Participants:
Also Featuring
And Introducing
| Scene Title | Legion |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | We are many |
| Date | Nov 14, 2011 |
Six Days Earlier
A place
It’s all dark. Except for the screens. It’s not a room. But it is a space. A space where things are seen where thoughts are received, where commands are given. In the screens, lives are being lived. In different places, different sights, different sounds. They aren’t screens. But they are windows. Windows into lives being lived. Or lost. In the middle surrounded by these ubiquitous, floating, windows stands a man in nothing but something. Maybe he does not stand. But he is there.
Brian Winters observes the windows.
Welcome to the hive.
In a window, the gaze can see a woman in Horizon armor hurtling a flaming whip down towards his midsection.
Disconnect!
The order is given and the window closes as Brian turns, Dong-tian is being fired upon by giant robots in the Ark. Brian is being shot at by Nazahat forces, Ark forces, Lashirah is setting off a bomb, children are being shielded, get on that snow mobile, fire that gun, snipers go, the bomb went off…
Disconnect there… Disconnect there
His conscious flicks between windows of those bodies that are about to die. Turning them off but then.. Lashirah’s C4 went off in an enclosed space.
The space shudders as all windows go black for a split second. His mind reels pain coarsing through him, through all the windows, it hurts, it hurts so bad.
Make more, keep going
More windows appear, to the right, to the left..
Disconnect!
Windows flicker in and out as the battles rage on. And so it goes for hours, a frantic spin of the conscious managing the multitude of lives in the network. It keeps going…
Until it stops..
Now
There are eight windows. Most of them are dark. It’s night out in the world.
For the purposes of this, I’m going to be referring to all of me as we. Us, our, we. As if we were a group. Or at times you, as if we were not me. Because I feel this is important. And I don’t want to lose the significance of this over worrying about pronouns. I should also mention that our good friends have agreed to drop all blocks for this. That should be noted, going forward.
Pollepel Island, Bannerman's Castle
This is harder than I thought. Just talking to myself. But I feel like I need to. Because frankly. You need to be talked to. I think you’ve been waiting for some old wise soul to come alongside you and show you what you need to do, show you who you need to be…
The moonlight shines through the window, catching Samara’s face just so. Brian leans against the wall across from her with his baby daughter cradled gently in his arms. Her head nestled into his chest. Swaddled in a blanket little Ali Elula rocks slowly in her father’s embrace.
And it doesn’t seem like anyone’s coming does it? So that’s that. It’s gotta be us. We have to sort this shit out. We have to get it sorted right here. Right now.
Ali makes a soft sound that gives Brian pause, his eyes raising to the sleeping woman in the bed. At peace that she is still fast asleep, he turns his gaze to the troublemaker at his chest. One thumb getting captured by her tiny little hand.
Because if we take a look around… Shit’s getting serious.
Brian rises to his feet, mindful of the baby as he nears the sleeping Samara. "Mommy's tired." He whispers, gazing down at the baby and his fiancee below her. His eyes grow moist just at looking at the pair. Asleep. Safe. Near.
We have people counting on us. Good people. The best people. Samara is a ray of light this world doesn't deserve.. Because this world..
The Bay House, New York
The world is getting worse not better. What does that mean? It means people are getting worse, not better…
The Bay House is cold and dark on this New York night. There are no lights to be seen. So little life in this place that was once full of childrens’ laughter, and just general joy. The door is locked behind him as Brian walks in holding two heavy bags in each hand. He pauses to take a breath. The bags are heavy.
There’s a lot of people doing fucked up shit. And you know how people respond to that? A lot of people get stupid. They do something dumb, turn a wrong way, act how they shouldn’t
The door to the basement creaks open as Brian thuds down the stairs hauling his two heavy bags in the dark. Stumbling on one of the steps he grunts, slamming his shoulder into the wall.
You’ve done plenty of stupid things. And not just stupid. Morally reprehensible.
The bags are set down at the bottom of the stairs as he takes a deep breath, hands on his hips.
You’ve done some horrible shit.
Picking the two heavy bags back up they are brought over to the car sized object covered in blue tarp, the hum of electricity getting faintly louder as he approaches.
And that’s not something we can forget…
A motel, somewhere in the midwest
Your past deeds do not define you. That guy who left the knife behind, who got Theo stabbed. That’s not who you are. What you did to Chang, to Chesterfield, Elvis, Strauss, Deckard, that one dude you shot cause you were scared… Damn it’s a long list. Not to mention people you've just harassed, teased.
Brian sits shirtless on the side of the cheap mattress. The hazy too bright yellow light from outside piercing the paper thin curtains and hitting Veronica’s face just so. His elbows rest on his knees, chin dipping into his hands. A black bible sits on the nightstand illuminated by the fuzzy light…
They don’t define you but they’re a part of who you are. You were a scared little boy, clinging to an idea of Jesus when you found out you had abilities, you didn’t feel like you had a family so you came here to find one?
The bible is picked up as Brian lithly stands from the bed, careful not to disturb Veronica from her slumber. The small black bible is held loosely in one hand as Brian steps up to the window of the motel room. The curtain pulled back slightly so that grey eyes can look over the roadpass town outside..
I guess it worked out.
Brian looks down at the bible in his hand, before dropping it onto the window sill. Winters turns to walk silently among the dirty carpeting, moving the length of the bed. Stepping quietly to the bedside he goes down to one knee, bearded face leaning in quietly to plant a gentle and slow kiss on the side of Veronica's face.
Ferry Safehouse, Canada
“Come on, let us try one more time.” Joe is insistent, and the children behind him gain resolve on account of how firm he is. Brian Winters glances from the child up to Monica standing not too far away with a hockey stick, then back down to Joe.
“Tomorrow. Go to sleep now, wake up real early, we can play all day tomorrow. Now let’s go.” There’s a stern firmness at the end of his sentence opposed to the friendly demeanor of the beginning. Brian swats Joe’s back to get him moving. His hand then swats Paul, and Lance and some of the others to get them following the disgruntled boy.
Calling out a thanks to Monica, Brian goes about cleaning up the pucks and equipment under the night sky.
You have a whole lot of family now. And that’s why this is important.
Brian goes to one knee as he watches the Lighthouse Kids, huddle off, tease each other, confide in each other, and laugh as they head off to their dormitories. Winters places down the hockey stick he had been holding.
You are incredibly important now because they are the most important.
Bandon, Oregon
You’re not a general, you’re not a hero, you’re not a resistance fighter.
Brian’s toes run through the moonlit sand of the beach. He smells pretty bad, covered in dirt and dried sweat. His toolbelt still fastened around his waist. His back leans against the white stone of the structure behind him. His eyes transfixed on the peaceful waves before him.
You’re a shield. And if you need to be a wall of corpses that they can hide behind, then that's what you need to be.
His hands rest palms up, completely exhausted from the days work. He practically melts into the sand, his head lulling back to see the structure from the earth behind him, standing proudly over him.
And it’s about time you get your shit together.
A lighthouse.
The Bay House
It's time to grow up.
Paint discharges out of the cannister, giving the metal another coat of orange.
We do whatever it takes to protect our family. Whatever family that may be.
Black paint begins to stripe and inlay over the orange.
We drop petty shit. Grudges. Revenge. Little boy shit. You're a father, you need to act like one.
The spray begins to write letters in black over the orange.
You need to be a better one than all the examples you've seen. You have the tools.
Brian Winters lifts the mask from his face as he steps back. The dimly illuminated machine sprawled before him in the Bay House basement still wet with paint. His lips curl into a smile at the monstrosity before him. A hunter drone painted orange with black stripes like a tiger. On the side of it sprayed on reads SHERE KAHN. Brian takes a step back placing his painting supplies on the ground.
So do what you have to do.
"Shere Khan. Activate."
Blue sensors blink to life.
Location Redacted, Southeast Asia
The ski-doo spits out water behind it as it bounces against the choppy ocean current, glinting in the mid-morning sun. Brian Winters pushes the vehicle to higher speeds, the wave runner jumping across the surf like a skipping pebble.
We'll be smarter. We'll be tougher. We'll make more plans. More contingencies. We're getting our families out of harms way and we're keeping them away from all the bull-shit.
The waverunner's whine dies down a bit as the throttle is lessened, the craft zooming towards the grainy beach. Sliding off onto the sand, Brian hops of the side, feet pressing in against the wet shore. Putting his back into it the young man heaves against the weight of the wave craft, pushing it further onland. Satisfied with the distance between the skidoo and the surf, the young man lets out a breath as he turns and sinks into the sand. Leaning back, letting the sun play over his dark glasses.
All that said. I ask again. Those that aren't with us… I ask you to reconsider and come back to the fold. If you do not then I ask you respect our vow to Samara and keep your blocks up.
Looking over the water, to the outcropping islands Brian smiles lightly. Many are lost. Many are gone.
We soldier on. We fight for our family. We are many…
A woman's voice sounds out from behind him and Winters turns around and straightens, heading towards the small house shrouded by giant palms on the small island. Slinging the bag over his back he heads in to his house.