Unexplained Absence

[Breaker]

Solo.

"Joshua Cronen... Dajas Pagoda Master. I like the sound of that."

A buoyant spirit resided within former Special Agent 016573 that day. The council of Ai'Bron in Scara Brae had ruled him the victor after a bloody battle with the half elf Shadar. Months of hard work toiling in the lowest Hierarch position had finally come to fruition. They rewarded Josh with two weeks off and a new arena, not to mention a higher pay grade and social status. A trip to the fast-moving city of Radasanth seemed in order. As usual, the warrior decided to begin his sojourn in the city with a stop at the Citadel.

"Gotta' check up on the other Ai'Bron monks. I wonder what kind of arena they'll stick me in today."

The usually hard packed dirt road squished and squirmed beneath his strange black boots. It had been raining almost perpetually for the past week, but not even the unceasing drizzle could dampen his soaring spirits. The rain fell in a grey mist as he sloshed up a tree lined hill, the Citadel's shimmering spires visible in the distance despite the curtain of precipitation. Josh had long since become used to his superhuman senses. He could hear individual insects moving all around, harmonized occasionally by the scurrying of small woodland creatures. The sounds of nature had become the soundtrack for his life. It was because of this that he immediately noticed an extremely un-natural sound.

He stopped, the metronome like squish-squish of his footsteps vanishing with a sucking sound into the muck. His ears quivered minutely as he focused on the sound. A human breathing, softly, just beyond the tree line. Without hesitation he stepped off the beaten path and slid down towards the forest. The muddy incline made a perilous drop to anyone less acrobatic than the martial artist. He hit bottom and sank up to his knees in aquatic undergrowth, senses on the alert for injured travelers. Like a hip wading fisherman he pushed through the mire. Inhaled, smelled the air. Amongst the millions of forest aromas the scent of a human stood out. Again he heard the breathing. Strange. It sounded calm and controlled, not what one would expect from a wayfarer in peril.

"They must be unconscious, or--"

Josh froze in his tracks. His eyes had been roving constantly and finally lit upon something out of place. Expertly camouflaged in the loam, an oddly familiar long, thin shape lay.

"Is anyone there?" He called, concern in his voice. But his mind raced. The shape in the grass looked very much like a rifle barrel. He blinked and took a step closer, then heard a noise as bizarrely familiar as the rifle. It was the hissing of a CO2 canister.

Abruptly he gagged and choked, pitched forward into the swampy terrain. His eyes widened as he saw the tufted fletching of what was unmistakably a tranquilizer dart protruding from his throat. His first thought was that whoever fired the dart would get an unpleasant surprise, as most paralyzing poisons merely gave him a headache. An instant later he felt his eyes closing and his senses dimming. A single, impossible thought resided as he lost consciousness completely.

"Whoever fired that dart... knows who they're dealing with."

[Breaker]

Discomfort reigned supreme as Joshua tumbled through his subconscious. Nothing seemed quite real. Shapes moved around him, monotone voices that made slurring sounds echoing from every angle. He remembered the forest, the rifle, the dart, but couldn't tie them into his present whereabouts. Impossible faces too familiar for comfort swam in and out of focus, flitting around like impatient grim reapers. The discomfort grew until it became unbearable. He tried to writhe, but couldn't move. Something snapped noisily nearby, jarred him. Then reality seemed to drop away and he fell asleep once more.

~~~

Josh's eyes flicked open with liquid laziness. He turned his head, eyeballs rotating in their sockets, taking in as much as he could. A mountain of a man dominated the room; a large revolver held rock steady in one hand, the barrel squared at Josh's face.

"Try anything, and I'll paste you pal." The big man rumbled. Josh ignored him. Kept looking around. He was shackled to a hospital cot, an IV needle embedded deep in his right arm. He followed the tube but couldn't make out the writing on the drip bag. His eyes weren't working properly, so he closed them and tried to think. Modern medicine meant Earth. The Colt Anaconda the big guy held meant Earth. "Has this all been a dream?" The question couldn't be answered before he passed out again, dead to the world.

~~~

Awake. This time his eyes snapped open, stared at the angelic face before him. He said nothing, didn't try to think. Just stared at the apparition. Slowly his vision adjusted, sharp eyes piercing the gloom. He inhaled, smelled a musty odour that correlated with what he saw. A storage room in a broken down old warehouse. No decorations besides the cot he lay chained to and the IV drip mounted adjacent. The only other person present could not have been who he thought it was.

"Genny? Fuck me, it can't be you."

Genvieve Aneed nodded, smiling through the tears that pooled in her eyes. She had been the head agent at the UCA, Josh's old employer, back on Earth. Hope burst throughout Josh's body. It must have shown in his eyes.

"You're still on Althanas, Josh." Just hearing her voice again made it worth the circumstances. He studied her briefly, forcing himself to ignore her curvy figure and focus on body language. She looked tense, stressed. He swallowed the hours of questions he longed to ask her. Became the professional who had vanished from Earth so long ago.

"What's going on Genny?" He watched her pull a similar mask over the violent emotions that churned beneath the surface. She responded in an equally level, calm voice.

"I'll assume you've already figured out the jist of things," she said, speaking rapidly, "but this is what you don't know. The UCA is dead. We were taken over by a multi-national organization called Intelligence America. Only a few of our best agents got to stay on. Mostly, they were after the portal technology that brought you here. As far as we know, you were the only test subject to make it through alive. Now they've stabilized the portal though, and the first order of business was sending a team through to find you and... Run some tests."

Her eyes flicked tentatively to his right leg, and Josh followed the glance. A splint and heavy cast wrapped the limb thickly.

"Genny, what the hell?"
"They realized your body has become stronger than most. They ah... wanted to see how much weight your bones could carry."
"How much was it?"
"A lot."
"No kidding. What did they shoot me with? The trank dart?"
"That was a horse tranquilizer, at full dose. It would have killed anyone else."
He laughed, and said, "I've become a regular tough guy since I came here."

Genvieve leaned over him, pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. For an instant the contact blasted away the years they had spent apart. For an instant, Josh felt like everything would be all right. Then the moment ended. She moved away.

"I can't help you escape, Josh. But I have one favour to ask you."
"What's that?"
"When you do escape... come back to rescue me."

[Breaker]

Genvieve left, and Josh assessed his surroundings once more. He could read the writing on the IV bag. "Morphine. How long have I been out for?" The bag was empty, and he felt more alert by the second. A door opened somewhere outside his line of vision, the hinges only whispering. Probably freshly oiled. Clipped footsteps announced a new presence. "Not Genny." A man in a white lab coat stepped into view. His face made a perfect picture of impassiveness. The whitecoat yanked the needle from Josh's arm and wheeled the IV stand away. The door opened and closed, then the man returned. Josh met his gaze levelly, refused to speak first. After a minute the whitecoat sighed and broke the silence.

"The next phase of your assessment is about to begin."
"Assessment?" The single word sounded more like an order than a question.
"Yes. We're curious how long you can stay alive"

With that cryptic statement hanging in the musty air, the whitecoat left. For a moment there was silence. Then Josh heard footsteps. Heavy breathing came next, the sound of many men. Josh realized he couldn't actually see the walls of the room through the darkness. Had the men been there the entire time? He inhaled, smelled sweat and cold steel. The men bore weapons and an air of violence. "Time to get out of these chains."

Josh bunched his powerful muscles and strained, but could not generate enough leverage to break free. "Right. Plan B." While the employees of Intelligence America had removed his shirt, they had left the breaker boots on his feet. "Probably weren't strong enough to undo the clasps," he thought grimly. An instant later the hollow metal legs of the cot snapped and the mattress crashed to the floor. With a single thought Josh had activated one of the enchantments sewn into his boots by the alchemist Tinker Rythadine. In the space of a moment each boot had gone from weighing next to nothing to a hundred pounds. With the cot's legs broken Josh had little difficulty in sliding the shackles free. He stood up gingerly but found his damaged leg not actually damaged at all. "They must have brought in a healer. The bastards are resourceful alright." He bent down and pulled a prevaldia dagger from its hidden sheath in one boot. Cut away the cast and splint, then moved on to the chains. The superior metal combined with his superhuman strength made short work of the cuffs, which clattered to the floor.

The men still advanced, coming from all directions. Close enough now that he could count their heartbeats. Twelve, a round dozen. "They must have trawled every tavern in the area to find enough knuckleheads to do this." As the thought crossed his mind, all twelve men stepped out of the shadows, forming a loose circle around him. "And so we begin."

Josh became a whirlwind, too fast to catch and too powerful to destroy. He threw the dagger, not bothering to watch as it buried itself in a tall swordsman's throat. The room rang with the sound of metal on metal as he kicked the chains and remnants of the cot in all directions. The men scattered momentarily, some felled by the heavy steel links. Surprised by the quickness and efficiency of the onslaught, they were caught on their heels. In the instant they took to gather themselves Josh bounded to the nearest condemned, a short heavy man with a broken nose. He killed him with a vicious elbow to the temple, heard the skull crack in on itself. Three men bunched together and charged him, spear points ready to reap his flesh. He tossed the corpse effortlessly, bowling the attackers over. Again his boots became heavier than they appeared and he spun in tight circles, legs flashing one after the other in a variety of lethal kicks. Spears, swords and skulls alike crumbled beneath the power of his attack. Almost before it started, the fight was over. Josh couldn't be certain if any of them had struck him before dying. Their weapons could not penetrate his steely muscles.

Anger filled him. It was not his fault the men had died. His captors had condemned them when they put them in the same room as him. The wasted life fuelled his rage as he threw back his head and roared a challenge.

"Is that the best you can do? Go back to Earth, you godamn bastards!"

As the echoes of his shouts faded, a dangerous noise filled the air. The gentle hissing of CO2 canisters. Memories of the tufted dart filled him even as he heard the whispers of several weapons firing. The assessment was far from over.

[Breaker]

Years of training honing his instincts paid off in full. Josh hit the ground, heard tainted darts whiz through the air where his body had been milliseconds before. Locked in a deep focus he could hear the whine created by each tufted missile, feel the disruptions in the air as they passed over him. He rolled in a blur until he found the discarded cot mattress and slipped beneath it. A series of muffled thumps followed. He counted them off. "Four darts in the mattress, four snipers in the darkness. They must have infrared goggles to shoot this well." A little surprise slid along the outskirts of the void. These were no tavern-hired brawlers, but trained soldiers. It seemed strange for the corporation to waste such valuable personnel. Josh began to build a mental profile of Intelligence America, and it became more dangerous by the moment.

Using the mattress like a turtle shell, Josh crawled along the floor, propelling himself with elbows and knees. He stopped briefly to retrieve his knife from the dead swordsman's eye, then kept moving. No more darts came. The snipers were well trained, not about to waste ammunition or give away their positions by firing a shot. Josh could not place the sound of the CO2 canisters, for the hiss seemed to be coming from every direction. A few seconds of crawling later he could hear two men breathing, though. Calm, steady, regular breathing. One man prone, the other standing. Well trained, but they had never experienced anything like him.

With a sudden burst of energy he flipped the mattress toward the prone sniper and jumped at the other. Heard a muffled yell of surprise as the mattress landed on top of the first soldier. Directly following came a series of spits as the standing sniper fired again and again, tracing Josh's trajectory through the air. The leap had been a powerful one, carrying him twenty feet in the air before landing square on the sniper's shoulders. The man's spine cracked and he crumpled, but Josh grabbed him as a human shield, turning to fend off the darts coming at him from the opposite side of the room. One struck the paralyzed sniper in the chest, the other caught Josh's tricep. He tugged it out, feeling a little faint. "Keep moving damn it!" A second great leap sent him crashing into the prone sniper, who had just gotten out from under the mattress. He struck the man at the knees with a flying tackle; brought him down and transitioned into an ankle lock at snapped the man's leg like a dead twig. Before his victim could scream one of the breaker boots crashed down on his throat. Josh tipped the mattress on its side and got behind it, then examined the dead sniper.

He took the infrared goggles from the blank eyes and fastened them onto his head. His superior vision coupled with the technology of the goggles allowed him to finally appreciate the vastness of the room. It was not a small storage space as he had first thought, but the massive main room of a rundown warehouse. He peeked around the mattress and saw the remaining two enemies advancing in identical crouched positions, weapons at the ready. All four had been armed with CO2 pistols, smaller versions of the rifle he had been shot by before. He went prone with the captured pistol in both hands, allowed the mattress to fall on top of him. The advancing soldiers fired, but their target was too small. Darts whizzed by overhead and on both sides. Some joined the growing collection porcupining the mattress . Josh breathed out, lining his eyes up with the dot-and-points aimer on top of his weapon. He had not used any kind of gun in a long time. It didn't matter. The snipers made large, easy targets. He fired a double tap, the briefest pause in between the two spits as he readjusted his aim. The men fell almost simultaneously, the dart tufts protruding from their chests like white flags of surrender. Josh stayed where he was. There would be no shouting challenges this time. Instead he waited patiently for whatever would come next.

His eyes drooped slightly, but he forced them open. Clearly these darts possessed a smaller dose of animal tranquilizer than he had first been shot with. Then an idea came to him. No matter what kind of tests they ran, these people couldn't possibly know everything about him. The pistol clattered from his hand as he slumped flat on the floor, feigning unconsciousness.

"Maybe I can give them a little surprise, for a change."

[Breaker]

Doctor Jared Addison stood with his arms crossed, facing the bank of monitors. The screens each showed a different angle of the same thing; Joshua Cronen, the primary target, unconscious on the floor. Addison was ecstatic. The target had risen to and far surpassed his expectations. Young, intelligent, and impossibly powerful, Cronen would make an excellent weapon. The doctor kept his expression stoic despite his racing mind. It was important to remain professional at all times when surrounded by his underlings.

"He's quite something, isn't he sir?" Addison's aide remarked. Addison inclined his head briefly then changed the subject.

"How is the weather? We need to keep an eye to the horizon at times like this."
"Of course sir," the aide replied, "It's raining harder than ever, but the sewers are designed for storms like this. And the lightning is still a ways off. We should be fine for days yet, sir."

Addison nodded again. He pursed his lips, thinking. Further assessment of the target could wait until his training began. They had learned much by examining Cronen's body, and even more from his performance against the soldiers. "With the right tools, Cronen will be unstoppable," the doctor thought, allowing himself a small smile. But they still had much to learn. The target had spent over a year on Althanas, and become superhuman in that time. Addison’s greedy heart growled at the idea of an army of super soldiers. Time to learn everything Cronen had learned in his time on Althanas.

Addison's bald head gleamed as he turned to his aide, his expression once more deadly serious.

"Take two guards with you, get him on a new cot, and inject the sodium pentothal. I'll be in once it starts to take effect."

The aide nodded, a little fear in his eyes, but he hastened away respectfully. Some fools feared the use of sodium pentothal, but Addison knew the power it afforded him. He rubbed his hands together and resumed watching the unconscious weapon on the screens.

[Breaker]

Josh lay limp as the guards lifted him onto a cot identical to the one he destroyed. The tranquilizer actually helped him play possum, relaxing his muscles. His eyes stayed shut lazily but he heard every word that passed between the white coated aide and his disciples.

"Sodium pentothal."

He had never witnessed an interrogation in which the truth serum had been used, but knew the UCA had kept a stock of the powerful drug for extreme circumstances. Genvieve had told him stories, though. Mostly just pillow talk, but he got the idea that being injected with the stuff was thoroughly un-enjoyable. Besides being chemically forced to tell the truth, it put people through nightmarish emotional pain. He had to concentrate hard to keep his body relaxed. Focused on slow breathing and listened some more. The guards took up a post by the door as the aide prepared a syringe. Josh heard him flick the plastic tube, checking for air bubbles. An eternity later the slim needle pierced his arm, injecting straight into the brachial artery.

Tension built in his mind as he waited for the drug to take effect. His head turned away from the aide, he opened one eye and again had to corral himself to avoid leaping off the cot.

The bodies were gone. He had killed sixteen men in that room, and they had all vanished without a trace.

"How is that possible? I would have heard something. Unless they were an illusion, like the magic in the Citadel. Not that it really matters..."

So smoothly he barely noticed the change, everything stopped mattering to Josh. He didn't care if he lived or died, or if he ever got out of the warehouse. Emotions seemed like a waste of time. In the distance he heard two more people enter the room. A medium sized man and the lighter footsteps of a woman. Both middle aged, if their scent betrayed anything. The information washed from his mind like water through a sieve. Why should he care who came into the room. Then he heard a new voice.

"Has it seized him?" A woman's voice, unfamiliar, deep but definitely feminine.
"Yes. We can begin now, but I'd rather try a few test questions first." A man's voice, slightly gravelly. Someone who took himself too seriously.
"Go ahead," The woman responded.

Josh felt a hand on his forearm, then the gravelly voice addressed him.

"What is your name?"
"Joshua Cronen."

His own voice seemed to come from outside his body. Why not answer the questions?

"Is there a scar on your face?"
"Yes."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-four."

The hand withdrew from his arm and the deep voiced woman spoke again.

"Are you satisfied now?"
"Yes," the man replied. He sounded pleased with himself. "Put him under."

For a moment Josh felt as if his head were melting, and then the world spun out of control.

[Breaker]

Everything about the room spoke of comfortable familiarity. The cheerful drapes thrown shamelessly wide to let the moonlight spill in, the color complementing shag rug that left a thin strip of hardwood bare next to each wall. The freshly christened sheets that smelled clean despite the sweat soaked into their layers. The smiling faces of mutual friends that gazed out from picture frames on the walls and bedside table. And Genny, curled against his side like a loving cat.

Everything in its right place. She laced her fingers playfully through his, nuzzled his ear, and nipped his neck. Josh sighed, a long expulsion of breath from the bottom of his lungs. He rolled and pulled her against him. Blissed out for a moment as they kissed, then grunted when she bit his lip. His arms bulged as he crushed her in retaliation. Genny laughed, a musical triad, and then fought back. A brief grappling match further mussed the already disturbed bedspread, and inevitably ended with her on top, straddling his waist. Josh grinned. Such was the curse of going to bed with a jiu jitsu blackbelt.

"What's the matter Cronen? Can't fight a girl?" She teased, running an elegant finger down his forehead to trace the scar on his cheek. He reached up and caressed her face with a calloused thumb. Brushed tangled hair away from her glowing brown eyes.
"It's not that," he joked, "I just don't want to give you an inferiority complex."
"Oh shut up!" She laughed again and tried to punch him in the chest, but he caught her wrist, twisted it gently and rolled on top of her. She clasped the back of his neck in both hands and pulled him down for a brief kiss, then broke it off. Their eyes locked in a long moment of silent communication, and then she broke the magic.

"Josh, how did you develop superhuman strength and senses?"
"What?"

He felt staggered, slightly breathless. Reality seemed to flicker. "What is she talking about?" The memories came to the surface like bubbles bursting in a fish tank. Althanas and everything he had experienced there. "But that hasn't happened yet. What the hell am I thinking? Hasn't happened yet? What's going on?"

Genny's grip grew painful and impossibly vicelike on his neck. Her eyes that had been so warm and loving pierced his skull now. He could barely breathe, fighting the grip and the piercing glare as best he could without hurting her. She opened her mouth, but it was not her musical voice that he heard, instead a bizarrely low female tone.

"How did you develop your superhuman powers Cronen? Have you made contact with any of the Gods? ANSWER ME!"

The pain in his head became blinding and the bedroom dissolved.

Josh thrashed wildly on the cot. Tears poured down his temples and breath choked in his throat. His skull seemed to contain a series of rampant explosions, flashes of ice and fire that seared to his soul. He caught a glimpse of a heavyset woman with wild hair standing next to a bald white coated doctor. Then the pain wracked him anew and everything went black. As reality vanished he heard the gravelly voice of Doctor Jared Addison as if from far away.

"Double the sodium pentothal dose, put it in a drip with morphine. It's not working. Yet."

[Breaker]

Former Special Agent 016573 slept, emotionally and physically drained. The amount of morphine in his veins could have relapsed an entire rehab clinic. Every so often he shook violently, eyes staring blankly at nothing, then fell limp once more. The sodium pentothal still ravaged his system, and the night was far from over.

Doctor Addison watched with a smug expression on his face. It was an act, of course. He felt nervous. The heavyset woman next to him gave him the creeps. She was an Althanas native, a powerful psionic. Her garish appearance intimidated him as much as her magic; wild tangled hair grew from her head in all directions like twisted brown straw, and she kept a gap toothed smile pasted on her face at all times. She reminded him of an alligator in that way, but wore a pitch black evening gown elegant enough for a royal ball. Addison cleared his throat. He needed to say something.

"Ah... Miss Cirward--"
"Call me Cyndine, darling boy. I think we can afford to be on a first name basis."

Addison stifled the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. A first name basis was the last thing he wanted to be on with this witch. Well, one of the last things. He smiled forcefully.

"Cyndine, then. What exactly are you doing? And er... why isn't it working?"

The grin she gave him was patronizing, but at the same time it could have melted steel. It melted the fake smile from his face, so he tried to look respectful and inquisitive.

"Some things take time darling. I'm delving into his mind, you know. Calling up old memories and manipulating them to make him answer my questions. That silly drug you’re giving him is helping a little, I suppose. It weakens his resolve. But he's a strong boy. Not the strongest I've encountered, but still... perhaps you should inject him again?"

Addison practically sputtered, feeling his heart skip a beat.

"Again? No! Christ, he should be dead from the amount of truth serum we've given him! If you injected a bear with half of what's in his veins, it'd tell you how bees make honey!"

Cyndine Cirward cackled and patted the doctor on the shoulder with a scraggly nailed hand.

"Very well dearie, very well... I'll just change my strategy a little. May I proceed?"

The word 'yes' died on Addison's lips as he realized the question had been rhetorical. He ran a hand over his bald head and wiped sweat onto his coat. He couldn't wait for the interrogation to be over, so he could get away from this woman.


Beneath closed lids, Josh heard the entire conversation. He based his performance on what Genny had told him about sodium pentothal years before.

"Genny... oh God. That wasn't really her. It was that bitch playing with my head."

The truth serum ran through his veins like liquid fire, wracked his head with worries and doubt. He wanted to die, oh Christ he wanted to die. But a small voice of reason kept him awake, kept him going, kept him fighting. It played over and over again like a broken record. Genny's voice, thick with worry.

"Come back to rescue me... rescue me... rescue me..."

The voice vanished along with the warehouse and his concept of being as once more the witch's power pierced his brain.

[Breaker]

Josh ran, thin legs and arms pumping. An oversized backpack bounced heavily on his shoulders. His breath came in erratic gasps like those of an asthma victim, but still the young boy pushed himself. Across the lawn, up the front steps and through the front door. He kicked off his shoes then stopped, went back and straightened them perfectly on the rubber tray. Dropped his backpack in the closet and burst through the living room door. He came to a stop on the dirty linoleum, clutching a stitch in his side, trying to stand up straight.

"Dad! I'm..." he doubled over, panted for a few seconds then straightened up, his face skewed in pain. "I'm home, Dad. Dad, I'm home."
"You're late Joshua."

His father sat in the recliner, matted black hair pasted to his skull. Josh couldn't match his father's stare, the hazel eyes were like solid chips of flint. He looked at the drink in his father's hand instead. Whisky with lime, he knew for certain. The ice had melted, the glass almost empty. Gerrad Cronen's hand tightened on the highball, thick muscles standing out on his arms like rope wrapped around a ship's mast. The boy stood, shaking slightly from exhaustion, still breathing hard. Awaiting the verdict from his father.

"You're ten minutes late. So drop and give me ten."

Without thinking he hit the floor, skinny arms working like pistons to propel his slim form up and down. His chest burned so he focused on the numbers, counting the push-ups in his head.

"Five, six, seven eight--"

A sinewy foot crashed into his ribs and he sprawled against the wall. The boy scrambled to a sitting position, staring at a stain on the floor. It hadn't been a hard kick. Just a love tap, really. "Could have been worse," he told himself. His father towered over him and finished his drink.

"Haven't I taught you anything, Joshua? God damn it, haven't I taught you anything?"

There was real pain in the man's voice, mingled with the anger. Josh curled his legs against his chest, trying not to cry.

"Well? What have I taught you son? I know I've told you a million times. Damn it, what have I told you?"
"You told me always be ready. Always be aware. I'm sorry Dad."
"That's right! It doesn't matter what the fuck you're doing! If you're working out, taking a shower, or fucking some bitch, you gotta' be ready to fight at all times. Never drop your guard, do you understand?"
"I understand Dad. I underst--"

The boy cut off as his father swung a wide, looping roundhouse punch down at him. He stayed in the fetal position and rolled, between the tall man's legs, then rolled again, and leapt onto the sofa where he cowered against the soft cushions.

Gerrad Cronen chuckled as he turned to face his son.

"Not bad, boy. I tell you what, someone taught you pretty damn well. I taught..."

Reality flickered for a moment, then solidified.

Gerrad trailed off, a strange look in his eyes. A moment later his knees buckled. Joshua screamed as the empty highball glass shattered on the floor and his father fell amidst the remains. The dark haired man clutched at his chest with his right hand, his left seemingly paralyzed. The boy raced to his father's side, kneeling despite the glass that gouged his shins. He felt blood trickle into his jeans as he cradled his father's head. Tears poured openly down his cheeks now, his voice high pitched, the pain in his chest forgotten.

"Daddy! What's wrong? What's happening? What can I do Daddy, what do I do?"

Through pained gasps Gerrad managed to tousle his son's hair, then slapped his face.

"Get... ahold of yourself Joshua. Get... get me the phone. I need to call... a doctor. I'll be fine. Get ahold of yourself."

All pain forgotten, Joshua ran to his father's room, grabbed the cell phone off the dresser and turned back. He navigated the house by touch alone, blinded by tears that wouldn't seem to stop. He made it back to the living room and collapsed by his father's side. But something had changed. The world seemed to flicker.

"Who trained you, Joshua? Who taught you to fight?"
"You did Daddy, please, call the hospital, I brought the--"
"Don't get smart with me boy! I mean on Althanas. Who trained you there? Someone must have."
"Dad, I don't know what you mean..."

But he did. Visions of himself as an adult swarmed his mind. Tall and powerful, confident. And a magical land beyond the Earth. His father struck him again.

"Tell me who trained you Cronen!"

It wasn't his father's voice anymore. A low pitched woman's voice issued from the fallen man's mouth. Josh scrambled backwards in terror until he slammed against the wall. The adult version of himself seemed to be calling in his mind, giving him advice, telling him what to do. He sank to the floor, buried his head between his knees and covered his ears. His shrill voice rang throughout the house as he screamed in defiance.

"I won't! I won't tell you, I won't tell you, I won't tell you--"

Reality flickered, and the room disappeared.

[Breaker]

The cedar floor made a pleasant thump each time one of his sneakers came down on it. Josh paced the length of the pub and took the last seat at the end of the bar. The sole attendant acknowledged him with a wave from across the room. He was busy waiting on a couple who had seated themselves in a booth. Josh's calloused fingers drummed on the countertop as he waited, matching the rhythm of Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb. The pub had an old fashioned juke box that pumped the mellow rhythm with a calming bass. Fake electric candles gave the room a cheesy but comfortable ambiance. Just a bar, really. He had never patronized it before, probably never would again.

The bartender arrived, looking a little hassled but bearing a friendly grin. Short grey hair covered the man's head and chin in equal proportion. Josh returned the grin.

"What'll it be stranger?"
"Crown Royal with lime, on the rocks."

The older man nodded and turned away, but stopped when Josh kept talking.

"Whoa, hold on. You've gotta' be kidding me. Here I wait till the day after my nineteenth birthday to walk into a bar and order a drink, and you're not even gonna' card me?"

The barkeep chuckled, a deep booming sound, as he poured whisky over ice and squeezed a few drops of fresh lime juice on top. Swirled the drink around and set it on the counter next to his customer's drumming fingers.

"Eh, you look nineteen to me. Either way I'll have to take your word for it, 'cuz I'm a little understaffed at the moment."

With a broad wink the server hurried away to take someone's order. Josh chuckled to himself, then sipped the drink. Swirled it a little more to mix the citrus in with the booze. A few drops splashed over the edge of the glass onto the sleeve of his baggy sweater. Josh had selected the garment specifically because it concealed his broad shoulders and sinewy muscles. He figured the less intimidating he looked, the more chance he had of getting into a bar fight. He sipped the drink again. Winnipeg offered few distractions to a young man. But at that moment that a very attractive distraction sat on the stool next to him.

Josh pretended to stare into his drink, but his eyes wandered to the auburn haired beauty perched next to him. A black cotton skirt spilled to her knees, showing off long, slim, muscular legs. A matching blouse bulged slightly; top buttons open to display generous cleavage. Her graceful neck led to full lips and piercing brown eyes. Which, he realized, were focused on him.

"What do you do for a living?" The young woman asked abruptly. Josh took a gulp of whisky then gave her his most endearing smile.
"I was about to ask you the same question, beautiful." She arched a thin eyebrow at his jesting insinuation then leaned closer to him. He could smell the perfume on her neck, something flowery and more intoxicating than the whisky. He very consciously did not look down her shirt, instead matching her firm gaze. She spoke in a hushed tone for his ears alone.

"I'm a special agent for a semi-military government organization. We've been watching you, and I'm here to offer you a job. If you walk out of here with me, your training will start tomorrow."

Josh laughed quietly and took a sip from the glass. Placed it on the counter with a decisive thud and mirrored the girl's posture, leaning close to her.

"You're not one for foreplay are you? Don't you want to know my name before you start... offering me jobs?" He laid a heavy insinuation on the last bit, mischief in his eyes. The serious expression on her face never changed.

"Joshua Cronen, turned nineteen yesterday. Father died a year and a half ago from cardiac arrest at--"
"Hey," he growled, "That's enough."

He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. She had recited the information like she had read it off a printout twenty seconds before entering the bar. His eyes flicked warily to the front and rear exits, but he detected no threats. With an effort he put the flirtatious grin back in place.

"Look, I've got a personal rule that I don't accept job offers without knowing the employer's name."
"Genvieve Aneed." She answered crisply. Josh nodded graciously.
"All right, Genvieve. If you let me buy you a drink, I'll consider your offer."

She looked at him for a long moment, and some of the professionalism drained from her face.

"I've got a personal rule that I don't date my underlings, Cronen."

Josh felt at a loss. He had tried very hard not to take her seriously, but she persisted. "Could this be what I've been waiting for my whole life?" He wondered. He had a decent job, good friends, and endless amounts of free time he usually spent working out. A fine life, but it wasn't going anywhere fast. What Genvieve had offered might give him the direction he lacked.

The brunette saw an opening in his hazel eyes and pounced on it.

"Your psychiatrist, Dr. Wells, referred you to me. We could go to his office right now if you like. I'll explain everything there."

It was Josh's turn to arch an eyebrow.

"You know Barnaby? Jeez Genvieve, you really should have started your sales pitch with that bit."

The special agent blushed and Josh saw the first of many genuine smiles brighten her face.

"You're right, probably. Cut me some slack here Cronen... You're my first recruit."

The room blinked lazily, and a nauseous feeling rose in Josh's chest.

"Just one question," Genvieve continued, but her voice had grown unnaturally deep, "Who gave you your powers?"

[Breaker]

Sweat soaked through the armpits of Jared Addison's lab coat. What was taking so long? Cyndine Cirward stood like a statue at his side, eyes locked shut, knuckles white on hands that clasped tightly together. Cronen on the other hand thrashed like a man possessed, eyelids fluttering open occasionally to show nothing but pure white below. Spittle foamed from the former special agent's mouth. He had already fallen off the cot twice, and finally Addison ordered he be chained in place. After doing so the guards had left him alone, too frightened to stay. For Addison the event was like a train wreck; it terrified him, but he could not leave. His curiosity and fascination required satisfaction. Unfortunately, he had passed a very boring half hour. When the door to the large store room slammed open, he was glad for a distraction.

His aide rushed into the room, white coattails flapping behind him.

"Sir, the se--"
"Shh!" Addison hissed, placing a finger to his lips. He didn't know if loud talking could disrupt Cyndine, but decided not to risk it. Besides, it felt good to be giving orders again.
"What is it? Why have you abandoned your post?"
"Sir," the aide began again in an exaggerated whisper, "Sir, the sewers are backed up! This building is close to the lowest points in the area... sir, it looks like a pond out there. The locals have already evacuated, and we need to do the same!"

Completely disregarding his own order, Addison cursed at the top of his lungs.

"Shit! Damn it to... never mind, we've got to get moving. Get a few men in here; have them pack Cronen and the cot into a cart. Leave the equipment, it's replaceable, but Cronen isn't!"

The aide hastened to obey, but hesitated at the door, his eyes on the frozen Cirward.

"Sir... what about her?:
"I'll deal with her you moron, now move!"

As the door slammed shut, Addison worried about what he could do with Cyndine. He did not worry for long.

The witch's eyes snapped open and she staggered backwards, a bloodcurdling shriek erupting from her throat. Addison caught her and nearly crumpled beneath her weight. Like two amateur wrestlers they staggered about, clinging to one another before Cyndine finally caught her balance. She breathed heavily, gasps that threatened to split her dress at the seams.

"Curse that boy! He beat me. How could he? Curse that wretched boy!"

Addison opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a gasp of horror. The scream of shattered chains echoed throughout the massive room, and moments later Joshua Breaker Cronen stood before them, trails of blood running from his nose and ears, and murder in his eyes.

[Breaker]

Breaker's eyes snapped open. The visions of the pub and his childhood home had faded. But the memories remained. All the pain he had felt built in the back of his mind, pushed there by a carnal desire for vengeance. His muscles bunched with new power. The chains were no match for his wrath; links burst and the shackles slithered to the floor. He stood up slowly, testing his balance. He could feel his system overloading on adrenaline to dull the effects of the drugs. Hands balled into fists of their own accord, he took a single, menacing step towards his tormentors.

"Stay away! The guards are on their way! Don't touch me!"

Addison's voice no longer sounded gravelly, but high and shrill as he cowered behind Cirward. A piece of human filth, but he wasn't lying. Josh could hear the rushing footsteps carrying many men through unseen hallways. Too many to count at that distance. Too many to fight, if they brought more tranquilizers. Breaker didn't think his bloodstream could handle much more abuse. For a moment he stood rooted to the spot, a dark blue vein pulsing in his temple. In that instant he burned two faces into his mind; Jared Addison and Cyndine Cirward. Somehow he would find them, and make them pay in flesh. With one final glare he turned his back and ran to the wall.

At full momentum he struck the wall with a heavy front kick. A resounding boom ran through the warehouse. The wood splintered a little, but the wall did not yield.

"Reinforced with steel. They prepared for me... but they won't have padded the ceiling."

He went up the wall like a spider, magical boots providing footholds, fingers finding imperfections to gouge. Splinters jammed beneath his finger nails but he raced ever upward. Below he heard soldiers pouring into the room and the all too familiar hiss of CO2 canisters being activated. "No time to stop." He reached the ceiling and struck it head on. Shards of wood fell away, tumbling to the floor far below. He reared back and struck again in a snakelike motion, the hard dome of his head breaking through this time. Water poured from the hole, soaking his hair. He powered upwards and hauled himself onto the roof.

The storm raged with the full fury of the heavens. Driven raindrops slammed his bare chest and face in sheets. Only the magic of the breaker boots kept him from being yanked off balance.

"Free... at last."

Breaker looked around, sizing up the area. The roof ran at a steady slant, a long lightning rod protruding from the very middle. A fire escape ran down the far wall. He had only taken two steps towards it when a man's head came into view. A pair of massive shoulders followed, then long gorilla arms. The man was a giant in human's skin, at least six inches taller than Josh and much broader. In one ham-sized fist he clutched a Colt Anaconda, the barrel levelled rock steady at Breaker's bare chest. The giant grinned, a sickly sight. He shouted over the wind and spattering rain.

"Thought you'd escaped eh Cronen? Think again! If I don't bring you down they'll send up an army. It's in your best interest to come quietly."

Breaker did not listen. He had suffered too much at the hands of these people to risk falling back into their clutches. Instead he waited for the inevitable opportunity, and when it came seized it with maniacal desperation.

The wind changed directions, and the giant slipped, his gun arm waving wildly. Josh moved towards him, but not fast enough.

Boom!

The revolver's report rolled like thunder. The Colt Anaconda packed six .44 magnum shells, an extremely powerful round. In the muzzle flash Josh saw the bullet ricochet off him, felt the tremendous impact drive him backwards. He staggered and fell to a sitting position, back against the lightning rod. The bullet had failed to pierce his chest plate, but done its deadly work just the same. He felt his heart flutter once, then fall into cardiac arrest.

"So this is what it's like to die for real. No Ai'Bron monks to save me this time."

The bizarre moment of lucidity ended and his eyes closed. Rain battered his lifeless body as he sat slumped on the warehouse's roof.

[Breaker]

The giant man lowered his revolver and stuck it in the back of his belt. He was confused. He had heard stories from the higher-ups about Breaker's impregnable skeleton, but he hadn't believed it until he saw the bullet bounce off the man's bare chest. Is he faking? The giant wondered. He moved closer and crouched down in front of his fallen enemy. A little blood leaked out of the black hole in Breaker's chest, but the harsh rain rinsed it away. The giant was no doctor, but he knew more blood would be pumping out if the heart was still beating. A lot more. He scratched his cheek, pensive. Never having learned how to properly check a pulse, he placed a meaty palm on Breaker's left pectoral. Nothing. He pushed a little harder. Not the slightest palpitation. Joshua Cronen was definitely dead. Must have been the impact trauma, he figured.

And then the unthinkable happened.

A bolt of forked lightning slashed down from the sky. It collided with the lightning rod in a shower of sparks. For an instant the steel rod glowed brilliantly, then white hot pain seared his palm and the giant found himself blasted backwards. He landed like a tree trunk, steam rising from his palm, eyes wide in disbelief.

Booom!

A consuming clap of thunder followed on the lightning's heels. The sound seemed to wake the soldier, for his eyes shot open. He gasped, choking on his own saliva, a new crimson stream trickling down his chest. His back burned painfully and his chest ached, the sign of deep bruising to come. But he was alive.

With frantic energy he shoved himself upright onto wobbly legs. His mind raced. He couldn't seem to organize his thoughts. "Where am I? Who am I? What the hell is going on?" The lightning bolt had jolted his heart but scrambled his memory as well. Rain blinded him and faces flashed through his head as he heard scrambling footsteps climbing the nearby fire escape. One face seemed to stand out before all others in his mind's eye, a black haired man with hard eyes. With the image came a string of commands.

"Enemies on the stairs! Be aware, never let your guard down. Escape, survive!"

No time to think, no time to plan. The soldier ran with renewed vigour to the edge of the rooftop and jumped. A leap of faith, he put his trust in instinct. For a brief moment he rose against the rainfall, and then plummeted straight down into inky darkness.

He hit the water like a stone. "Water?" The low landscape had filled like a basin, creating a pool deep enough to break his fall. Muscle memory forced him to splay his limbs, and without thinking he swam for the surface. As his head broke into the air he sucked in a deep breath, and the oxygen in his lungs gave him the energy to keep moving, keep fighting. Where he was going, where he had come from, he couldn't be sure. But at that moment he was alive, and he would overcome any obstacle to stay that way.

To be continued... (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=13520)


As this thread is the first part of an ongoing saga, I request that I receive no spoils or GP rewards at this point.

[Bloodrose]

* STORY ~ 19

Continuity (7) ~ I like how you tied the start of this thread into your character's becoming a Master at the Pagoda, and the way you kind of allude to this being the reason for his "absence" is a nice touch. It got the thread off to a smooth start character storyline wise, and didn't drag my interest down with tons of backstory and information at the same time. Nice job.

Setting (6) ~ While I think you could maybe use a little work in the describing of your settings, you certainly make up for that with your utilization of Joshua's surroundings. In his eyes every object around him serves some dual purpose as a weapon, shield, or tool, and it's nice to see you use the setting not only as a "where" but also as a "how." Put a little more work into brining the settings to life with little details that Joshua might pick up on, you'll only improve here.

Pacing (6) ~ I'm not sure if it's just your writing style, or if maybe it's your character (possibly both), but this thread read just like an action movie. You got right into the quick and the dirty of things really early on, and then it was almost non-stop action from there on out. The reader's here get bits and pieces of backstory into Joshua's memories, but just like in an action movie, these sequences felt a little hollow and left me wanting more. On a side note, the transition between sequences was fairly jarring, but I didn't dock you much for it since it felt like maybe you did it on purpose to emphasize that Joshua's mind if jumping around just as much as the story does.

* CHARACTER ~ 19

Dialogue (6) ~ Joshua's inner dialogue, when it was used, was your saving grace in this category, as they provided a good glimpse into the way he thinks and processes his surroundings. Dialogue between characters wasn't much in the way of memorable, but was functional for the purpose of the thread. Now, that doesn't mean every piece of conversation in the thread has to be a memorable, witty, original masterpiece. Instead, I think you might benefit by emphasizing a little more on [i]how[i] something is said, complete with body language, actions, that sort of thing.

Action (7) ~ I would have been pretty disappointed if an "Action Hero" type character like Joshua had failed to supply the action in this thread. That said, you ramped up the action with fight scenes throughout, and while Joshua's powers are fairly unbelievable in the real world, you utilized those powers fully. Outside of the fight scenes you did a little less fantastically, but nothing that really demands mentioning.

Persona (6) ~ There were some bits and pieces of personality here from Joshua, but like more action heroes, he still feels a little...oh, I dunno...hollow, I guess. He feel and reads just like a badass super-powered special agent should, but there is plenty of room to get who Joshua Cronen is, as a person, involved in the action as well.

* WRITING STYLE ~ 28

Mechanics (8) ~ Fairly solid throughout. You seem to know what your doing, so I'll keep the comments here to a minimum. While more of a preference thing (and I didn't dock anything real here), I would encourage you to put another return whitespace between lines of dialogue. You do this for regular paragraphs, but you seem to neglect it for conversations, which makes it a little more of a chore to keep track of who's talking.

Technique (6) ~ Pretty average here, but not without plently of effort at trying something out of the norm. The flashbacks were a nice touch, and my only hope would be to see them fleshed out a little bit more. I gave you a bonus point for the scene with Joshua's father, because that one offered a real glimpse into perhaps why Joshua is what he is today.

Clarity (7) ~ Aside from a bit of the bouncing around between Sodium pentothal induced sequences and losing track of what was going on during the action scenes a couple times, this was pretty solid. My only note here is that if you are going to move the action along at such a blistering pace, make sure to give the reader enough material to keep up with what's going on. You did pretty good on that point throughout most of the thread, but there were a couple spots where I pulled a "Wait, did I miss something?"

* Wild Card (7) ~ Overall, this was a quick, fun read - and I enjoyed it.

TOTAL = 66

016573 gains 2250 EXP

GP is withheld by request, with special purpose in mind.

[Witchblade]

EXP added!

016573 reaches level 5!