Trust and Consequences (Solo)

[Chucklecut]

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Zachary (http://www.althanas.com/world/showpost.php?p=158408&postcount=1)

Chapter One: Desire

"When I was a child, all I wanted was for someone to come through the door and tell me that it was all a Lie. That I was adopted. My parents weren't bad, they were just so... insignificant. I wanted to be more. I wanted to be special. I wanted to be important. But in the end, it was all futile. All my wishing, all my desire... the factory worker's son only became a Paramedic. My life would be spent watching people die. And it only served to remind me how futile it really was. Life is temporary, death eternal. I was meant for so much more than this."

[Chucklecut]

The complete disappearance of Highway six was his first clue.

The stars were his second. Having waited nearly six hours for some form of rescue the man now gazed up at the firmament above him, utterly puzzled. From the time he'd been a small boy, he'd always loved the stars. But here, he could see none of the constellations that were so familiar. There were no Dippers, small or large, no Orion, nothing. Wherever he was, it was far from where he should have been. But then, the landscape could have told him that. There wasn't a tree in sight, no roads, no cities. It was just... blank.

Every so often, he'd tap the transmit button of his shoulder-mounted radio and try to reach Dispatch. Nothing. Then he would dig the cellular phone from his pocket and stare at the display screen. Searching... searching... No Signal. In frustration, he would inevitably throw the phone. Fucking T-Mobile. Mobile, my ass. Should have gotten Sprint. Or something. A few minutes later, he'd go retrieve it. Piece of shit though it was, it was one of only two links to civilization that he had.

Though it did little to calm him or give him peace, he finally discovered what had caused his ambulance to crash. He'd feared that it was his fault, that the discharge of the defibrillator had gone through the rain soaked floors of the rig, and somehow managed to kill the engine. But luckily, or unluckily as it was, that hadn't been it. The cab had been crushed into splinters; James had been mutilated into several pieces inside of it. But it was the far side of the rig that held the answer. A giant hole was torn in the side of the ambulance, the edges still smoking lazily. Somehow, at the exact second he had discharged the defibrillator, a lightning bolt had struck the side of the truck. If that wasn't God expressing his condemnation, Zachary would eat his own blood-covered boot. Then again, the longer he stayed here, the more that boot would come to look like a delicacy.

Part of him knew that staying here was the best chance for rescue. But that same part knew there were other dangers to that. As the days wore on, he'd get hungrier and hungrier. And eventually, that hunger would drive him to madness. Two semi-fresh bodies were inside that truck. Both of them human. He wouldn't take that risk. He'd rather die of starvation out in the wilderness than lose what humanity he had left.

Grunting, he pulled himself to his feet. Lighting a cigarette as he walked, Zachary exhaled a thick column of smoke as he entered the back of the destroyed rig. The smoke did little to cover the smell of blood, death, and the onset of decay. It was a heavy smell, disgusting. Without any sign of discomfort, the paramedic kicked aside the corpse's hand and knelt to retrieve the medical bag that lay near it. He flipped the blue bag over, confirming with a glance that it was his. As always, the bag had stayed together through the chaos, the buckles holding firm. He opened it anyways, checking it thoroughly for any lost items.

When he finished, he straightened as much as he could without running his head into the ceiling... which was actually the side of the capsized ambulance. He sighed quietly. He needed to get into the med box. The box that was behind the corpse. Bending down, Zachary grabbed the man's shirt and started the process of dragging him away from the box. Fucking... fat... gomer... At a sufficient distance from the cabinet, the paramedic dropped the body. It hit the floor of the ambulance with a shudder, its head cracking loudly against the metal floor. No blood came from the fresh wound; the corpse had apparently already exsanguinated as completely as possible.

The paramedic stared at the corpse for a few minutes, his mind turning over those nagging but important thoughts that were so frequent now days. He knew that he should be upset. The man had been a patient under his care. He knew that he should be angry. The man had driven drunk, and could have killed someone innocent. And still, there was nothing. No anger, no sadness. Just as there was no discomfort. The smell, the blood on his hands and clothing; it meant nothing to him. He might as well have been filing paperwork, or maybe flipping a cheeseburger. His stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and it took him a minute to realize what he had just done. He'd been fantasizing about eating a cheeseburger while staring at a dead body. But then again, maybe it wasn't so strange. In essence, that's what the man was now. A spoiling sack of meat. Burnout.

[Chucklecut]

The med box opened with a little more effort than was normally needed. The hinges had bent during the crash. Several of the bottles inside had cracked, spilling medicine out across the other, unbroken vials. With exaggerated care, he began removing the unbroken bottles, storing them in a biohazard bag with sterile gloves as padding. It wasn't the perfect solution, but it would serve. When he had salvaged everything he could, he opened his paramedic bag, and stashed the medicine vials away. Snapping the buckles shut again, he slung the bag over his shoulder and jumped out of the ambulance.

The sight that met his eyes froze him in place and plastered a look of utter astonishment across his face. The distance was too much for any precise judgment, but he estimated one hundred yards or so away, a young boy ran through the waist-high grass. Only his chest and shoulders showed above the stalks, but it wasn't the kid that had absorbed his attention. It was what followed the boy that had dropped Zachary's jaw.

Now that he was paying attention to his surroundings, the vibrations of the oncoming horde of buffalo-like creatures rippled up through the paramedic's legs. And in a few seconds, those creatures would be smashing that boy to a bloody smear on the ground. What the fuck am I, a death magnet?

"Get out of the fucking way, kid!" Zachary felt stupid as soon as he was done shouting. Of course the kid was trying to get out of the way. He was running after all, not standing by waiting for the half-million pound wall of muscle to run him down. Re-arranging his thought process, Zachary tried again. "To the side. Run to the fucking side!"

As he watched the boy continue straight ahead, staying fully in the path of the massive animals' charge, Zachary realized that he could scream at the top of his lungs and the boy still wouldn't hear. This far away, the stampede already sounded like an earthquake. That close, it was probably like being stuck inside a thundercloud.

"Fucking, fuck, stupid fucking... fuck!" Gritting his teeth, the paramedic bent slightly like he had so many years ago in high school track. With a deep breath, he launched into a sprint. Though they had been dulled during his relative relaxation, he quickly became aware of every last ache and pain in his body. The crash and subsequent throttling had taken its toll. His back was in agony, his legs on fire with each step.

But those things quickly faded from his mind as he watched the herd gaining steadily on the boy. As he came closer, he started to realize how young the kid was. No more than ten or eleven, the boy reminded him of a nephew of his. Long blonde hair whipped in the wind with the speed of his flight, but he still wasn't fast enough. As Zachary watched, one of the forerunners of the pack reached the kid.

At that second, probably the single worst second possible for the doomed boy, something snagged his ankle. He went down hard, the grass swallowing him. A fraction of a second later, the animal's hooves pounded through the area. Fully expecting to see blood and gore spewing upward at any second, Zachary was instead rewarded. Just as fast as the boy went down he was back up and running, this time behind the charging beast. Somehow, its crushing legs had missed the boy. An exhilarated shout erupted from the paramedic's throat as he continued his race toward the kid. As the boy's face turned toward him, Zachary realized that he had heard him. The frantic child's course altered, and would meet Zachary's soon. It seemed to be a universal instinct of youth. When threatened, head toward the nearest adult.

The thundering of hooves and the shaking of the ground quickly stifled the excitement in Zachary's chest, and a glance at the stampeding herd crushed it altogether. Even after the boy had made it to him, the animals would still likely run the both of them down. Their course had changed as well, and they would intersect right where the two humans met.

Before he had a chance to rethink his plan or halt his headlong dash, the boy was slamming against his chest in a collision that was enough to bring them both down. Twisting on his feet, Zachary put his back to the charging stampede, cradling the boy in his arms. He might not be able to stop death, but he'd be damned if he'd let the boy look straight into it for his last few seconds of life. His arms circled the child protectively, offering all of the feeble strength of flesh to guard him. The boy's face buried into his neck.

And then the stampede hit.

[Chucklecut]

Confusion opened his eyes as a tingling sensation passed from his shoulder blades to his chest. His vision went dark, then abruptly returned. He found himself staring at a buffalo's ass, which did nothing to alleviate the confusion. It was speeding away now, still on a straight path away. Still staring ahead, he glimpsed a horn penetrate his chest and the boy's shoulder. A strangled yelp of fear escaped him before he realized he had felt no pain. A snout followed the horn. Eyes, a head. And then it was through, and the pair of huddling humans was still alive. Zachary did a double take, but found himself perfectly intact. What the fuck? His mind knew it was impossible. And yet, his eyes had observed it with perfect clarity. Either he was going insane, or he was going blind. Neither option appealed much to him.

Fingers dug sharply into his arms, and Zachary looked down at the boy. His pale green eyes were unfocused and staring through the paramedic's chest. Beads of sweat had gathered on the child's forehead. A spark of light deep in his eyes caught Zachary's attention. As he watched, the color of the boy's eyes darkened to a green so deep it neared black. The paramedic felt a change flow through his body; a feeling of steady weight. The ground around them cracked and dipped as if they weighed tons, rather than pounds. And then he felt the first jarring impact.

It slammed against him with enough force to gore any human. Though he swayed slightly, Zachary stood his ground easily. Blood entered his field of vision, a red halo that spewed outward around the contour of his body. And then one of the animals sailed over his head, landing in a heap and rolling ten yards away before coming to a stop. The carcass looked as if it had been hit by a diesel; Zachary would know, he'd seen enough run down animals before.

The next few minutes were a confusing shuffle, back and forth between the two extremes; the stampede alternated between passing through them and breaking over them like water on rocks. Zachary noted again that the boy's eyes were dilated and distant, as though fully unaware of the drama unfolding around them. Blood had filled the crater at their feet now, an inch thick pool that sloshed with the shaking of the ground. And then it was over.

The last of the buffalo creatures ran past, lagging a considerable distance from the rest of the herd. Last fat gomer crosses the finish line. Zachary sighed heavily, looking around himself. It looked as if a slaughter house had disappeared, leaving nothing behind except the slaughter: dead animal carcasses were strewn about in a half circle ahead of them. From what he could gather, none of the creatures had died behind them, only in front. The state of the bodies indicated death by massive force, as if they had charged head-long at a brick wall. The pieces started to fall together then, the ground cracking and dipping at their feet, the animals’ wounds. But even with the puzzle pieces right in front of them, he couldn't make sense of it. Standing slowly, the paramedic disengaged from the boy. The sense of heaviness he'd felt earlier faded away with the breaking of contact. This piece of the puzzle he could understand. The kid had done... something.

[Chucklecut]

The kid stirred, his eyes finally coming into focus. Standing in a bowl filled with blood as he was, it was altogether unsurprising that his first reaction was to bend over and spray the contents of his stomach out. Had the situation been different, Zachary would have put on his 'calm and reassuring face'. Instead, he only watched. Kid must have eaten some kind of rice. The smell of vomit quickly mixed into the air, though it wasn't powerful enough to dispel or override the scent of blood and death. The boy swayed dangerously but before he could start to fall, the paramedic steadied him. Though contact had been made again, Zachary didn't feel the same sense of weight that he had before. With his hand on the boy's shoulder, he made eye contact.

"You're okay. Ignore the smell, ignore the blood. Tell me what the hell just happened." Zachary's voice was soft, unlike his eyes.

"It's... I don't know. I was just playing." The boy's voice trailed off, his eyes starting to wander across the epic mess he had just made. Zachary shook him softly.

"Hey. Focus. What did you do that did this?" He knew his direct approach probably wasn't helping the boy, but patience and kindness were for people that had time. He had been waiting all day for some kind of answers, and all he had now were more questions. Less than a day ago, he had been driving down Highway Six going to work. Now, he had no fucking idea where he was. His partner was dead, his ambulance was a wreck. And the first person he had found happened to be a boy who could apparently twist reality. This day sucked.

"I don't know. Strange things happen around me sometimes." The answer was weak, just like the boy's voice. He was retreating into his mind. Zachary understood what was happening well enough. Emotional shock.

"Okay. Well, let’s go Harry." He managed to leave off Potter, though only just barely.

"Where?" The boy asked.

"Which way is Des Moines?" Zachary asked. He stared at the boy, who only looked at him blankly. "Big city, full of jackasses and vagabonds. You can't miss it."

"Vaga-whats?" The boy asked.

Zachary's irritation spiked. "Nevermind. Big city. Which way?" He had started using his 'this patient is a damn retard' voice without realizing it.

"There aren't any big cities around here. Ass." Apparently the boy was smart enough to pick up on The Voice.

Zachary opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped. The boy's eyes had focused again, and he sounded... closer. His anger was keeping him from slipping further into shock. The paramedic changed his game plan. "I may be an ass, but at least I'm not stupid enough to piss off a horde of cows. Now take me to your..." He fought the urge to say leader. "... mother."

The boy scowled at Zachary, but said nothing. He picked his way out of the bloody mess gingerly. The paramedic, on the other hand, stomped through it thoughtlessly. Scenes like this one weren't new to him. He remembered the office shooting in Clive. It had happened three years or so ago. Scenarios like it were common enough – had it not been done with a fully automatic rifle, he might not have remembered it at all. Back then, he had been horrified by the blood and bodies. Now, he was only numbly aware of the Human Race's affinity for making things dead. His mind had long since found a way to cope with the horrors he saw every day. That way had been to stop caring. When he thought about that day now, he only wondered how the man had gotten to the fourth floor without someone saying "hey, that's a big fucking gun, and there aren't any Bucks upstairs." How it had been missed was beyond his ability to ration away.

Finally feeling the need to sate his curiosity, the paramedic knelt down beside one of the animals. It had been disembowelled, its ribcage turned into an open can. Its upper body and head were propped up on something – closer examination showed that it was the creature's front right leg, crumpled into an impromptu pillow. Its neck had been snapped, its gored head lolling at a crazy angle. This close, Zachary could detect hints of reptilian biology. Its eye was cat-like, the pupil a vertical slit. The tongue that hung down from its mouth was forked. Its upper teeth were a mix of flat and sharp, suggesting a mixed diet of meat and vegetation. He would have checked the bottom teeth for a better view, had it still been attached. A quick glimpse around the area came up short. Wherever its bottom jaw had gone, it wasn't nearby. The smell of the creature reminded him of chicken for some reason. His stomach growled in hunger.

"Are these things edible?" Zachary asked over his shoulder. He heard a gagging sound, and swung around quickly. He would have liked to say he was worried, but the truth was he just didn't want to be puked on. The kid was pale, his face sweaty.

"Yes. The villagers will probably come out to gather them soon." He sounded faint again.

Instead of asking the obvious question, which was how a 'village' of apparent primitives had survived in rural Iowa, he decided to prod the kid again. "Well at least they won't have to worry about butchering them, since you've already seen to that." The words did the job. The boy's distant look was replaced with a look that showed just how pissed off he was. Zachary smirked as he stood, brushing blood off of his hands onto his pants. "Lead the way, Killer."

[Chucklecut]

The boy looked like he was going to argue, but Zachary shot him a look that quelled it. Whatever was going on, the paramedic was running short on patience. And he didn't have that much to begin with. He could feel an emotion simmering in his core, something akin to rage. This situation was ridiculous. His partner was dead, he was lost, and physics had taken the day off. This day was fucked, and his ability to cope with it was thinning. He was starting to wonder if he had knocked his head hard enough to cause these delusions during the crash. But if he had, it had left no mark and no pain.

The town wasn't as far away as Zachary had feared, thankfully. According to his watch, a little more than two hours had passed. The ground was loose with dirt, the grass reaching up past his waist; it wasn't a far walk, but it wasn't easy. By the time they arrived, his clothing was wet with sweat. Under the warm sun and the stimulus of his perspiration, the blood on his clothes began to stink again. He was only aware of it after he caught a glimpse of the boy's face.

"What?" He asked, frowning lightly.

"You stink." The kid answered. "You don't smell it?"

Zachary shook his head. "I'm a paramedic. I'm used to it."

"What's a paramedic?"

"It's an advanced level of EMT." Zachary replied. He stumbled slightly right after saying it, but caught himself. The dirt here was treacherous and uneven. Oddly, it was completely dry. He hadn't expected that after the storm last night.

"EMT?"

Zachary glanced at the boy out of the corner of his eye. "I work with nearly dead people."

The boy turned a startled look at him. "You kill people?"

"No! Well, sometimes. But not on purpose." Zachary answered. The boy was obviously still confused. But for that matter, so was Zachary. How could the boy not understand what a paramedic was? "When people are hurt, I try to help them. Sometimes I have to make risky decisions, and I'm not always right. Sometimes I accidentally kill people."

"So you're a killer." The boy replied. Zachary could tell from the tone of voice and the challenging stare that the boy was trying to return the debt; he was trying to sting back.

Zachary smirked as he looked sideways at the boy. "I guess so. But then if that's how you want to look at it, I'm the worst kind of killer."

"Oh?" The boy didn't look so sure of himself anymore, and he had eased a few feet away as they walked.

"Yup. I'm the kind that has extensive knowledge of how the human body works. I could kill with a needle no longer than your smallest finger. I can kill someone without them knowing it. I could also cause them to die slowly and painfully." Zachary smiled at the queasy look on the boy's face. "And since my job is to try to save people, I know exactly where my limits are. I know what can't be fixed. So you could also say that I have assurance – I know exactly how to induce death in ways that can't be fixed."

The boy had stopped walking, and looked absolutely miserable. "You're going to hurt me, aren't you?"

Zachary stopped and turned to look at him. "No, I'm not going to hurt you. I help people, not hurt them."

"But you could." The boy insisted.

"Yeah, I could. That doesn't mean I will." He answered. The boy was still unconvinced, and frowning at him. Zachary sighed. "I'm not defined by what I could do. I'm defined by what I choose to do. You could kill someone with a knife. Does that make you a killer?"

"No." The boy answered.

"Why not?" Zachary asked.

The boy didn't answer immediately. A calm wind sent shivers through the grass, carrying the scent of pine. From a nearby tree line, a bird called out in a trilling song.

"Because I haven't hurt anyone." The boy finally replied, apparently please with the answer.

"Well I've never tried to hurt anyone. I have, yes, but they were accidents." Zachary adopted his calm and reassuring face, complete with his entirely-convincing-but-entirely-insincere smile. "My job is to help people."

"But you don't like me."

"Sure I do." Zachary replied. He was starting to get annoyed. Now that he had been reminded, he did smell himself. He wanted to get to a town and get cleaned up.

"Then why do you keep saying mean things?" He asked.

Zachary sighed, then resumed walking. The boy would follow or not – now that he knew which way the town was, it didn't matter. "I said mean things because you were starting to go into emotional shock. Making you angry kept you from falling all the way into it."

The boy started following him again, only slightly to Zach's approval. "So you hurt me to help me?"

"Yep. In my job, that's pretty normal." His attention had moved on past the current conversation. He was steadfastly ignoring the well of memories the short conversation had brought up. As his eyes took in the tree line, his mind saw a hundred or more faces; bloody, broken faces. His ears heard the birdcalls, the wind, death rattles and flatlines. Whatever the boy saw in Zachary's eyes now, he knew that conversation time was over. They moved on in silence.

[Chucklecut]

Passing through the line of pine trees was somewhat of a relief; the shade was therapeutic and cooling, though as per usual, his knowledge lessened it. He walked slowly, careful not to disturb the branches. In his mind, he ticked off the diseases carried by common wood ticks. Lyme disease, Q fever, Colorado tick fever, tularemia, relapsing fever, babesiosis, ehrlichiosis, meningoencephalitis...

They emerged from the womb-like silence of the trees quickly enough, and Zachary swept his fingers through his hair and shook his head thoroughly. If the boy had noticed, he wisely kept silent on the topic. Absorbed as he was in preventing any unwanted cling-ons, it took him a few seconds to notice the town ahead. He halted mid-step, staring in stunned silence. Even from this far away – a good two hundred yards or more – he could tell that this was truly a village. There were no power lines in sight, no cars. What he did see made him wonder where the hell he was with more worry than before. What in the hell? Is that...? No. That is most certainly not a fucking horse-drawn carriage. But it was, and no amount of lying to himself could remove the cumbersome sight from his vision. Every house in sight was built of brick, the roofs shingled strangely. Zachary wasn't a construction contractor; he couldn't tell why the shingles were odd, only that they were. They reminded him of things he had seen from medieval movies like the Lord of the Rings, or that old TV Series about Hercules.

Everywhere he looked, Horses were being used as beasts of burden. People were dressed as if they had fallen off the set of some primitive, backwater planet on Stargate. Only, so far as he could see, there were no cameras. No cars. No cell phones. He had noticed the boy's clothing of course, but he had assumed that the boy's mother had simply let him dress himself for the day... and he had chosen a Halloween costume, or something. Zachary glanced at the kid again, and really paid attention this time. His shirt was dark green, but made of what looked like a sheep's ass. His pants, on the other hand, looked like they'd been a farmer's potato sack in a past life. Remembering the village, the paramedic assumed they probably had been. Literally.

Zachary looked up at the clear blue sky, noting a cloud that looked suspiciously like a hand with its middle finger up and sighed heavily. "I really pissed you off somehow, didn't I?"

"Huh?" The boy turned to look at him.

Zachary shook his head. "Nothing. Carry on, Mr. Potter."

"I'm not a potter. My dad is a hunter."

"Yey." Zachary's voice was quiet, but dripped sarcasm. "Now go on, half-stack."

Confused but undaunted, the boy started off across the open field. He had changed, now that he was back near his home. Though he was obviously still scared and upset, he was more comfortable here.

As he walked, Zachary dug in his pocket and retrieved his cigarettes. When he struck the lighter, he heard a gasp beside him. Turning to look at the boy, he exhaled a column of smoke and lifted an eyebrow. He'd always been told in school that paramedics shouldn't smoke, and he assumed some condescending wisecrack was about to come his way. "What?"

"What was that?" The boy asked.

"What was what?" Zachary replied, confused.

"You made fire." His eyes had gone wide.

Oh god. Seriously? "It's just a lighter."

"Show me again!" The boy was genuinely excited, and didn't seem to notice the crestfallen expression on the paramedic's face.

Feeling like an utter fool and the world's worst magician, Zachary struck the lighter again and held the tab down. The boy watched it with a hungry fascination that only made the older man's fear grow. He let the tab go, and the flame died.

"It's just a lighter." He said quietly.

"Are you a mage?" The boy asked.

"What?" Zachary replied. He really didn't like how stupid this boy was making him feel.

"A mage. A wizard!" The boy said excitedly.

"No. I'm a paramedic." The man answered.

"But you made fire!"

"I- it's a lighter, kid. Science. Technology. Come on, it's not like it's a laser gun." Zachary was blind to the pleading note in his voice. He wanted nothing more than for the joke to end, and someone to tell him what the hell was going on.

"Laser gun? Does that make fire too?"

"Yes. And it makes cats dance on their hind legs, and afterward it makes you tea." Zachary answered.

"Cool! Mom will like that. She likes tea."

"You don't say. C'mon, lets go." As the boy walked off, Zachary dug his cell phone out of his pocket. Searching... Searching... No Signal. ... Fuck.

[Chucklecut]

Chapter Two: Relinquish

"I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin
I must confess that I feel like a monster
I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I feel like a monster"


The boy's home was little more than Zachary had expected in a place like this. The small house could have been called a hovel, though it did have the apparent luxury of multiple rooms. That was to say, three. Not counting the small wooden box out back that the paramedic later learned, to his horror, was an outhouse. The closer they got to his home, the more relieved the boy was. The pair of them, covered in blood but unharmed as they were, drew eyes like a magnet. Already, several people had tried to approach them, only to shy away when their eyes met Zachary's. Taking the wooden steps in front of his house two at a time, the boy turned the latch and shouldered the door open.

"Taylor! Where have you been? Etne said she saw you go past the forest again." The voice was undoubtedly the boy's mother, as it held the fear-me-but-love-me-too tone that Zachary recognized from his own mother. A short, choking scream followed, as well as the sound of clattering dishware – surely the sound of Taylor's mother getting a look at her son. Shaking his head and hiding a grin, Zachary edged into the house. Almost instantly, he felt the heat from the sun and long walk dropping away. Another strangled sound followed his entry, and he found himself staring at a butcher's knife. It was level with his face, though it appeared to be unsupported. It simply floated nonchalantly in the air, a centimeter from his right eye. Good day mate! Welcum to the land of the bat-shit crazies, where knives float on their own, and small boys can hold their ground against lizard buffalo stampedes! Wholly unsurprising, the thought was said with the voice of Steve Irwin.

"Mom, Mom no! He helped me." Taylor was busy, his arms waving insanely in the air, his explanation of the morning spilling out in a rush. Glancing away from the hovering knife, Zachary spotted Taylor's mother and only just managed to keep from howling with laughter. Dear god, it's Dorothy from Golden Girls!

If it wasn't actually her, she looked so damn close that it was freaky. Oh, Mom, I knew watching Lifetime network with you would one day prove useful. Aside from teaching me that all men are dogs and rapists, anyways. The woman had a mop of white hair so curly that Zachary thought it could likely be Santa Claus's pubic hair. Her eyes were a deep blue, as stern and commanding as a queen's. Her dress was simple, an affair of blue with a white strip tied around her waist. Her shoes were laced up past her ankle with dark brown straps of leather. A single golden ring adorned her left ring finger. Her hand was lifted toward Zachary, her hand twisted into a claw. He caught on quickly enough after that. She was the reason why the knife had animated itself, and tried to pierce his eye. Somehow.

Silence. Zachary realized the boy had stopped yammering. The woman's attention was on him now, and he felt almost as if her eyes were trying to drag a confession of some kind from him. He might have felt more exposed if he had been naked, and surrounded by a mob of sixty five year old women with baseball bats. Maybe. Probably not, though.

"Is all of that true?" She asked.

"Honestly, I don't know. I stopped paying attention to your kid about an hour ago." Zachary wished he could suck the words back in as soon as they were out. He had been born with a horrible disfigurement; he had been born without the filter between his brain and mouth. An indignant squawk came from Taylor. "But I'd sure like to know how he turned a herd of lizard buffalo into enough meat to feed your... town... for the next half year. And for that matter, I wouldn't mind knowing how you're doing... this." He waved his hand at the floating knife, then stepped carefully out of its path. The knife started to follow him, then withdrew across the room and into her hand.

She smiled softly, then turned to her son. "Go get cleaned up. I'll speak to Artorius after I see to our guest. He'll be pleased with what you've done."

She waited until her son had run off into one of the back rooms, and turned toward Zachary. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Zachary smiled sheepishly and shrugged. The movement caused the contents of his paramedic bag to jingle quietly. Blood stained his clothing, but not enough to obscure the out-of-place designing and fabrics. His smile degraded, fading away into a barely perceptible smirk. "Not exactly. Where is Des Moines?"

The woman looked at him blankly. He rephrased the question.

"We're in Iowa, yes?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "I have no idea where or what that is. Your home land, I'm assuming?"

[Chucklecut]

Zachary felt a half-hearted wave of panic, though something else crept slowly through his emotional core underneath it. It was like a shimmer of lightning; excitement. Whatever was happening to him, wherever he was, it wasn't normal. And that pleased him. He had always wanted... something else. Something more. A person could only watch so many people die before they began looking for an escape. Besides, what boy had never dreamed of being powerful? Here, it was apparently possible. Maybe here, he could be special too. The course of his questions changed.

"How did you do that?" He asked, pointing at the knife she had laid on a nearby table. The room was small, but well furnished. Two wooden chairs flanked the table, both apparently in good repair. The third, against the far wall and beside a bookshelf, not so much. Dust covered its surface, and dings littered its structure. He wondered vaguely why they kept it. She gave him an odd look, somewhat disbelief mixed with wonder.

"Simple telekinesis. Don't the people from your lands have strengths?" she asked.

"Yes, they do. But not like that. What about your son?" Zachary asked, remembering the exploding corpses, and the creatures passing through them like ghosts.

"Taylor's is... more complicated." She answered, looking to the empty chair against the wall. A flash of understanding lit the dark corners of Zachary's mind. Someone important had once sat there.

"More complicated than moving objects with your mind?" Zachary asked skeptically.

The woman turned her stern eyes back to him and shrugged. "Taylor can alter the solidity of his body. He can't control it yet. He's too young. That’s probably why he shifted back and forth during the stampede. He must have protected you somehow as well."

Zachary nodded slightly. It was a strange thought, and one wholly new to him. It wasn't one of the classic 'super-powers' he knew of from random cartoons and sci-fi movies he'd seen over the years. He could already tell the strength of the ability though, having seen it firsthand. The boy must have turned highly solid, which resulted in the ground dipping and the bulls crushing themselves against him. That also explained the sense of weight Zachary had felt by touching him at the time.

"So how do these... abilities... work? You just think about them and they turn on? Or is it more complicated than that?" He wanted to say that he was just curious, but that would have been a lie. Something deep in his core was stirring. Desire. Hunger.

The woman watched him cautiously, as if she could sense it too. "It's something we learn after the first time."

"The first time?" Zachary asked, slightly confused.

"The first time we manifest them. Normally under duress. Panic and fear bring them out." She replied.

Epinepherine. That answered a lot of questions. The boy obviously hadn't understood what he did. It had been an instinctive reaction, little different from lifting your arms to protect yourself from incoming harm.

"Anyways, I have to go speak to someone. Use the sink in the kitchen to clean up. Taylor will find clothes for you. When he comes out, tell him to check my room for them." With only a minimum of untoward, suspicious glances at him, the woman shuffled past and exited the house.

Zachary shook his head, then made his way toward the kitchen. In practice, it wasn't so much a room of its own. Separated from the entrance room by a waist high counter with a smooth stone top, the kitchen was barely big enough to contain him. Random dishes lay in a pile beside the sink, dirty still. At the highest reaches of the ceiling, cobwebs clung in strands. The general distended nature of the house bugged Zachary, though he tried hard to ignore it. He knew it was just another random occurrence of his mild OCD. Pulling off his shirt, he dropped it in a heap at his feet. The blood had sunk into it, coating the skin of his upper body in a sheen of light pink.

The sink was much as he expected, save for the large metal contraption attached where the faucet would have been in a house back home. After examining it for a few seconds, he pulled down on what appeared to be a pump. A loud clunk issued up through the sink, and a small amount of water sloshed out of the spout, then quickly disappeared down the drain. Scowling, Zachary looked around for something to block the water's exit with. He was quickly frustrated; he couldn't find anything other than a sponge. With a soft smirk, he pulled the top dish off the stack beside the sink. It was relatively flat, and would serve well enough. The thought of washing himself with water contained by it made him grimace though. His profession made him acutely aware of the hazards brought by germs. Flipping it so the dirty side was facing the drain, he pulled the lever again, then four more times. When he had finished, water sloshed around in the sink. The seal of the plate wasn't perfect; he could hear a quiet whirring as water escaped into the drain, but it would serve well enough.

He began sloshing water over his skin, goose bumps rippling out over his neck and back. It was cold, though no colder than some of the things he'd been faced with before. He vaguely remembered helping a woman deliver her baby during a winter storm, the electricity out and water frozen. It had been as cold as an ex-wife's heart in that house. Strangely though, he could remember very little of that encounter. It was never the good things you remembered. The human condition demanded that you remember every last failure, and play down the successes. It was the deaths that stayed with you. The smiles and victories? They might as well be from a TV show, or someone else's life.

[Chucklecut]

The water quickly ran red, and he removed the plate to let it drain. When he had it refilled, he began peeling his shoes from his feet. Though the water resistant material hadn't been damaged by the blood, it had seeped through the cracks between the boot's tongue and shoelaces. A few seconds after he had removed them both, and the bloody socks beneath, Taylor emerged from the back room. Zachary heard it behind him, though he didn't turn. Gripped by the obsessive need to scour every last splotch of pink from his skin, the man was barely conscious of the world around him.

"What happened to your back?" The sudden words were jarring to his mental state, and caused a slight wave of anxiety to wash over his gut. Straightening, he looked over his shoulder. The boy had finished cleaning himself, though like anyone his age, he hadn't done a proper job of it. The skin of his face was still discolored around his jaw and neck.

"What?" Zachary hadn't caught the words, only the tone.

"What happened to your back? The scars." The boy replied.

"Oh. Back where I come from, which obviously isn't here, paramedics get to where they need to be in a truck called an ambulance." Zachary had barely finished the sentence before the boy jumped in. He'd have been annoyed, but he was getting used to it.

"What's a truck?"

"It's like... imagine those carriages outside, except that it pulls itself. No horses, or other animals, are needed."

"Are you sure you aren't a mage?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Zachary had gone back to scrubbing mercilessly at his skin. The thought never occurred to him that the pink tinge might not be blood any more, but raw and agitated skin.

"That sounds like magic to me."

"Well, it's not. It's technology. Like this." Zachary stepped to the side and tapped the monstrous spout above the sink. "Just more complicated."

"Okay. So how did it give you the scars? Did it run you over?"

"No. You see, an ambulance is like a carriage-"

"You told me that."

"-with a room in the back where the sick person lays down-"

"Because they're hurt?"

"-And I try to help them-"

"Or accidentally hurt them more?"

"-and the ambulance goes really fast. Really, really fast. One time, we went too fast, and I got thrown down on top of a few glass vials of medicine-"

"Which broke and cut up your back!"

"Yes." To his credit, Zachary wasn't the tiniest bit annoyed. He'd already come to believe that this boy was meant for him – as a punishment of some kind.

"Hah. I knew they looked familiar. Look!" Zachary turned his head to look over his shoulder. Taylor had turned around, and was trying to hold his shirt up while pushing the hem of his pants down. Across his waist, a long faint scar traced a crooked line.

"Heh. You got bitten too, huh?" Zachary smiled slightly, and turned back to scrubbing his arms. Though he had been mostly clean when the conversation started, more blood seemed to have appeared on his skin. He continued scrubbing viciously.

"Yuh. I can't remember it though." He sounded disappointed.

"Well I'm sure it was very bloody and awesome." Zachary replied.

"You think so?" Taylor sounded pleased.

"Yep. I'm sure your mother and father had a fit. Which reminds me, your mom said you'd get me some clean clothes-"

"But mom told me not to steal anymore."

"-from her room."

"Oh! She meant some of dad's old clothes."

"I'd assume so."

Taylor disappeared through the door to a side room. Appreciative for the momentary reprieve, Zachary let the calming feeling of cleaning himself spread throughout his body. He could hear the boy thumping around in the other room, most likely creating a hell of a mess for his mom to clean later. The thought made the paramedic smile slightly. He could remember when he had done the same thing. And he still remembered the day he had come closest to death himself; he had forgotten to clean up the spit ball fight he'd had with his brother before his mom had gotten home from work. Thinking about it still made his ass hurt. That'd been the day he had made a vow to himself. When he became a parent, he would never administer justice with a plastic cooking spoon. Even if they deserved it.

[Chucklecut]

"Hey, guy! What's your name?" The voice was muffled, but undoubtedly Taylor's. He was still in the other room.

"Zach!" He called back.

"Okay!"

Scowling, the paramedic finally figured out why the sink was full of blood again. Sighing, he pulled his arms out of the water and really looked at them. He'd let his defect control him, and now he'd paid the price. Though it was nothing to worry about, the skin was an ugly shade of red and seeped small beads of blood in a few places. Shaking his arms out above the sink caused a cascade of red flecks to fall into the water. Turning to his medical bag, which he had sat on the countertop behind him, he unzipped it. Rooting around in the bag, he withdrew several bandage wraps and began covering his arms. He used only what he needed, mindful of his limited supply. There was no telling when he would be able to replace it.

Ahead, he heard a loud crashing, and was unsurprised to see Taylor fall through the open door. He had a set of clothes strung over his shoulder, a lopsided grin on his face. It was hard for Zachary to keep a straight face. He knew that look well enough. He'd seen it on his brother often enough as they grew up. The boy was about to do something he thought would be funny. And chances were, it wouldn't be.

Zachary caught the bundle of clothes easily enough; the boy had tried to be discreet and sly with the throw, but like all children, he didn't realize how transparent he was. The paramedic unfolded them, then glanced at the boy.

"A dress. Cute."

"I think it'll fit you well!" Taylor was chortling. Yes. Chortling. That was the only apt description of his giggle that Zachary could come up with.

"It'll fit you better." Zachary lunged forward and looped the dress around the boy's stomach, his hands nearly a blur as he tied the ends in a traditional square knot. The knot of choice for medical workers, it was sturdy, but laid in a way that mitigated pressure, keeping it from causing pain or discomfort. Zachary was highly amused, seemingly unaware of the pain in his arms as he rough-housed with the boy.

Taylor was laughing wildly now, and his skin seemed to ripple. The dress slipped through his stomach as he jumped away, his ability allowing him to pass through it like water. He fell to the floor at the same instant the front door opened. In retrospect, Zachary would admit that it couldn't have been a comforting sight. Standing with only pants on, a string of fabric held in his hands like a rope, with her son laying on the ground in front of the stranger, she did what any mom would. She used her telekinesis like a battering ram. Well, what any freak-mom in freaky land would do.

Zachary hit the far wall of the house, his head knocking off the hard brick behind him. Rays of multi-colored light exploded in his head, and he heard Taylor yelling. It was distant though, as if he had dropped his head beneath the surface of water in a bathtub. His last thought was simple, and mirrored by billions of men around the cosmos.

Crazy bitch!

[Chucklecut]

Upon waking, Zachary's first action was to groan, then grope for his paramedic bag. He knew there were several bottles in there that could help dull the pain that throbbed angrily in the back of his head. He felt as if his head had been rammed into a wall at an incredibly high velocity. Oh wait... bitch.

He found it easily enough, with the help of a rather small hand placed on the back of his. He brushed Taylor off, and pulled the bag to him. It opened without resistance, though the low zhhhhhhhhhhhph of the zipper threatened to make his brain explode. He found several small bottles inside, but between the low light and splitting pain in his head, couldn't read it. He handed it to the boy. "What does that say?"

"Ib... up... rof..." He stopped when Zachary took the bottle back.

Twisting the cap until the triangles of the child lock lined up, he pushed up. It popped easily, though again, the sound made him cringe. He toppled a couple of the small round pills out, then swallowed them immediately. He laid down again. He was tired, he hurt, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk. Taylor, on the other hand, had no qualms about running the motor that was his tongue.

"Mom said she was sorry."

Zachary grunted noncommittally. He doubted the woman really was. She had made no secret of her distrust.

"Your head wasn't bleeding or anything when we dressed you and moved you in here."

Zachary didn't bother to grunt this time. He only sighed. Psycho bitch and irritating toddler stripped me. Yay. Even in his head, the sarcasm was thick.

"You have a lot of scars."

Silence.

"Where are you from?"

More silence.

"I know you're not asleep. You're not snoring."

Zachary's head throbbed as he clenched his teeth.

"You snore very loudly."

Zachary sat up quickly, ignoring the horrible pain that came of it. He felt dizzy, but that was expected. Digging through his bag again, he found what he was looking for. The injection kit held several syringes and an assortment of varying sized needles. He assembled a small one quickly enough, then found the medication he was looking for. It was one he didn't use often, but kept around just in case. It was one of the more powerful analgesics available to paramedics, causing the patient to lose consciousness and dull even the worst of pain. Zachary called it the 'elephant killer'. Partly because given the right proportions, it could do that. But mostly because he couldn't pronounce its name without five re-tries.

"Whatcha doin?"

He stabbed the needle tip into the bottle and filled the syringe with a tiny dose that probably couldn't have harmed a rat.

"Can I see your arm?"

"Why?" Zachary could have cried with relief when the boy didn't wait for an explanation before doing holding his arm up.

Several years of sticking veins while riding in the back of an ambulance had prepared him for this moment. He had the needle in, and the injection complete in the blink of an eye. He scooted to the side, and tossed the syringe into his bag.

"Lean toward me." Zachary said.

"Why do you want me to..." The boy's eyes closed, and he crumpled into Zachary's arms.

Thank you, God. For a terrible moment, he hadn't been sure it would work.

[Chucklecut]

He hadn't really looked around before now, which was somewhat surprising. Considering that he had just drugged the child of an insane woman with telekinesis, you'd think he'd have done that before. Luckily, the crazy hag was nowhere in sight. Taylor's bed, however, was. Climbing up to his knees slowly, careful not to let the boy fall, Zachary picked him up and laid him in his bed. Through a small window, the paramedic could see the moon. Looking down, he covered the boy with the blanket.

Zachary turned and sat with his back against the side of the bed. He'd just gotten comfortable when he heard a quiet snore, and felt the boy roll over in the bed. A small hand slapped against the back of his head, then fell onto his shoulder. Zachary sighed.

For the first time since arriving here, wherever here was, Zachary felt a stab of fear. What waited for him when he left this room? The woman would have killed him if she had hit him with much more force than she had. And if these two could have power like this, what else waited in this world? There was no way to know. He was sorely unprepared for this. At least back home, he'd had a chance of defending himself. In a world of equally powerless. Here, it was different.

Zachary looked over his shoulder at the sleeping boy. Even he could defend himself better than Zachary could, and Taylor was only a boy. It's something we learn after the first time. Panic and Fear bring them out.

He was moving before he realized he'd made a choice. He was defenseless here. But if he was right, and Taylor's power was tied to his adrenaline... all he needed was a small sample of it, and he could study it. Figure out where it came from, and possibly how to recreate it. He drew the syringe he had used a minute ago, and refilled it with a slightly larger dose of the same drug. The boy only had a small bit of it in his system; not enough. He injected more. Not too much, just enough. The child's breathing deepened, his muscles relaxed.

Looking over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door, Zachary pulled out a new syringe, and fitted a longer needle to it than he had used before. Setting it down carefully, he knelt over Taylor. The boy was thin, easy to move. He put one hand under the boy's cheek, then rolled him onto his side. He pushed Taylor's leg forward, using his knee to prop him up on his side, with his back facing the paramedic. In first aid, it was known as the recovery position, and was used to help people – you guessed it – recover from a traumatic event. It was precisely the pose Zachary needed.

Looking over his shoulder again, he assured himself that the door was closed firmly. He listened, straining his ears to hear over the pounding of his heart. And when he was confident, he lifted the blanket away and pushed up the boy's shirt. He put his hand on Taylor's back, his fingers palpating the skin, muscle and bone to locate key points to guide him. There, the spine. Here, the bottom rib. There, the hip. And when he had aligned the proper spot, he sunk the needle in. His target was the adrenal gland, and the fluid withdrew only slowly. The size of his chosen needle was impairing him, but if he had used any bigger, it could have caused serious damage to the boy. As it was, he'd probably wake up with a serious pain in his side. Twenty seconds had passed before he felt comfortable with the amount he had gathered, and he withdrew the needle carefully. He was holding the semi-full syringe when he heard a hiss behind him.

Thinking back on it, Zachary would later realize that the only reason he had lived was instinct. And not his own. Where she could have dashed him against the wall ahead, she instead pulled him backward. Her telekinetic grip was like bands of iron around his chest and legs, he could feel it squeezing the air from his lungs. A surge of red washed over his vision. His hand lifted and came away slicked with his own blood; his scalp had been split somewhere. He didn't even remember hitting the floor. Looking straight ahead, he could see the woman kneeling beside her son. An anger ignited deep in his chest, accompanied by a prick of pain. He looked down to see the syringe he had been holding embedded in his skin. It looked to have gone directly into his heart. Ironic. If he had discarded the boy's health, he'd be dead right now himself. Then again, he was about to end up that way anyways.

His hand closed around the syringe and pulled it from his skin. The feeling was altogether surreal, not pleasant, but not horrible either. It was a funny, sucking feeling. When it left him completely, he looked down at it. The chamber was empty, the plunger firmly against the needle base. Somewhere along the crazy ass course she had set him spinning through, he'd accidentally injected himself with the pure adrenaline he'd just drawn from Taylor. Any further thought on the topic was banished when the woman stood and turned to him. Her hand rose, her fingers clawed. A few feet away, in the kitchen, a knife lurched into the air. Even if he hadn't been disoriented, he'd never have been able to get out of the way. It moved with the speed of a bullet, aimed directly at his heart.

A thousand thoughts flickered through his mind, but there was no light at the end of the tunnel. He didn't see his life flash before his eyes, or any of that horseshit. Only one thing prevailed through his mind, more important that his impending doom. aaaahcrazybitch!

The knife passed through his chest, still spinning, and implanted into the wall behind him. He stared down for a minute, then realized what had happened. He'd been right. Taylor's power had laid in his adrenaline. The woman went pale, but moved forward with deadly purpose. Zachary could see in her eyes that there would be no excuse this time, and behind her, Taylor was snoring deeply. He wouldn't save the paramedic this time.

Zachary spun as the woman charged at him, her hands lifted. Objects rose all around him. He stepped toward the wall, expecting a crash and broken nose. Instead, his body passed through it like water. Behind him, he heard the wall shudder as chairs, knives, shelves and a bunch of other random crap smashed against it. Thinking as quickly as he could, Zachary pulled the pump back on his syringe as far as it would go. He waited for as long as he dared, until he heard the door of the room open. He stepped backward, passing through the wall again. And in front of him, and to the side, the woman was staring into the door. A nimbus of common house hold objects floated around her, each of them turned into a deadly weapon by her anger. Zachary's eyes scanned her back, calculating as quickly as he could.

He stepped forward quietly, his left hand snaking around her neck. He grabbed her shoulder and held tightly, and with his right hand, he plunged the syringe forward. The needle entered her back easily, sliding between the ribs. As she struggled and objects pelted him, he pushed the plunger of the syringe in. The only thing in it was air, and the needle was in her heart. He knew the exact moment when she died, when he killed her. She was struggling, and then she was still. Things clattered to the ground all around them.

In Paramedic classes, he'd learned a technique called controlled falling. It was sometimes necessary to let a walking patient fall; grabbing them could make their injuries worse. Instead, he was taught to let their weight fall against his body, and to steer them down into a kneeling position. He did this now. And when she was laying on the ground, her eyes open and lifeless, the paramedic staggered to his feet. He turned, made it one step, then fell. His knees hit the ground, his stomach expelling its contents in a disgusting wave of vomit. His mind reeled.

First, do no Harm.

The healer was now a killer.

[Chucklecut]

Epilogue: Remorse

"And if strength is born from Heartbreak,
Then Mountains I could move."

Time passed. Hours. He vomited twice more. His clothing was ripped and ragged, though still wearable. Blood trickled down his body in rivulets. Words floated through his mind repeatedly, a mantra he had been repeating for hours as he sat on the floor. She was trying to kill me. She was trying to kill me.

After awhile, his pain faded to numbness. Thoughts dispersed from his mind, emotions dying in his gut. Only coldness remained. It was almost the same feeling he had when a patient died despite his best efforts. But that feeling was different. It was a warm numbness. He knew that he’d done all he could to save them. This… was cold. He’d done all he could to kill her. And he’d won the dice roll.

He stood slowly, logic and emptiness driving him. He’d already made himself a monster. He might as well go the whole nine yards now. He made his way back to Taylor’s room. And there, he stood above the bed, staring down at the child. He retrieved his paramedic bag, and withdrew another syringe. He fitted it with the same sized needle he’d used before, then returned to the outer room. He knelt beside Taylor’s mother, and repeated the process he’d done hours before on her son.

He injected the adrenaline slowly, over the course of an hour. He knew it was dangerous, that the human body could only deal with so much epinephrine in such a short time. When the process was over, he washed the syringe clean in the sink of the kitchen, then returned it to his bag. He had no desire to test the new ability. He knew it was there. He could feel it floating in the back of his mind; a blood-stained prize acquired through shattering a young boy’s life.

He had made his decision before he knew it. And he walked with purposeful steps as he left the village behind, his paramedic bag slung over his shoulder, and the unconscious boy in his arms.

[Chucklecut]

The sun had risen when Taylor began stirring in his arms. Confused eyes looked up at him when he looked down. They were the blue of an ocean.

“Zach?”

“Yeah. It’s me.” Zachary turned his back to a tree and let himself slide down its trunk, ignoring the bark that dug into his skin.

“Where are we?”

“Away.”

Taylor’s eyes swept over him, grew large with concern. “You’re hurt again! What happened?”

A storm of thoughts passed through his mind, and Zachary’s eyes watered. He would never be strong enough to tell this truth.

“A monster attacked while you were asleep.”

Taylor stiffened in his arms. “Where’s mom?”

“I’m sorry, Taylor. She died.”

As the boy collapsed against him and started crying, tears fell from Zachary’s eyes. He held the boy close, trying like hell to figure out what had driven him to cause this. He buried his face in Taylor’s hair.

“I’m sorry. It’s going to be okay though. I’m going to take care of you.”

[Chucklecut]

Requested Spoils:

Seeing as my character originated on Earth, I wanted him to gain his "starting" abilities from a quest. This is that quest.

Telekinesis: Zachary is now able to utilize weak Telekinesis. At current, he can lift nothing heavier than 15 lbs. The longer he exerts this power, the greater the toll on his energy reserves.

Molecular Density Shifting: Zachary is able to alter the density of his molecular makeup, allowing him to phase through solid objects or increase his mass to withstand heavy force impact. Currently, he can only remain phased for five seconds or so, and can only increase his density to the point that he'd have the same protection as if he were wearing Steel armor. While shifting himself to become 'heavier', Zachary is unable to move from his current location.

Also, I'd like to request/add/enter Taylor as an NPC Familiar or whatever to my profile at next level up. All of his abilities subject to the RoG approval process, of course.

And any modification to the abilities is perfectly fine with me, so long as it keeps the 'spirit' of the ability the same. Like I said in my character sheet- go crazy restricting me if you want. I'm here to tell stories, not to powergame.

And last but not least: Thank you for taking the time to read this, and Any/all advice you give me..

[Taskmienster]

Trust and Consequences: Nice, quick first thread. I’m going to be judging this quickly, and work on putting in commentary about what I notice most. If I don’t comment on something, but you’d like clarification, I’ll be more than willing to help comment further. Just send me a PM.

:: Your opening post made me think it was a quote (with a few words changed) from what Sylar said in the 3rd season of Heroes.


Continuity 6

:: Still not sure how or why Zach’s in Althanas, or what happened to the ambulance, or a whole lot of the background of the character. However, the purpose of the thread, as well as what came about was well thought out and well done. The action helped spur the thread on, and the pacing helped keep the reader drawn in, and all of the different aspects of writing really helped with the continuity over time.

Setting 6

:: There could have been more, at least enough to know what the village looked like to the man other than the construction of the houses and such. Other than that, the use of the setting was well done, simplistic and to the point, but at the same time enough to gather the necessary information to really understand things.

Pacing 6.5

:: For writing intense scenes that are meant to get the reader to really feel what the character does through your sentence structure, short sentences are a good way to go. They create a flow that forces the reader to take pauses between each little thing that happens, drawing their attention as much from what is said as how it is said. However, sometimes it’s best not to drag that choppy structure out too much; otherwise it’ll cause the reader to really wonder if there is anything to truly be on edge for. Don’t forget to draw out some sentences now and then, even in the intense parts of the story, so that you can keep the attention without writing staccato paragraphs that can lose the reader as easily as keep them close.

Dialogue 6.5

:: My only qualm with your dialogue is that it sometimes come in the middle of the paragraphs, at points where it doesn’t necessarily read well or is necessary. There are thoughts, little ones, that you throw in now and then that are fitting. At other times, it’s like having to stop reading a certain flow in order to read dialogue, and then go right back to the paragraph (the dialogue internal or otherwise not absolutely necessary or befitting it’s place). Just watch out for that.

:: I liked the interrupted speeches that Zachary and Taylor have, it’s rather realistic and makes me smile. It’s just like talking to a small child in real life, or anyone who still has the mentality of a small child… :p

Action 7.5

:: It was a bit hard to follow at times, making me really have to pay attention to what was said in every little sentence written. I’d suggest lengthening your sentences just a little more, give pause a little bit later, and let the reader digest the subject now and then. No need to hurry the action through the quick pacing, it makes us tend to lose track as we go.

Persona 8.5

:: Zach is a character straight out of Stephen King’s mind, mixed with elements of Sylar, and a whole-heaping over real life personality. He’s so well written that I couldn’t stop paying attention or reading. Wonderfully done.

Technique 7

:: There were a few points that the writing technique really stood out, and you didn’t have to write over-inflated metaphors or force sub-standard similes into the mix to do it. You kept to the simplistic nature of the writing style, placed in the technique that best fit the staccato sentences, and continued on without emphasizing too much or not enough.

:: In the thread, you have a lot of points where you use “would” as a means to convey current verbs in use. Instead of trying to get the reader to know that the character did it, you are alluding to the fact that he “would” do it… not that it actually happened. Sometimes the way you phrase it would be perfect, but most of the time it just stands out oddly. A couple examples ::

[[In frustration, he would inevitably throw the phone.]] In this sentence you said he “would inevitably”, which makes me as the reader thing that he is willing to throw the phone, but not that he actually did throw it. However, later in the same paragraph, you said that you had retrieved it after throwing it. The sentence would have read more clearly if you rephrased it so say “In frustration, he inevitably threw the phone.”

Mechanics 8

:: Just a few small mistakes here and there, like a word that didn’t belong and such. Other than that, spot on.

Clarity 7


Wild Card 7

:: This was awesome, it felt like I was reading something straight out of a Stephen King book. The characters, the way they were portrayed, the writing style, and even the darkness that was realized but not accepted immediately was well done.


Score: 70!


Rewards:

Chucklecut receives :: 900 exp and 210 gold
((Telekinesis approved; Molecular Density Shifting :: I’d like it if you can only use it while not under duress once per battle or quest, and once again when you are in a position of duress. So, at max 2 times, but the second use can only be done when under stress or other situations like that. Both are approved for use though until your next level up (since I’m the RoG Head and all, :p). Taylor is approved as an NPC, and can have the same phasing ability as yours from this point on until you add him in an update.))

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.