Something I have written...
Where shall I being?
Shall I being with my birth, the birth of my parents, or the birth of my people?
No… I shall start at the end and work backwards. I am only a fragment of an idea in the mind of a writer. A writer who’s mind is filled with many like me but not like me.
Fragments of ideas that define a character existing in a world made of memories and dream.
Then again that is the way the story is created at times.
Who is the writer? That is not something that matters to my tale what does is the world I was created in.
A broken world yet it is in perfect state.
A world that is and is not at the same time and yet it is A world in contradiction to itself.
But That I find later. We all find out later.
From where I was I know but I can’t say… No one would believe.
The city I land in, the city I awoke to find myself in…
I was not were I was the night before. I was in my ship on the other side of the universe near my home world.
I awoke in what would be called a bed… I found myself dressed in clothes not of my people.
I cautiously got up and looked around. A mirror was attached to the back of a door. Looking I saw myself.
I was no longer who I was before in full. Stripped of my armor, I stood in human sleep wear.
In the back of my mind I found this not at all odd.
Then it struck me like a truck. I was a lone tau in the world of man. A Lone tau on their holiest of holiest planets…
But as the revelation struck, another one struck me harder.
These memories of this world, memories of how to exist in the shadows, memories of how to blend in with humans and memories of who I am in this world flowed into my mind.
In this world I am known as James Hook. I am a detective and weapons expert in this world, tasked with running in the shadows for a greater good.
I turn and look at myself before opening the door. I am not what I was, but I am what I am. Once I was bald, now I have dreadlocks tied back behind my head with a band. My face is mine but if anyone else saw it, they would have to stare harder to see that I am not truly human. I have a pair of glasses that have more complex a HUD than my armor did.
Behind the door I saw the remains of my armor sitting as if in a museum display. Human weapons sat next to them. As I reached for the armor, it sprung to life and attached itself beneath the clothing I was wearing.
The once bulky armor I wore was now skin tight and hidden, waiting for me to enter conflict for it to awaken.
On instinct I get dressed. I could pass off as normal in this world. Jeans, modified shoes, shirt, jacket and concealed weapons. Human ones, seems my personal weapons have been integrated into the armoring.
The phone rings and I answer.
“Hook, this is Murph, we got a call. Meet down at Central-Five Café. The contact will be there at 9”
“Understood, will be there,” the words flowed naturally from my mouth as I cradled the phone against my shoulder as I was pulling on gloves and a watch.
Not knowing who this was but trusting my instincts in this world, I went on auto pilot to where I needed to be.
I arrive at the café and sit down next to a man dressed like a detective from an old video I saw in human archives once. This man is Murph, one of the people on the team I was assigned to. Across the table sat a larger figure. A troll, my glasses indicated.
“I am not the one who is asking you for work. I am just the middleman.” The Troll said handing Murph a manila envelope. Inside were the details of the job.
Murph simply nodded and then spoke. “And the price?”
“As you had asked.” The troll responded before leaving.
“Looks like we have little time on this one so let’s get going, Hook.” Murph stated as we left the café and headed to a van. Inside sat the three remaining members of the team. A technomancer and a swordsman sat in the back next to Murph, leaving me to sit next to the front.
“Let’s roll.” I stated as I sat down in the passenger seat.
The last member of the team turned to look back at the team before starting up the van.
What was he?
Why was he so threatening in presence while only looking like an office worker? Dark jeans, dark shoes, a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and face that reminded of some other free man...
Who? No one knew who he was besides a name.
Ian Moone. A false name for sure.
None the less we sped off towards the job.
We had a window of time and a man to end.
>Report 1 end.
