Switch

Posted. :D

Just to clarify, the change in perspective in the last paragraph is deliberate.

It is a cloudy, overcast day as we put the Rosasi in their graves. Forty odd coffins in caissons and close to a thousand people lining the roadside to watch the last march of the liberators as they have come to be known. Samoza's regime has fallen and now large chunks of South America are joining Utopia as government after government collapse. I hope that is some consolation for the men and women who gave their lives. Alair, Wessel, Franklin, Colt, Larium, Bearn; the hero of Johannesburg and my friend, and so many others. Only Kareph and myself remain. Two sad ghosts to lead the procession to the graveside. Together we move forwards, taking the reigns of a riderless horse waiting in front of the coffins. A pair of boots are placed backwards in the stirrups.

We walk the horse in time with the slow beat of a drum, passing under the raised swords of a company's worth of Rosasi. Beside me comes Switch, ethereal and scholarly. As we walk the long road past the veiled women and somber men he talks to me, whispering shiny, broken bits of wisdom in my ear.

After it is done and my friends lie under the earth, they take me to see him. Jean Luc Le Beau, Gambler, the man I am sworn to serve, sits quietly in his office. As the twin door's click and swing open he rises to greet me, extending a hand and a warm smile.

“So you are dee brave man who has done so much for our cause?”

I nod and we talk for a few minutes, about life, about Utopia, about the jungle. Then he says to me.

“Whiskeyjack, dat is dee codename you go by is it not? I need men like you around me, men willing to make sacrifices to realise my dream of what Utopia could be. I would like to elevate you, make you one of dee inner circle. What do you say?”

Switch whispers to me, filling my head with knowledge I shouldn’t have, of another life, of another time an offer like this was made. I accept and Mr Le Beau looks pleased.

“You will need a new codename, dee man Whiskeyjack was a soldier, you will be something more. I will give you dee honour of choosing it for yourself.”

As the ghost man at my side grins I know what I have to do. I meet Le Beau's, Gambler's, eyes and keeping my face neutral I say.

“Switch, my name will be Switch.”

That night I lie in bed with my wife and we hold each other in the unexpected cold of an African night. She kisses me and tells me that it's like I’ve been born again, that everything that had built up between us had been swept away. I know what she means. My conditioning has been broken, my armour is gone, all that is left is me. I hold her and we whisper to each other, dreams and wishes that we have never shared with anyone. She tells me that we will have children, sons and daughters that we will bring up to be strong and beautiful and just and we will never ever tell them of the terrible things that we have seen and done. I fall asleep and for the first time in a long while, I dream.

Switch started off being in his early twenties, then aged normally until he was over forty. The current character I'm following is 26 however

Hey G, I was wondering if I could use you in a post. Nothing big, just a few lines of dialogue. Let me know if your're alright with it.

Nice posts everyone else. Im looking forward to reading more :)

Sorry to end such a great rp on such a bad post, but it looked like this had been abandonned and I wanted to finish off my part of the story. That's the only excuse Ive got for the rubbish post, other than it's late and I cant be bothered to fiddle with it anymore

D59 sat back in his seat, letting the aged leather cushion him and sooth away the hurts of his imprisonment. August Samoza eyed him over steepled fingers. His grey eye's impassive.

“Is that all that you have to tell me?”

D59 grinned and continued.

“A long time ago, Mr Le Beau came to us. He said that Utopia was an idea, not a political entity, and that although the world frowned upon the imposition of a political ideology upon an unwilling people, the world could never frown upon the spread of an idea. And if an idea, an idea such as freedom from oppression, freedom from tyrants, the freedom for a man or a woman to live as they saw fit, should ever require the death of an individual. Then that individual should be proud to lay down their life, for nobody could frown upon such a sacrifice.”

There was an explosion outside. A dull crump that did little to illustrate the damage caused by such an event. One of the guard's bowed slightly, showing his respects, before hurrying out of the room.

“Long ago the Desert Messiah saw that your people were in need of a saviour. That the petty desires of a small man had come to rule them. So he sent me.”

There was bang and the sound of hurrying feet outside the doors to the room.

“I allowed myself to be captured, I allowed myself to be tortured, so that the spread of the one undeniable truth would not be hindered. History collects it's debts Mr Samoza, history always collects.”

The door blew open and a dozen black clad soldiers burst in. Their weapons roared and the one surviving guard dropped to the ground, his head blown apart. August Samoza, Il Presidente, cowered as the leader helped D59 to his feet. But the prisoner wasn’t paying attention, his eyes were fixed on the man who had just entered the room, walking between two Rosasi like they were ghosts.

“Hello Whiskeyjack,” He said “I’m Switch. I have been living inside your head for almost a month now, but it has taken me this long to break your Rosasi conditioning.”

The man stopped in front of D59 and knelt, bringing his face level with the prisoner's.

“I will go into more detail about our relationship later, but for now rest assured. I cannot be removed except through your death or the completion of my goals. Currently however, enjoy the return of free will.”

The man blurred and flickered away, like smoke caught in a breeze. Kareph walked towards D59 and pulled him to his feet.

“I though you should have the pleasure.”

He presented a pistol, grip first to Whiskeyjack. Samoza looked up, his eye's pleading.

“I have to know my friend, was the story you told me the truth?”

Whiskeyjack, the prisoner formerly known as D59 smiled.

“Maybe.”

I just went back and read some of my stuff. It's hilarious. So many mistakes that just dont gel with the serious tone. Made my night. :P

Hey guys, I was going to write up a post tonight and was wondering if there was anything anyone wanted me to include? Rallick's probably going to be heading towards the darkspawn if that's any help

Alright posted. Ive been fiddling with it for an hour and Im still not quite happy, but it's late and Im tired so I just went for it. If there's any problems just shout and I'll change it in the morning.

I grin in the darkness, only my teeth and the whites of my eyes visible in the gloom. Sparrow kneels and we can see the pain as it tears through him. It puts us in a dark mood. We'll make them pay. We'll make them all pay.

“As you can see, we have already met with some resistance, forty clicks back a group of well trained combatants faced us, we have marked the graves of the fallen so we can collect them later. We where not within the border when we where struck, it seems there is more going on then expected. For that reason we will no longer be using separate strike forces.”

It made sense. If the enemy knew enough to hit us on the move in the huge swathes of jungle, there was no way we would be able to infiltrate.

“I am injured and in no fit state to lead effectively. I must concentrate on fighting, I can not lead as well, and as such you will take point.”

Our eyes meet and that is enough. Both of us know that this is going bad and we wont be getting out unscathed. But both of us also know that the Rosasi will do their duty. Sparrow's plan is sound, but I make one addition. Once we penetrate the perimeter, Sparrow and his men will go with Alair and several others to find the prisoners. I will lead the larger group to draw the enemy's attention. Sparrow nods and we stand. Once more into the breach. Once more.

Faster than any of us can react the earth explodes and blades slice into flesh. I roll clear, feeling the adrenaline kick in. There is no thought, only movement. The mind disengages and the muscles take over. The Rosasi scramble towards the trees, hoping that will defend them. I cant help but think that we got off so lightly in the initial attack because they are toying with us. I end up back to back with Sparrow, rifle steady in my hands. If I am to die, I will die facing my attacker.

Something explodes from the earth behind Alair and blades sing once again. Then Alair if falling, falling, opened from collar to groin. Falling into the darkness never to rise again. A handsome boy with perfect teeth, Alair was the last reinforcement we got before shipping out to Israel. He died in a stinking jungle, in a nowhere country without ever firing a shot at his attackers. I scream in hate and rage and grief as I open up. My rifle bucks but my aim is true. The slender machine woman turns faster than I would have ever believed possible and locks eyes with me. I am looking at death. A melding of flesh and steel, wire and nerve, form and function in one perfect package. I bare my teeth in a bestial snarl and my rounds hit, blowing fragments of metal away from the things carapace in a shower of sparks. It is barely hurt.

Something slams into me from the left like a ton of bricks, sending me flying. Before I can react it is straddling my chest, bladed fingers sliding towards my body to tear out my heart. Baern slams into it in a diving tackle and the two of them roll, entwined like lovers. In a flash the machine witch guts Baern, spilling his warmth in foreign soil. But the hero of Johannesburg hangs tough. One hand wrapped around the thing's neck he pulls a grenade and arms it. The monster's scream of machine static is cut short as the pair of them come apart in a flash of light and sound.

I pull the shattered remains of my helmet from my head, knowing that it saved my life. The left side of my face is numbed, but I can feel wetness tricking down my cheek as if I am weeping. Only it's not tears, it's blood. My eye is gone, pulped by the force of the impact. As the machine sisters come again the Rosasi counter-attack. Surrounding one they shoot and shoot and shoot until the flesh is stripped from it's metal bones and it shudders to a halt. Another kills five men before Kareph gets a lucky shot and scatters its carbon fibre brains over the churned soil, like stars over the night sky. The others sink into the soil and vanish like magical creatures not of this world. We know they will come again.

There are a dozen of us left standing, most wounded. I look around and see, really see. Past the husks of men standing in the jungle, past the trees and the rocks and the sky. Any other unit would throw in the towel, pull back and try to get some breathing room. But we are Rosasi, so we get wired. I look at Kareph, I look at Wessel, they understand. Cold grins of death are frozen on their faces. They nod. The Rosasi move out, werewolves with guns in their hands. We hit the perimeter running as all the horrors of hell it seems, rush up to claim us.