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Why? #2

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Why? Part 2

Like freshly hatched spawn, Sp3cter3 took my Zaniel and I under his hard, cold wings and fell backward, off the roof and into what I assumed was certain death. I learned about myself at that moment. I feared only for Zaniel, while I embraced, if not welcomed, my own demise. I wondered if I was limber enough to slip from the monsters grasp, slide under Zaniels' falling body and soften the blow of the concrete below. I wondered, but never had to test.

We were meant to fall, but never even felt the still air against our plumeting skin. The instant he took us for our assumed acension, we woke up on a warm dirt floor surrounded by all the creations of a childs' imagination, for it was completely dark. We cried out in unison, Zaniel and I, answering the unasked with our gasps. We were safe, and safe was good enough for me.

The darkness lasted only slightly longer than our fall. Almost instantly, a door opened, bringing with it an expanding light that first hurt then empowered our eyes. the room we were in was some sort of bunker with cold grey concrete for walls and tilled earth for a floor. I studied Zaniels' face. While he appeared scared and alarmed, there was no blood or bruises, causing my own, taught face to relax instinctively.

We were ushered courtesly from our sudden world to an illuminated hallway by an annonymous figure. It didn't speak, only motioned with its' impossibly long didgits for us to come hither. We did- Zaniel behind me per my swift and protective movement. It led us to another room with much better lighting and furnishings. The room was long... so long, and we approached the seated woman at the far end. She sat on an elevated and elaborate chair, her beauty too pronounced to be real. When we stood at the foot of her pedestal, she waved away the cloaked escort, leaving only three of us in the room.

I hate to bodlerize my own tale, but I must skip ahead to protect my oath. I can say that, after this gorgeous blonde woman told us what we were doing there, why she needed us and what we were to expect, Zaniel and I were seperated. They were after his brains and my braun, so to speak. I was employed, thereafter, as an agent- a ghost- for an organization named The Faceless. My duties were of the cloak-and-dagger type, gathering intell on whomever they asked, delivering scopes, swift and annonymous, to the appropriate parties and, **** save me, eliminating threats. These chores went on for many years. Again, editing the details, I was happy doing so as this woman had explained so much about life... about my life, that loyalty was impossible to negate. I shared a home with Zaniel, who was kept close to the underground camp Sp3cter3 had delivered us to, undergoing what he described as "talent enhancing therapy".

He was there, with his rediculolus looking grin and innocent blonde hair; there with his high voice that pronounced his high intellect regardless of what he was saying, and there with his uttered remanisence of our days at Angel Morning. He was there, my brother, yet he wasn't. My missions grew in duration and frequency, and every time we reconnected, he was slightly more.... I don't know.... absent. He spoke of the same things, same ideas, only his voice was, not alien, but.... disembodied. Like his heart and vocals stayed warm while his brain morphed into a sterile and calculated instrument with strings attatched and being tugged upon by an unseen hand. They taught us prayers at Angel Morning, prayers we said together every night from the time we met until.....

That was the worst night of my life.

We were in our early twenties. I had just come back from a mission to Texas to scope out some young Swarm advocate the UK wanted me to gather intell on. Zaniel and I had a routine that was unspoken of while spoken was its' means. We'd rfecite the Lords Prayer before sleep, alternating every line between us. The night he didn't, wouldn't respond was the night I knew.

I requested council with the blonde woman. I asked her why my brother was growing cold and robotic (actual words I used). Her features dropped and, for the first and only time, I saw Agent Sunday for what she really was: A human being. Capable of remorse, regret, horniness and ****; what I saw was raw and unedited, the face of a woman who wished. Only those with regret wish, I've learned.

Head bowed to her lap, she waved her right hand and told me to do my job.

With my chin pointed at her face, I demanded to know what she an d her demented cronies were doing to Zaniel.

All in good time, she'd mumbled without a trace of confidence.

I mentioned my duties, and added all in good time. The face that rose from her momentary shame was that of a demon aroused. She called for the guards, pointed at me and ordered a re-education.

They took me. Took me to an impossibly bright and sterile room where they fed cords through my body. One in the mouth, one in the ****, and fed until they connected. There was no pain. Pain is losing the tip of a didgit to a hack-saw- pain is having your scalp peeled off. Pain is human and refined and understandable.

There is no word to describe what these cords did to me. Brilliant and everlasting darkness is the closest I can come to describing it. Torture would have been a day at the 4-H fair. They rearranged the very nucleus of my cells and attempted to usher in a new way for the neurons in my brain to connect.

This is the first time I have said this publicly: They failed. Yes, they scrammbled and dilluted what was once an adaquately functioning mind, but they didn't kill the soul burried within. I kept up with what I assumed was rouse and pushed on with my duties. I killed and arranged and moulded the world accoring to the orders I was given. A few months later, I came back from a six month deployment in Southern California to discover a corpse in my quarters.

No note. No rep. No words and no service.

Just my brother, cold and pale and with hidious, star-shaped burns on either temple. They left him in my bed, like I was supposed to not only understand but explain what they had done to him.

I kissed him on his lips and they felt like fish scales.

I left our room, our home. I left my life.

I tried to relocated to Grand Rapids in Michigan, the most obscure place I could think of, and leave the world of Qonqr and its' AI behind. No one ever found me- I found me. Whatever they did with those cords compelled me to not only steal a scope, but to start deploying mercilessly in my new found region. I hated myself for promoting the faction that had killed my brother.

I sat in a restaurant called (I wish I was making this up) Mr. Burger, deploying some Shockwave over a slice of apple pie when I was approached by a seemingly normal man. He told me his name was Skarabas and that he could help me.

Agent Sunday: He helped me, and I now understand. I'm sorry for your loss of a son, as he was my family too.

Sp3cter3: He helped me, and I now understand. You are a villian; a leech who preys. Well, we have grown and matured. I will find you. I will catch you. I will do to you what you did to Zaniel.

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nice story realy is more of a horror story then anything else to me. we faceless will never allow a human to be tourchered like this only if they volentarlily wanted and even then we avoid this at best for we are freedom and we shall help you garner this revenge. I am a beholder of the faceless for I try and hold knowledge to help break and use what my team wants but they also use me as a primary test subject for I am willing I am part machine plus I am no normal person for I can be what I need to be a sword and a sheild of the faceless and I will obey those responsabilitys. I will continue to develop myself and solve the code of qonqr to control it. for you I offer my hand in alliance we shall win against legion and the swarm and stop this torment.

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Thank you Supertrampoline, for your compliments and constructive criticism. I tried to leave it intentionally vague, to keep with the Qonqr spirit, but you are right. I could have been more specific and direct. Thanks again! Also, we're all glad you didn't leave the world of Qonqr!

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