Portal Breach: The Collision of Worlds :: v.4.0


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Day Three

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Mortis
Petabyte

Petabyte

Posts : 893
Join date : 2014-03-22
Location : Deadworld
Level : 60

Character Sheet
Defense Bar:
65/65  (65/65)
Health Bar:
650/650  (650/650)
Stamina Bar:
120/120  (120/120)

Day Three

Post by Mortis on Sun Aug 16, 2015 2:28 am

Time: 12:00 AM
Date: August 14, 0006

Creeeaaak...

Leathery fingers wrapped around the edge of a wooden door, the paint beginning to peel and flake under their touch. hinges groaned and feebly protested as Mortis pushed it aside, dust roiling up in its wake as he opened the house to the night air. Immediately a stale scent hit him, the evidence of a place long since abandoned. Yet, he could still feel a presence within the old farmhouse. Psychic and overwhelming with supernatural influence, the previous tenants may as well have never left with how strong the aura was.

He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. Bare feet softly thumped against carpet as he meandered into the living room, looking around at the neglected interior. Despite the abandoned nature of the house, left to sit for over a year, Mortis could not see a single sign of anyone breaking in, or even any evidence of animal life of any kind attempting to make their nest in the walls or flooring. However, he could detect that someone else had indeed been here, at least for a short while. Clawed hands brushed over the dust covered arm chair, revealing a past both known, and until recently, unknown. Some sort of ghostly alien had decided to try and escape the sun within their abandoned, humble abode.

His hand lifted from the cloth of the seat's armrest. So long as they were no longer here, Mortis cared little about who may or may not have decided to have a look around. not when his own thoughts were so preoccupied with other, far more pressing matters.

Jealousy.

It's taste still lingered within his mind as he wandered about the house, glancing within the living room before making his way towards the kitchen. The glowing red pinpricks within his eye sockets were the only source of light to be seen. No matter which angle he looked at it, the emotion did not fit within any of his thoughts. He knew the reason why Fear was with Kev, he knew how much blending in what the population mattered towards gaining the trust of the populace and by extension making it easier for them to turn the tables when everything was set in place. Still, despite this knowledge, it lingered in the back of his mind, like a faint shadow that never quite went away no matter what angle the light would shine upon it.

It was all frightening, to say the least. Jealousy, in itself, was fearing to lose what one had. He had no reason to worry about losing Fear, he would not forsake him for any reason whatsoever. Whether it be for the sake of a cause, their laws, or even something that they could not prepare against, Fear would always be there for him. Yet... his thoughts over the past couple of days suggested otherwise.

There was a chance he would lose Fear, but not in the traditional sense. Mortis held not a care should his brother find a lover and be swept off his feet by him, or if he should sweep them off theirs. In fact, he would dare say that he already found one, if not for the binding agreement. It was good that Fear was branching out, it was good that he was finding someone to confide in, to have some fun that did not pertain to their duties. After all, there had been a saying; "all work and no play makes jack a dull boy." Fear had not treated him any differently than he had in the past either... So where was this fear coming from?

Inwardly, he knew the answer, he had even considered it since the time that his feelings for the fellow Judge started to seep to the surface of his thoughts. He was afraid of losing Fear to their own regulations, as silly as it sounded. However, it made all too much sense as well. Justice Department code of conduct strictly stated that office romances were strictly forbidden, and that included what went on outside of the department, in the streets. He was afraid of losing his brother's respect, how he viewed him within his many eyes. He feared his brother would view him as biased, as suffering from a personality defect and therein unfit for duty. If he was unfit for duty, their plans would fail, he would fail as Fear's only remaining brother.

His thoughts turned back to the dimension's inherent nature as he opened one of the drawers and started to rifle through it. If everyone kept returning to life, what purpose was there in their laws? How innocent were the dead, truly, when those that were undead were far more willing to stand up for their living counterparts and refuse the ones that wished to protect them? This was the true reason of his decline in focus, he knew. He had known for a while this was the case. The longer their lack of purpose stretched on, the harder it was to keep his thoughts buried, to keep them where they should be. Purging, he had thought, would make it easier. It certainly had in the past, did it not?

Every little sinner laid to rest, every little death that accumulated from tens to hundreds to thousands. Every time he had looked back there was a body to track his progress by. Whether it be a simple strew of criminals laid out in a single room, to the piles upon piles of rotting corpses that laid at his feet when sentencing a packed hallway or open street. That was when he was at his best. Here... He was lucky to get two or three to stay where they fell. It was maddening, frustrating, when no matter how focused you were, how diligent you worked, there was nothing to show for it. Sinners returned after a week, sinners continued to breed and spread and conquer. They seeped from their graves, seeped from the streets and out into the wild, the seeped into the oceans and the mountains and all in between. They seeped just like he did. Of course, like anything left to trickle and drip for too long, it would accumulate, it would turn from a few insignificant drops to a puddle, it would grow louder, it would grow worse.

It would become noticeable, just like he had become.

he shoved a few odds and ends around in the drawer and pushed his claws deeper, probing for something. There was a familiar sound of his talons coming in contact with a laminated little paper container, and he immediately snatched it out.

A pack of cigarettes, opened, but not emptied. What a lucky find for him (and how predictable), that the cultists would be so careless as to forget such a luxury. Happily he fished a cigarette from the pack and brought it to his teeth, gently clamping it between them while he produced a lighter from his utility belt. With a click, there was a bright flame and the tip of the cancer stick was lit before the steel plated device was extinguished and returned to his belt.

They were stale, certainly, though the Dark Judge could neither tell nor give a care about how fresh they were. What mattered was the memory.

Speaking of which...The ghoul's thoughts returned to the matter at hand. This jealousy, it had to be a byproduct of his listless inactivity, his failure to find anything worth keeping his mind off of his less lawful desires. It would only make sense. Love in itself was a form of poison, distracting and addictive, jealousy and envy were only the fumes that emanated from it. So long as the two went hand in hand, it was only inevitable. Of course, he knew their upcoming scheme's final stages would be enough to fill the void that it produced, keep him busy long enough to not think about himself with another, to be distracted from the tantalizing fantasy of himself and Fear. However, there was always the possibility of defeat. Always, since they had first tasted it at the hands of Mega-City One's Judges, it had been there.

Here, it especially lurked. Behind every cloud of digital code, in the guise of every ISO, seen or unseen, in the eyes of every citizen they encountered. There was always a possibility of defeat at their hands, and what it brought up.

What happens when there is no longer a worthwhile distraction?

Mortis took a deep drag and sighed heavily, smoke curling about his skull in a rancid cloud. Indeed, what would happen?
avatar
Mortis
Petabyte

Petabyte

Posts : 893
Join date : 2014-03-22
Location : Deadworld
Level : 60

Character Sheet
Defense Bar:
65/65  (65/65)
Health Bar:
650/650  (650/650)
Stamina Bar:
120/120  (120/120)

Re: Day Three

Post by Mortis on Sun Aug 16, 2015 11:29 pm

Time: Morning

What would happen if there were no more distractions, their duty rendered completely moot should they face failure?

It would be no different than if they were in Mega City One, came his mind's knee-jerk answer. They would go back to the drawing board, contemplate something else. He would find a way to keep himself occupied with his work, whether it be searching for a crack in this dimension's methods of continuously sending the dead back to the world of the living, or figuring out a way to keep them down there in the first place. No matter what happened, there would be a way he could keep doing his job, purging the living.

He had to.

If he wanted to ensure everything went as it should he needed to keep himself occupied.

There could be no end to their job, there could be no alternative. He paused, his past few hours pacing about the house growing to a halt as he stopped in front of the TV, staring down at it and in turn staring back at himself. Glowing pinpricks met his in the device's dust covered reflective surface, smoke curling from the tip of his snout as he took a drag and expelled it.

He knew exactly what would befall him should their job lose meaning, that shudder making itself apparent again. It meant all that he had worked so hard to keep under wraps, all that he was now struggling to keep under lock and key, would make itself fully known. His brother would know what he had been hiding, all the feelings, all the memories associated with them. He would know that he would not see him as merely a brother in undeath, a brother of the law. Fear would see it and he would be disgusted. He could already hear his voice, reprimanding him regarding their guidelines, their rules, everything that Mortis already knew and tried his hardest, for centuries, to adhere to. All of his work would be for nothing, all of his effort would be wasted. All of it because of a damned backwards dimension that could not let them work as they were intended to.

It would not let him focus.

Mortis removed his gaze from the television screen, resuming his pacing about the abandoned house. He would need to fix all this, and quickly, before he grew any weaker. Above all, he would need to fix himself before Fear found out anything else that he did not need to know.

Yet...

The Dark Judge could not help but feel a shiver of dread creep through his mind at the alternative to letting his guard decay and wither. What would it mean to be without his memories, to go through the rest of his existence without feeling the way that he did? Would he have any mental facilities intact should he go through with this psychic lobotomy? He would still be able to think for himself, he still would be able to carry out their duties. He would still be Judge Mortis, one of four Dark Judges, he assured himself. He would not let himself go and destroy everything that held him together. It would just be what needed to be removed, it was not so much a lobotomy as it was a preening. Yes, that was a better word for it. He was going to just trim away the fat and leave what was important. Nothing else would be disturbed, everything would go swimmingly.

His dread still lingered.

What if there were other memories that attributed to his feelings, things that were not secreted away in that thick mental vault? A question from an anxious mind, to which Mortis took another drag and puffed a cloud of smoke in reply. There was no answer, there was no way to be sure. He only knew the feelings he had were stuffed away where he had left them, and they stayed there. He knew that the vault was the source, and should he clean it out, there would be no more feelings to linger upon, to worry about spilling out into the open. In exchange, he would become a better Judge, he would be completely unbiased and willing to carry out any task that his duties required of him. He would become perfection and Fear would appreciate him for it all.

He would appreciate how much he had worked.

He would appreciate how much better he performed in the field.

What he would so willingly sacrifice would be for the greater good, whether it be short term or extend far into the long term. Again his anxiety prodded, what would happen should Fear not like what he saw upon his return? What if the change had been all for nothing, his leave proving pointless?

Simple, it would not; He told himself. It would not be pointless, and even if what he turned into managed to shock Fear, he would learn to work with it. After all, Mortis would not be getting in the way of their duties, he would not be letting his emotions get the better of him. He would not be showing so much weakness around those who could prove to be their enemies. Perhaps Fear would even grow to like the new him far better than what he was before. Either way, nothing he would do during his two-week leave would be in vain, that he was assured of. Now, if only he could summon the courage to even begin to prepare for the entire process. he would need some place quiet, that he knew, some place where he could prepare himself, meditate and focus on moving forward. Where could he stay in this place that would allow not a single distraction from his work, still as a graveyard and silent as the grave?

Immediately, his thoughts turned to the basement. Down there had been an absolute center of diligence and focus, nary a soul bothered them in its depths as they had worked and experimented with Dead Fluids. This place would just as well serve as his own mental laboratory, a tomb where he could go through his change in peace. Mortis moved to the basement door, taking another drag and puffing the smoke out in the hall as he lingered before it.

This is it, the moment he went down there, he would not return until the deed was completed, or until he ran out of time to complete what he sought out to do.

That thought rang in his vacant skull as his fingers twitched, a hand hesitantly moving towards the handle of the door. Long talons scraped over the brass-plated steel and his fingers soon curled to grasp it. However, no sound of the knob turning or the click of the door latch mechanically moving aside to grant him access was heard. Perhaps it would not be such a bad idea to say one last goodbye to his brother, to maybe bring down the barrier once more to better explain himself before he went through with the process. Fear would do the same thing should he have to go through a similar process, right? Ah, but he already did, didn't he? Three days ago he had already said his final words, explained his intent to become more stable. To bring down the barrier and say it again would be redundant, Fear would be annoyed at his inconsistency, to be sure. He had plans to make, schemes to prepare before they went to their final fruition.

He had better things to focus on, more important things.

Mortis took one more drag on his cigarette, burning it down to the filter before knocking the remains back into his skeletal mouth. Pressing the still smoldering smoke to the roof of his mouth, he extinguished it before swallowing it down. He opened the door and stepped into the dark of the basement's stairway, pulling the way closed behind him with a click.

There was no going back.




End of Day 3
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