakness creeping in. The left would have been a better choice, but she had been so angry, she hadn't been thinking. The momentum was enough to knock both herself and Two-three-three from their chairs, sending them onto the floor that hadn't yet grown a whole carpet of cold, seemingly damp clothes.

It was just too much for her -- too much, and too hard.

She felt the hardwood under her cheek, and an ear pressed to the wood filtered Two-three-three's movements strangely. She didn't care, though. It didn't matter. "Just leave me alone..."

"You know I can't."

"Just leave me here to die..."
Memories flooded back to her -- or were they dreams? Ada couldn't quite decide whether she was remembering, or dreaming, or misremembering, or if she had finally take her last turn around a corner that led to insanity. She felt so detached from reality. How could any of this have happened?

Lifting herself up off of the floor was harder than she ever imagined. Weakness had crept into her bones and muscles, and it seemed as if she had given up trying to live long, long ago. When she finally managed to sit up, she wiped at her face, trying to rid herself of the feeling that followed dried tears. How had she survived this long?

It took some aid from the back of the desk chair for Ada to get up into a standing position, and even then she felt like she could topple over if a breeze managed to cross her. How long had it been? Where had the time gone?

Each step felt like agony. Every time her foot fell, (unsteady and off-kilter because of the mess,) her mind would race over the details. Ghent was gone, and she was not. She was pale, and scarred, and there were dark spots on the wallpaper where pictures and mirrors used to hang, but had since been removed. So much was different, she Ada wasn't even positive how it had all happen. It just wasn't right.

Ada thumped heavily against the window, causing it to shake and rattle against the cracked and crumbling framework. She was far too weak for her own good, it seemed, and ended up back on the floor, pulling the dusty yellowed curtains down around her. The curtain rod whizzed past her head on the way toward the floor, but she didn't even flinch. Instead, she forced her hand to come up, wiping at the layer of grime obstructing the view out the window.

It took much more work than she would have expected, but she eventually managed to clear enough of the window panel to get a view of the outside world. It was daytime, but the sun was beating down on dead, dry earth. She craned her neck a little bit, like it would make her see farther down the horizon, but all it managed to do was show here that there wasn't a speck of green for miles -- everything around the Hills had been laid to waste.

Secondary to the view out the window were the bars over the outside of the window. It made Ada's heart flutter, though she could say for certain that it wasn't a good kind of fluttering. Why were there bars? Had she gotten someone to put them up? Had they done it without consulting her?

Adrenaline was pumping, and it was enough to get her up on her own two feet. She turned and looked around for escape, looking everywhere and anywhere for a way out. She had to go -- this wasn't right, and she needed to leave. Finally, her eyes settled on the bedroom door, and she saw that it, too had a window with bars. That wasn't right, was it?

The clothing on the floor offered no traction at all, slipping against the hardwood and leaving Ada stumbling for the door and clawing at whatever could help her to move forward. Despite the obstacles, her body slammed against the door with quite a bit of force. Her forehead smacked against the thick glass, and she could feel the blood running down. It didn't matter -- she didn't care, because she could see Two-three-three on the other side, rose-colored eyes wide in surprise and shock.

Ada barely heard the tray drop because she was clawing at the door, and snarling out words like an animal. "Let me out, you bastard! LET ME OUT!!"

Had she been a dog, she would have been foaming at the mouth. She saw the movement of Two-three-three stepping forward, and their eyes locked for a moment, sending a rather human-like chill up her spine. He was so calm... always so calm.

"Living like this isn't helping you." His voice wasn't accusatory, nor was his demeanor, as Two-three-three sat down on the bed. His hands folded together on his lap.

Ada buried her face into the pillow, hoping it would drown out his words. She didn't want to listen anymore -- didn't want to think about how little meaning seemed to be left to her life. If only she had a switch that would turn her off...

"Emma came by to see you today. Won't you think about visiting with her?"

"No." It might have been muffled, but the answer would have been obvious to anyone. How could she dream of facing Emma? Or any of them? Ghent had been so important to all of them. She turned her head so that she could stare at the wall, leaving Two-three-three to look at the back of her head. His hand touched her arm, but she immediately moved to sever the contact. "Leave me alone..."

There was silence, before he spoke again. "She said they don't blame you. You're still a part of their family, Two-four-one."

It hurt so much to hear it, but Ada knew it to be true. Family just didn't stop being family. Almost instinctively, she curled up against herself, trying to wind up so tightly that she disappeared all together. It was all her fault, wasn't it? Everything had been fine until she had gotten involved. Even when everything started to come unraveled and they had to travel through time together, her and Ghent always handled it well together. That was how they survived, wasn't it? They relied on each other.

But in the end, she had been the one that had failed them both. What good was life without him? She would just end up putting everyone else in danger. So, she spoke her default answer, "Leave me alone."

Two-three-three sighed -- a characteristic very uncommon for the man. "If you're not careful, people might actually do that."

"Good." There was no remorse in her voice, before she returned her face to the pillow.

She shifted some on the bed as Two-three-three stood up, and she could hear him picking his way around the exponentially expanding carpet that used to be Ada's wardrobe. The door buzzed quietly like a bee, then opened a moment afterward. It didn't close, though -- she could tell that. She didn't really care at the moment, though. Her head turned away, to face the wall again, and she spoke through gritted teeth. "I hate you."

"No, Ada..." He hadn't ever used her name before that moment -- just her number. "You hate yourself."

It was true -- she did.
When she came to again, nothing seemed to have really changed. The bleeding had stopped, leaving half of her face sticky underneath the dried blood, and a plate of cold food had been placed down on the ground, but she was still inside that bedroom.

This wasn't right -- it couldn't be right.

Her hand reached out, batting viciously at the plate, sending mashed potatoes and peas scattering about the mess. Then she pulled herself up to sit against the door, bloody cheek pressed against the cool door.

She knocked on the door, like someone might answer. The voice that issued forth from her was small, and so close to complete defeat.

"Please... Please, let me out of this nightmare."



((This is written for play on June 20, 2008, as well as in conjunction with the Perchance to Dream Playable (for which I offer my gratitude.) For more information or questions on this post, or any other within this folder, send a PM or e-mail to Adalia Dodd.))