D Cide

Participants:

alia_icon.gif

Also Featuring

dcrypt_icon.gif rebel_icon.gif

Scene Title D.Cide
Synopsis After poking around and getting Rebel's attention, Alia finds herself confronted by the technopath gestalt itself.
Date January 27, 2010

Fort Greene Apartments


Electronic devices possess a music all their own; the hum and whirr of hard drive plates spinning inside metal casings, the white noise of a box fan whirring inside of a desktop PCs case, the distinct high-pitched whine of a cathode ray tube television warming up, the buzz of a cell phone on vibrate. In that way, Alia Chavez' apartment is somewhat like a digital concert hall where she is the conductor.

It's in this relaxed state, slouched back against the comfortable cushions of her sofa where the news of the day flows past and around her through the sea of information networks. But despite how safe and secure she feels in her home, there's a sense of anxiety about the electronic state of affairs, a sense of anxiety and insecurity about the digital domain both within and outside of her walls. Something is out there, and has been watching her.

Alia leans back on her couch, checking the nightly email and what not. It's been a day or so since her big fright with the 'morphing' image. She's keeping her guard up, or rather, her computer's guard up. Firewalls, tracking software… She's not making it easy for someone to get in, but she never has and it didn't slow the last one down. That has her worried.

The stereo across the apartment abruptly comes on from a bookshelf near the door, just radio static that breaks up that elegant electronic symphony with its roaring hiss. The moment Alia's attention is settled on the radio's sudden noise though, it turns off, and the television clicks on in the middle of showing Scooby Doo and Shaggy running through a series of halls being chased by a poorly animated robot. Then the television clicks off, and the screen on her laptop has changed to display that CDC electron microscope image— her computer loaded the website by itself?

Alia frowns at the sudden barrage of noise, the intrusion… this was the one place she let her hair down, now she doesn't feel safe there alright. Someone, or something, had gotten inside. Not that she doesn't have a solution for that, but she's not exactly fond of the idea… It's a simple thing to open a notepad window and type in a simple message, simple even for her. What do you want?

The response does not come from the notepad window, a messaging client, or anything on her laptop, but instead from the speakers of her desktop computer, the television, and the stereo nearby. "To talk." The voice is familiar to her, the same three-layered voice heard on the audio broadcasts encoded in the encrypted images, one deep and bass-filled voice, a higher pitched one, and a midline voice in the middle, each with slightly different speech inflections.

"You are like us, in more ways than one. You are new, untested, unmeasured."

Alia is less then thrilled about THIS development. The TV she could cut from the outside with one power switch, same for her desktop… The stereo however was a completely separate circuit, and it's only connection to the outside world WAS radio waves. She doesn't speak even as she considers what is going on, and how much about her whoever this 'us' is would need to know to pull this stunt off…

"You have nothing to fear from us." Quotes the strange cacophony of voices emanating from the electronics that have speakers, all in unison, "We are cut from the same cloth, in a way. But the colors of our fabrics define our relations, and thus it has led us to wonder, who are you, in relation to who we are?" The ovices seem to be migrating, leaving one appliance in favor of all of them moving to the television. The screen flickers, pixelates, bluescreens and then pops back on with a broadcast showing archival footage news broadcasts from the day of the explosion in Midtown from 2006, a rapid-fire display of live camera footage of the fires raging out of control and gutting through New York, horrible images of burning skyscrapers and plumes of black smoke choking out the sky.

"The world has become a dangerous place. No one of us can be an island, Miss Chavez." The voice comes solely from the television now, and at the end of that sentence the images displayed are all replaced by nothing more than a blue screen, where some of the pixels on the television screen have burned black and distorted, showing a palm print on the middle of the television screen, like someone was pressing on the LCD from inside.

"We are Rebel."

Alia sits back a little. "Lost parents. everything." She mutters. "Does it matter?" Her economy of words still shows. She looks at the 'palm print'.

"Everything matters in the end." It is a very zen way of putting things. "What matters most is what you do, rather than what you think or feel. Actions make memories, memories carry legacies. Inaction leads to invisiblity, leads to obscurity, leads to misfortune. Our kind cannot afford to langour in obscurity. We must be united as one, not disparate as unconnected parts working independantly.

The palmprint on the middle of the television screen pulses once, like ripples spreading out from a stone dropped in mirror-still water. "You can make that choice. You have a gift. We ask that you use it." The palm print pulses again, that same ripple spreading out from it amidst the blue glow of the screen. "Interface with the television's electronic systems, and I will explain further, and give you guidance. Or, you can turn the television off, and return to your life.

"I cannot force your hand. Ultimately, you are the arbiter of your own destiny." The voice echoes the sentiment through the apartment. "Though I would advise…"

"Choose carefully."

Alia mutters. "assumptions about ability. dangerous." She sighs, and prepares for a headache. Not that she doesn't already have one. Talking, is a mental workout. She pokes at the TV mentally. The bit she uses to 'read' data. She never has figured out the 'full' submersion. This might be a good thing right now.

The moment Alia connects to the television, it's like opening her apartment door and finding open sky.

There is nothing like the television inside, but suddenly the impossible sensation of vertigo from falling while still being seated. Her world tumbles, twists, inverts on itself and then changes to the most awe-inspiring displays. She can feel it, the irising lens that responds to her mental command. She can see the blue, white and green sphere floating silently in the airless vacuum of space below. Tiny little motions of her hands cause pressurized gas thrusters to make microscopic adjustments in positioning and guidance. For a moment it's overwhelming, she somehow got from a television to a satellite looking down on the earth. Her mind is thousands of miles away from her body.

It's like riding a bike for the first time, but with someone carefully holding the back so that it doesn't topple over. Alia can tell she isn't alone, can tell there is someone watching to make sure she doesn't falter, break anything, or see too much too, fast.

Welcome to the universe. Rebel's voice echoes inside of her head.

This isn't how she imagined spending her evening.

It isn't how she imagined spending ANY evening. Wow. Her lack of speaking normally is not hindering her ability to display an approriate 'awe' for the ride she just went on.

Alright. Alia— no, D.Crypt— this is definitely not Alia— not out here— gets her bearings. I … I think I might have got how you did that. What a rush. and what a view.

This is what is at stake. Rebel states simply, implying the world in his succinct explanation. This is what I need you for. Like suddenly finding that your eyes are not under your own control, the satellite begins zooming in with rapid speed and laser-precision accuracy, scaling down towards the ground, towards a destroyed urban center, towards the ruins of Midtown Manhattan and then finally to some large and demolished builing.

Alia can feel the presence of global positioning coordinates from the location, she can feel the guiding tethers of Rebel angling to her information from across the internet, it's too much for her to really digest at once, but pieces and snapshots of two bronze lion statues cross her field of perception. It's here D.Crypt recognizes the building as the New York Public Library.

This building holds secrets, and part of the key to what is happening in this world. You willingly took this, and now I will give you the push you need, to see how high the heavens can be.

The zoom stays focused on the library, close enough to make out individual pieces of rubble on the ground around it. Go there, go there and seek out Claire Bennet. Images flash across D.Crypt's vision, depictions of a blonde girl in her early 20s, pictures of a freight train crashed and on fire, pictures of a tattered Homecoming banner from some high school. Tell her Rebel sent you. Tell her you are there to learn why.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ends. The sensation is like waking up from a dream, an odd sensation of light-headedness and disorientation as Alia finds herself staring at the ceiling of her apartment, having slouched right off of the sofa to lay on her back on the floor.

All of the electronic devices in her apartment are silent.

Alia rubs her forehead a moment… the electronics had not been silent in her apartment since she had moved in. She sits up quickly, and, as a matter of course, checks to make sure everything is in one piece and working. After that she considers what was just asked of her. She considered her options… then took to asprin, and found her coat.

It was about to be an interesting night.


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