Allure_

@weidmann:

I listen to their drink requests, eyes moving from one to the other. I probably look bored or tired. I feel drained. Now I’ve offered to give more of my resources away. For what in return? A slight feeling of social nicety? It was unfulfilling. I realise how vacant my life feels, myself giving from my own nothingness. I think I missed my calling. Instead of becoming a half-assed Protector, I should have become a goddamn poet.

“Sure thing.” I nod, my head rolling, pulling me through the bedroom doorway. In the kitchen, I turn on the tap, fill up a glass along with the coffee pot. The motions seem to trigger an automatic response, my body going through the motions as if they were some default behaviour as opposed to my own ordained actions. Water. Beans. Brew. The bubbling sound from the machine lulls me into exhausted complacency. I begin to forget all about Quentin and the Avatar as if the calming monotony is designed to keep me unfocused on unsettling thoughts.

I feel like I want to scream. Break everything. Including myself if I could feel it. What is happening to me? I close my eyes for just a moment. Just to return to that acceptable homeostasis. But it wasn’t anymore. It all felt off-kilter. I don’t really know how to describe it.

I pour out the coffee into a mug and take it along with the glass of water into the room. I had each to the respective detectives and listen quietly a ways behind. I lean back against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. I breathe out thoughtfully.

“Well, everyone has ways of describing things they don’t understand. Aliens, angels. Different interpretations on experiences that may have similar etiologies. The interesting thing is in this case is the statement of ignorance. And perhaps the personal nature of it. Conspiracies get big because they have some secret knowledge that other people want. This is a common experience if ignorance, all different and yet similar.”

I step forward to lean closer to the screen. “Have you been able to see any patterns across cultures? Search beyond English-speaking sites? If this is some sort of mass hysteria, it might express differently based on culture. Where did it appear first?” I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve heard much about suggestibility so strong that it would contribute to hysteria through the internet. It’s usually more personal. This just creates more questions than answers. Way above my area of expertise. What do you gents plan on doing with all this?”

@weidmann:

I tilt my head as I listen to the detective speak. Though it's just a theoretical line of thought, I am surprised at the honesty of his words. And he isn’t wrong. The Avatar is immensely powerful. If the Avatar is capable of completely changing reality without anyone knowing, that’s a force to be reckoned with. It’d probably take everyone on the same side to even have a hope of beating such a powerhouse. And there’s no guarantee everyone would want the world to change back.

At any rate, this was all getting a bit too much. I should stay focused on the present. I just basically resigned my job by proclaiming myself emotionally incompetent. I’ll have to find something to fill my time with.

“Wouldn’t help me to spread this around, so I don’t think you have to worry about anything coming from me. I have a personal computer in my room, if that works. Just give me a minute to clear up the desk. It’s a mess.”

Not really a mess, but it’d be weird to have someone see diamonds scattered everywhere. Where most of my money goes. I pull myself to my feet and walk quietly to my bedroom. I empty my pocket onto the desk and quickly brush the loose diamonds and newly set rings into the open drawer. I lock it before turning on the desktop computer. Damn thing takes a while to get started. Hopefully no one gets cute and tries to go through my browser history. I log into the computer before stepping away to address the cops.

“Okay. If you think you can find anything, go for it. I certainly don’t have experience searching the dark corners of the internet looking for conspiracies. Did you guys want anything to drink? I have…” I pause to think about what people usually consume. No alcohol, though they probably wouldn’t drink on duty anyway. Out of milk. Don’t buy cream. “Water and black, decaf coffee.” I know. I live a glamorous life. I wonder what alternate me drinks in Quentin’s imagined universe. Probably overpriced Chardonnay or some sh*t.

@weidmann:

“Right?” I respond to Zalkalns’ verbalised thoughts. “It may not be the craziest thing, but that’s what might make it complicated. I’m not sure that this conversation was had between only me and him. What if this conspiracy theory was pushed onto him for some agenda? Did Mr. Quentin ever show signs of psychosis before this incident? Maybe these notions are held by his circle of contacts. I dismissed it very quickly as madness, but maybe his madness only left him more susceptible to this theory. Probably barking up the wrong tree, but if word against the Avatar and the social order gets out... it could cause a mess. I’d want to know where he got these notions, from his own delirium or somewhere else. And if anyone else has any similar experiences.”

I tap my foot on the floor rhythmically, conveying a thoughtful preoccupation. It could be construed as being a result of the bizarre situation or anxiety about the following question from Cat Eyes. A feedback loop. I theorised about using it purposely, though not in the way Weidmann was proposing. As an empath, painful or troublesome emotions are unwanted. They taste bitter and feel supremely uncomfortable. A feedback can possibly lead to disaster for both parties if the emotional reciprocity is negative. But if it is positive, it could be an endless source of bliss. Well, until the host succumbs to exhaustion. But imagine a large body of people high on positive emotions. Drain a little happiness here and there, and you have a buffet of human life force that would barely affect them at all. In fact, they’d actively come back to get the social high they can’t explain and sleep off any negative effects. I’d never be hungry.

I tighten my jaw. Too big a risk. I mean, the world seems perfect now, but such a feedback would require a complete openness to the feelings of others. I can’t shake the thought that this is all somehow transitory, that the happiness is superficial with pain soon to follow. I can’t be open to an emotional cataclysm. Then there’s the fact the Covenant might not think too favourably on a super manipulating and essentially eating people without express permission.

I try not to pause for too long to think. Too long and things begin to look suspicious. “Well, I guess it could be possible. Though there might be an argument for directionality. What I mean is, everyone experiences and interprets their feelings a little differently. Feelings can be misattributed. For instance, the burning sensation in someone’s chest that would realistically be attributed to a mingled state of thrill tinged with fear might be interpreted by them as desire or love. His anxiety might have influenced my own anxiety which could have theoretically spilled back into him, but my version of that fear might have been interpreted differently by him. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense though. People don’t usually kill themselves because of paranoia or panic. In fact, the latter tends to involve an aversion to death. People in a state of panic worsen their anxiety by believing they might die, desperately not wanting their heart to give out. My experience of his emotions, compounding my own, might have clouded my understanding of his intent. Given what he was saying, his suicidal action may have been more attributed to his thought process and his delusions.

“For instance, say you believed as he did, that somehow part of your existence had been ripped from you, that you were an unwitting pawn in a grand scheme, that the world you inhabit isn’t real, and all you want to do it get back to reality... how would you do it? How would you take the power back into your own hands? Kill yourself. You would be reunified with your own reality or at the very least, your last action would be to stick it to the Avatar seeking to keep you in the dark. Despite the cloud of emotion surrounding the action, it is the most logically consistent view within his perspective. If logic can be even be evoked when discussing the insane.” I shrug.

@weidmann:(No worries. I’m plenty busy with uni and stuff myself. I only regret I’ve fallen behind on reading other posts.)

My eyes wander across from me to the notes held by the officer. Telepathy would be useful in this context, but much like empathy, it has its drawbacks. That’s the nice thing about my abilities. I can just purge the ability into a crystal until I need it again. Slower maybe, but convenient not to be hearing everyone’s thoughts all the time. And telekinesis as an empath could be a very bad combo. Get too anxious or angry... and somebody gets put through a wall. Why am I even thinking about these abilities? It’s not like I have access to them. I don’t think I ever did. I think...

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Don’t overthink sh*t. You’ll end up like Mr. Q. Er, Mr. Quentin.

I shift in my seat, arching my brows. “Yeah. You’re probably right. More trouble than it’s worth. I applied for this position because they wanted supers to do their part. It seemed like easy money for me. I’m sure I could discuss a change in career with someone.”

The white-haired one seems to accept all of this as usual but understandable. Well, until the quiet one spoke up. First question posed an interesting possibility. What if you could put your own words into the mouth of a dead man? I may not have believed everything he said, but what if I did? What thoughts would that conjure? After all, it’d all be a kind of thought experiment having written the man off as insane and still more... dead.

His next question is a bit too clever. I mean, it’s only putting two and two together, but even common sense can be a rarity, particularly when obfuscated by carefully chosen facts. I can feel a pang of nervousness marked by the physiological response of flutters in my gut and heart rate increase in my chest. And, more unexpected, an extremely subtle curl at the edge of my lips. Nothing not easily calmed and covered with a quick stretch. It is late.

Still, my mind is fairly unsettled. I exhale a breath. “Yes. It’s possible. My empathy can be two-way. Give and take. That’s why it’s best to stay as neutral as possible even in stressful situations. I can have my own genuine emotions kept to myself, but extremely stressful situations can cause them to bleed over into someone else.” Poor choice of words.“Everyone is like that to a degree. Humans and metahumans are social beings, and an aura of sadness surrounding a person can really sour an otherwise happy mood in a group. My ability is just a little stronger than that.”

Hopefully the second answer will pull away attention from my complicated abilities. But that goddamn notepad means they could always note and go back to review suspicions. If I’m going down for this, I might have to try to take the whole damn universe down with me.

“As for what he said...” I scratch my scalp trying to think up something sufficiently mind-boggling. Hard to think like a crazy man. “I don’t remember every specific word, the ranting was saturated in emotion, but from what I gathered, he spoke about the Avatar and how this world was wrong. He asked me about if I felt something off about this world, how it was too perfect, how something felt like it was missing. How the past felt like a dream when trying to remember it. That the Avatar was forcing us to exist in a utopia for some reason or another.”

I shake my head, my gaze resting on the floor momentarily. “If his emotional state and frantic words didn’t tell me he had lost it...” I look up at the pair, “that’s what told me he was crazy. If the Avatar was responsible for giving us a reality devoid of war and excessive hardship, full of happiness and fulfilment, why the hell would he want to go back to some reality in his twisted mind where humans didn’t find Kaiju but each other in an endless struggle of power and manipulated conscience? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I mean, imagine if this world was somehow entirely the fabrication of the powerful Avatar? I’d think we’d know.” I motion to myself and then to them and back, prodding for their own experiences and understanding of everything, maybe planting a new thought process in their minds. “If this all wasn’t the way things were meant to be, that it was all a construction we’ve been drawn into, things wouldn’t make sense. There’d be inconsistencies. And we haven’t noticed anything like that. It’d be all in the news.” I laugh, as if making a joke of the notion. “I mean, the Covenant pretty much has a monopoly on everything, so maybe it wouldn’t be reported even if there was truth to the nonsense.”

“Eh.” I lean back in my chair. My mind starts to ponder more intently the weight of what I was spewing. “Does any of that answer anything or does it make as little sense to you as it does to me?”

@supra-man:

@kidchampion: Vaguely omnipotent humanoid being is how I'd say it. Lots of heavenly imagery, not of the straight Judeo-Christian variety, but in a word, bright.

Now I’m picturing Vivec for some reason.

(Sorry for the delay in response guys. I just got really busy this week.)

@_gaige_ said:

“Lizzy. I can forward it to you directly after I’ve finished writing it. That shouldn’t be a problem.” Frost had remarked the pilot grateful that her curiosity would be somewhat answered.“I’d imagine you are very busy, Lizzy." Always was, that was while often a delight to her as she did what she loved as an occupation that didn't mean she liked that being the entirety of her days. When the world was as consistently safe as it had been work didn't have to be as constant as it was, and yet here she was in her office. "I wouldn’t want to bore you when you have things to do. Besides the report, I don’t have anything planned. Did you have something on your mind or did you just want to hear someone speak? I could rail on about this and that, but I doubt it’d be very interesting.”

The nerd sighed, holographic projection stretching "Nope I'll let you go for now. Sometimes what you think would be boring isn't though." Her small digital figure dissipates vanishing in a small light show of cascading luminous bits and her attention returns more to just her current room and surroundings.

I raise my eyebrows only so slightly, nothing as obvious as surprise. Being so far, I’m not able to tell if she is conveying disappointment or frustration at my behaviour. Not that it really matters. The conversation was over, and I could go back to a boring evening. Oh, yeah. And trying to write up a report. Almost makes me wish I burned down the house and made it look like an accident. I hate paper work. And I’m not even sure where I’d start.

As I watch the image fade, I lean back further in my chair to recount the incident before taking it all down. There might be a telepath somewhere who could draw it out. Hm. If I do ever want to investigate more into this, perhaps there’s a telepath on file whose powers I can borrow. Empathy only gets me so far. I’ll have to make sure I have some crystals ready if I go that route. Eh. What am I talking about? It’s nothing. Just some crazy guy. Not some conspiracy. There’s no evidence to say otherwise.

I close my eyes and imagine the scene. In my memory, the feeling takes the shape of a purple cloud billowing down the street. Panic. Sorrow. Helplessness. Focus on the last one for the report. Anything linking him as being emotionally compromised, suicidal. It leads me to the house. A man lets me in, confuses me for someone he knows. He grabs me. I push him off. No. I don’t want a confrontation. It sounds too personal. He starts rambling. I try to verbally calm him down, without using my abilities. His emotions build. I try to reach him as he goes for the knife, but it’s too late. He kills himself. The blood spatters. I’m sort of in shock as I make my way back to my house. I’ve never seen a man kill himself like that before. I can’t think of what to do or who to call. Someone does call. I answer. My emotions are flat, unsure how to deal with the trauma. Maybe get a few sessions of counselling to make it convincing. Eh, it works. That’s what I’ll write.

@weidmann said:

With the man opening the door wider, Erhardt and Luis walked in. Both taking a seat on the couch before waiting for their host to sit down as well. "Thank you, I'll try to make this brief. Oh, before I forget, I'm Detective Weidmann and my partner here is Detective Zalkalns." Erhardt said, reaching into his coat and withdrawing a notepad. Searching around for a couple of seconds he pulled out a pen and after clicking it three times he looked up at the Protector.

"If we could begin then. First, if I could get your full name and occupation. Second would be why you were there, and why you didn't report on the suicide before returning back to your home? From the scene, there was no way you could have missed it." Erhardt turned in the direction that the scent of blood was still coming from before turning back to face the man. "So why would you wait so long? Anything could have happened in the time between you leaving and the first officer arriving on the scene."

“Uh, yeah. Christopher Michel Frost. Protector. I’m classed as an empath in the system, but I don’t use the ability except passively. That’s why I was at the house. I felt a strong sense of emotional distress. I went to make sure Mr. Quentin was okay. Turns out he wasn’t. He was ranting incoherently, mistaking me for someone he knew. I was about to call someone for backup, when I saw he took a knife out of the drawer.” I pause, extending my hands to convey my exasperation at the situation during my explanation. “They don’t train us well enough to deal with this sort of situation. I’m an empath. That makes it worse. Like, I knew he felt upset, but it’s possible he was psychotic. It felt disjointed, unpredictable. And I could feel all that. Inside me.” I tap my chest with two fingers. “But I had no way of being sure he’d actually hurt himself. But he did. And I couldn’t stop him.”

I look down and shake my head. “Emotions don’t just turn off. The synapses are still firing, the neurotransmitter still following a set pattern. Physiology is slower to react than some people might think. I had to sort myself out, from the shock I felt along with the continuing emotional experience he had imprinted on me. By the time I got home, I felt numb. My brain was clouded. I wrote the report, but I don’t know how accurate it is all things considered.” I tap my fingertips on my thigh as if anxious. Emotional. My eyes begin to burn. It's all real enough perhaps. It makes sense to act this way even if the numbness inside is too pervasive to allow it. For real anyway.

“So... sorry. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do anything by the book. I’m not a cop. Any training of Protectors varies. Everyone just kind of takes it for granted that nothing bad ever happens. I’ve never seen a man die like that before.” I’m pretty sure this is accurate. I don’t remember anyone dying like that. Then again, the more I think about remembering, the harder it seems to get. Jesus. Did this affect me? Am I actually losing my mind. Well, at least it could be advantageous for staying out of more serious trouble. I sigh.

I feel tired. Hungry. Regardless of any intent on my part, this day has been emotionally draining. And a goddamn cheeseburger wouldn't quite cut it. I shake my head to ignore the discomfort.

“Does any of that help or make any sense.” I sigh. “Maybe I need a freaking psych eval.”

@_gaige_:

I notice the woman seems uneasy with the form of address. I make a mental note not to use it with her in any future correspondence. It has always been my experience that it’s best to start traditionally than overly friendly. The friendly ones are more forgiving. At least… I think that’s my experience. Maybe it’s just something that sounds right in this snap assessment in my head. I nod toward her to convey my understanding.

“Lizzy. I can forward it to you directly after I’ve finished writing it. That shouldn’t be a problem.”

My brows furrow a bit at her second comment about conversation, and I casually sit myself down in a chair. My mind flashes with quick thoughts even while my demeanor remains calm and neutral. I had already began to suspect that the woman didn’t get out much. her mentioning lack of sleep, multitasking, and going above and beyond her duty all suggests to me she is a workaholic. But for all that occupational stimulation, she seems to crave something more sociable. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she wasn’t likely to find it detached from the world around her, as interconnected as she thinks she might be.

However, there is a possibility that occurred not mutually exclusive to my previous line of thought. If she does not believe my account of the report, she would want me to talk more until I accidentally divulge something incriminating. Right off the top of my head, there are two ways of dealing with her if that should be the case. The first option: I could simply decline her request for conversation. It might arouse greater suspicion, but with no evidence, any excuse I give could be just as valid. The second option: I could take some time to speak with her about… whatever. She gets bored, disconnects, or whatever. Nothing shady disclosed. Engaging in conversation could foster familiarity. I don’t lie unless I deem it necessary, so the things I say would be genuine and accepted. Creating a rapport with Lizzy Leet could be beneficial for any future endeavours, whatever they may be. I might be nothing. But the possibility is tempting.

I look squarely at the holographic projection before tilting my head thoughtfully to the side. “I’d imagine you are very busy, Lizzy. I wouldn’t want to bore you when you have things to do. Besides the report, I don’t have anything planned. Did you have something on your mind or did you just want to hear someone speak? I could rail on about this and that, but I doubt it’d be very interesting.”

@weidmann

My eyes examine the badge. Genuine LEO. I didn’t see many of those actively pursuing anything. Of course, there wasn’t much to follow up in this day and age. What little crime there was was handled by the Protectors, like a golden age of superheroes. But there may still be things happening out there that require a nuanced mind and legal understanding. The one with yellow eyes seems calm enough in light of the subject matter. But its always a bit unsettling to have cops in your house, innocent or guilty. I nod in acknowledgment of his credentials. At the other’s question, I pull my hand from my pocket, opening the door further with my hand outstretching toward the interior of the house.

“Sure. There’s a small couch right over there if you want to make yourself comfortable.”

I pull up an additional chair before sitting down myself. “So, you have questions about Mr. Quentin’s death?” I fold my hands in front of me, wondering just what they though they knew about the situation.

@weidmann:

I walk further into my small house to the bathroom. I push the door open. The only light in the darkened room was that which flowed in from the narrow hallway. I don’t bother to rectify it. The darkness is soothing. I turn on the tap and look into the mirror. Half of my face is illuminated while the other side remains shadowed except for the faint glimmer within my eye. It’s hard to recognize the face looking back in that reflection, and the person staring at me offers no emotional queues. It just sits there on the glass as if from another dimension.

I splash my face with the cool water. The beads of moisture run down my cheeks and catch the meager light within the room. They glisten like transient gems, each catching my halved reflection before beautifully falling into their obliteration. I pat my skin with a clean towel before turning to leave.

I step into my open bedroom and my finger moves to one side instinctually to turn on the light. A small lamp flickers to life upon my desk, and I drop down into the chair before it. Upon my desk sits a waxen mannikin hand, four fingers bedecked with silver rings, their settings empty. I unlock open the desk drawer and take out a tray of precut diamonds and place them upon the flat surface. The fire is exquisite, but the valued gemstones have more purpose than vanity for me. Each ring I place into a clamp, each adjusted meticulously with a needle file to accommodate the uniquely cut crystals. I set diamonds, closely inspected under magnifying glass before I press the metal prongs around each.

A knock interrupts my delicate task. My eyes dart toward the open door way. I put down my tools and pocket a few of the diamonds before hastily make my way toward the house entrance. I open the door to see two men, Covenant affiliated no doubt. Something feeling akin to impatience emanates from one while the other remained more opaque. My eyes instinctually descend toward the second man’s hand upon his weapon before returning to his face. It is older, somewhat worn but his symmetrical Germanic features still retained a level of attractiveness. His eyes were probably his most striking feature, golden, almost catlike as they reflected in the light.

My eyebrows arch up, my hand still on the doorknob whilst my other fingers nestled into my pocket to fiddle with the gemstones. “Something I can help you with, gentlemen?”

Ad algorithms read my posts/bio obviously.

@_gaige_:

I finally arrive at my house. I open the door and step inside as I have every night for... you know, I’m not even sure how long come to think of it. The past is a blurred mess of monotony. But tonight is a little different as I lean against the back of the closed door. I killed a man today.

I make my way over to the nook and sit on the chair. Just one chair. Never needed any more than that. I take off my boots, and they clatter to the floor. My eyes focus, and I think I can see a little blood splatter on them. I’ll have to wash that off later. I pull the paper out of my pocket. I flip it over. It’s a personalised stationary. Jacque Quentin.

I hear a buzz from the phone. Dammit. Someone from the Covenant. It wouldn’t be anyone else. I put the page back into my coat pocket and shuffle across the floor to click accept on the call. A flicker of light coalesces into a holographic image of a woman. She looks young.

"Protector Frost right? Don't think we've met, though that could just be my lack of sleep."

“That’s right. Christopher Frost.” I nod coolly as I await what she really is calling about.

"Lizzy Leet, more R&D for the Covenant then a Protector."

She seems uneasy about something, but she is too far to get a proper reading.

"Mind giving a report on what happened back there now while it's fresh? Was that the last job of the day? I can probably clock you out or something if needed.Or if you just need a conversation that works to. Know I look busy but swear I can multitask just fine."

I exhale. Well, it was only a matter of time before someone found out someone had died. Violent deaths are nearly unheard of. Can’t remember the last time. I can’t help but crack a smile as she offers conversation amidst her seemingly hectic work schedule. She seems nice enough, but I don’t feel much like small talk, much less if it meant sharing it with other holographic conversations she might be having.

“Yes, ma’am. I was on patrol today when I felt an emotional disturbance, so I followed it up. The man seem mentally unstable. He was babbling incoherently before eventually killing himself in front of me with a kitchen knife. I wasn’t able to stop it." That's a lie, but I don't plan on telling anyone what really happened until I have a better understanding of the situation myself. It's too soon to say. As as far as the evidence is concerned, my account is entirely accurate. "I plan on writing up a full report on the incident soon. Yes, it was my last job. I have an arrangement to work directly from home, so I clock out via interface here. I appreciate the offer though, Ms. Leet. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I take off my coat and hang it up on the coat rack before returning my attention to the Covenant caller. Probably could help with her sleep problem, but I’m not about to offer that. I could use my own sleep.