The Ascension: It Continues
Feb. 20th, 2004 12:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackofallgeeksMore on my novel-to be. i'm afraid I'm maybe slipping, and the most recent bit needs to be cleaned up most likely, but here we go -- if you want to skip the first bit, choose the second cut. It has been altered in places, though, so I'mputting it up here.
The Ascension: It Begins
The latch popped as Alex slammed his shoulder into the steel door, a hollow boom echoing back down the stairwell as he launched haphazardly out onto the roof, the soles of his sneakers sliding over the rain-wet gravel. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth into his stubbly brown goatee and his dirty-blonde bangs, already drenched by the downpour of the storm-torn night, hung down over his sharp, green eyes. He brushed the dripping hair out of his face and searched the roof as sounds rumbled up from the open doorway behind him. The Operatives were closing in now, and they would have him if he didn't move.
He attempted a run but only managed a fast-paced lurch, clutching a hand over his side, wincing at the sharp pain flaring behind his ribs. His hooded sweatshirt was quickly soaked, and the gravel crunched wetly under his footfalls. The sapphire teardrop pendant his neck bounced off his chest in an off-beat rhythm. His legs burned from exertion as he got to the large, blocky air-conditioning unit, about half-way across the roof and just to the right. He pulled himself around to its back side, away from the stairwell, leaning heavily against it and gasping to catch his breath. He searched the rooftop for some means of escape.
Several other air-conditioning units stood at odd intervals around the rooftop, ducts and pipes sinking into the roof and steamy vapor rising into the churning mass of purple and grey above the roof. The rain poured down, pooling beneath the gravel on the roof, and running in icy rivulets down his neck and along his spine. The sparse noises of traffic rose up from the streets far below.
On the other side of the roof, a ladder clung to the edge of the building, scrapping metallically against the brick in the sharp wind. It dipped down between the building he was on and the taller one next to it; if he got to it he could climb down into the alley below and escape his pursuers in the city streets.
Just as he was about to dash for the ladder, three figures appeared out of the stairwell. He caught himself, crouching back down behind the air-conditioning unit again; he had to cross in front of them to get to his escape.
The one on the left was tall and pale, his circular glasses flashing blue in the odd light of the night. His head was completely bald, and he had a neatly-cropped black beard around his mouth. A haughty smirk seemed perpetually on his lips, and he stood there, his white lab coat blowing in the wind, as though he owned the place. He probably did.
Standing on the right was a shorter clean-shaven man – he seemed shorter due to his stoutness, and shorter still because of his hunched-over manner. He held his arms away from his body like a bear might, if a bear were dressed in a back sweater and heavy brown cargo pants. His eyes were small and dark, partially obscured by his shaggy, wildly-blown brown hair. He wore a pair of sturdy-looking hiking boots with thick soles. His gaze swept the rooftop from side to side, like an animal on the scent of his prey.
The third man stood behind the other two, like a large, ominous shadow. His charcoal Armani suit matched his dark skin; he looked as though he’d been carved from a single block of obsidian. His head, too, was completely bald, and his rock-like jaw was clean-shaven. A pair of black sunglasses completed his visage, streaks of purple lightning reflecting back periodically. His thick arms were held loosely at his side, and he clutched his hands at his waist, looking as though he had just entered a negotiations meeting with a rival company.
The one in the lab coat spoke. His gaze did not shift and his expression retained the haughty smirk. His voice was sharp and pointed, and cut through the night air.
“Samson, what do you see?”
The bear-like Samson halted his search to look up at the taller man.
“Nothing. Not a damned thing.” His voice was harsh and gravelly. “This rain is messing me up. I’ve lost him.”
“That’s convenient.” The taller man spat, his smirk turning from haughty to disdainful.
“Nothing is convenient with these types, Doctor Einsbeck.” The large black man put in. He was motionless except for his lips, and his voice was smooth and low. “You would do well to remember that.” Einsbeck glared at him.
“He’s still just a student, Johnson. You can’t mean to suggest this is all his doing.” It was a statement.
“He is Emericlitus’ student, Doctor. I think that should speak for itself.”
Crouching behind the air-conditioning unit in his soaked sweatshirt, Alex saw his opportunity; both Einsbeck and Samson were looking at Johnson, and two out of three was the best he could hope for. He jumped to his feet and into a sprint, the stones beneath his feet scraping loudly against each other and they were kicked up from his stride. He set his sights on the ladder so very far away.
“There he goes.” Johnson said no hint of urgency in his voice.
Samson and Einsbeck both turned their attention from Johnson to the sprinting figure. Time slowed down.
He had taken five steps; his legs felt brittle, the wet air became syrup. From the corner of his eye, he saw Einsbeck reaching into a pocket of his lab coat. Johnson was already removing his arm from inside his suit, retrieving a sleek black handgun. Samson was hunched over, one hand in the gravel, making as to give chase to his now-sighted prey.
The ladder was in his sights, and now that’s all he saw. A bullet whizzed passed his leg, a near miss. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears. The cold rain stung his face like slivers of glass falling at him. Then he felt it, something changed. It was as though the world around him twisted slightly, as in a fun-house mirror, and then snapped back into place.
He felt the wave of force sweep up from behind him, and move past. There was a metallic screech when the wave reached the ladder, tearing it from the side of the building. The ladder dipped on one side and then fell completely, clattering loudly between the buildings on its way to the alley floor.
Convenient.
As he turned from the lost ladder, only a matter of feet away when it fell, another bullet flew from Johnson’s gun and caught him hard in the shoulder. He cried out as the pain flared. Einsbeck had a strange conical pistol out now, and Samson was loping forward, almost on all fours, and closing quickly.
Another bullet nearly hit his arm as he ducked and started a run toward the back edge of the roof, away from Johnson and Einsbeck, out toward the open roadway; Samson altered his course to intercept him. As he ran, Alex whipped the pendant from around his neck, and swung his arms in an intricate tracery. Just as he finished, Samson’s foot slid on the gravel, throwing him onto his side and causing him to skid past Alex, slamming shoulder-first into the low lip of the roof. Running on, Alex made a hefting motion with his arms as Samson’s momentum carried him over the edge of the roof.
He reached the end of the roof and, running his arms through another tracery, put a foot up on the brick lip and pushed off, jumping out over the traffic as another bullet flew past him.
To think, not long ago his only concern was turning in his philosophy paper on time.
The Ascension: It Begins
The latch popped as Alex slammed his shoulder into the steel door, a hollow boom echoing back down the stairwell as he launched haphazardly out onto the roof, the soles of his sneakers sliding over the rain-wet gravel. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth into his stubbly brown goatee and his dirty-blonde bangs, already drenched by the downpour of the storm-torn night, hung down over his sharp, green eyes. He brushed the dripping hair out of his face and searched the roof as sounds rumbled up from the open doorway behind him. The Operatives were closing in now, and they would have him if he didn't move.
He attempted a run but only managed a fast-paced lurch, clutching a hand over his side, wincing at the sharp pain flaring behind his ribs. His hooded sweatshirt was quickly soaked, and the gravel crunched wetly under his footfalls. The sapphire teardrop pendant his neck bounced off his chest in an off-beat rhythm. His legs burned from exertion as he got to the large, blocky air-conditioning unit, about half-way across the roof and just to the right. He pulled himself around to its back side, away from the stairwell, leaning heavily against it and gasping to catch his breath. He searched the rooftop for some means of escape.
Several other air-conditioning units stood at odd intervals around the rooftop, ducts and pipes sinking into the roof and steamy vapor rising into the churning mass of purple and grey above the roof. The rain poured down, pooling beneath the gravel on the roof, and running in icy rivulets down his neck and along his spine. The sparse noises of traffic rose up from the streets far below.
On the other side of the roof, a ladder clung to the edge of the building, scrapping metallically against the brick in the sharp wind. It dipped down between the building he was on and the taller one next to it; if he got to it he could climb down into the alley below and escape his pursuers in the city streets.
Just as he was about to dash for the ladder, three figures appeared out of the stairwell. He caught himself, crouching back down behind the air-conditioning unit again; he had to cross in front of them to get to his escape.
The one on the left was tall and pale, his circular glasses flashing blue in the odd light of the night. His head was completely bald, and he had a neatly-cropped black beard around his mouth. A haughty smirk seemed perpetually on his lips, and he stood there, his white lab coat blowing in the wind, as though he owned the place. He probably did.
Standing on the right was a shorter clean-shaven man – he seemed shorter due to his stoutness, and shorter still because of his hunched-over manner. He held his arms away from his body like a bear might, if a bear were dressed in a back sweater and heavy brown cargo pants. His eyes were small and dark, partially obscured by his shaggy, wildly-blown brown hair. He wore a pair of sturdy-looking hiking boots with thick soles. His gaze swept the rooftop from side to side, like an animal on the scent of his prey.
The third man stood behind the other two, like a large, ominous shadow. His charcoal Armani suit matched his dark skin; he looked as though he’d been carved from a single block of obsidian. His head, too, was completely bald, and his rock-like jaw was clean-shaven. A pair of black sunglasses completed his visage, streaks of purple lightning reflecting back periodically. His thick arms were held loosely at his side, and he clutched his hands at his waist, looking as though he had just entered a negotiations meeting with a rival company.
The one in the lab coat spoke. His gaze did not shift and his expression retained the haughty smirk. His voice was sharp and pointed, and cut through the night air.
“Samson, what do you see?”
The bear-like Samson halted his search to look up at the taller man.
“Nothing. Not a damned thing.” His voice was harsh and gravelly. “This rain is messing me up. I’ve lost him.”
“That’s convenient.” The taller man spat, his smirk turning from haughty to disdainful.
“Nothing is convenient with these types, Doctor Einsbeck.” The large black man put in. He was motionless except for his lips, and his voice was smooth and low. “You would do well to remember that.” Einsbeck glared at him.
“He’s still just a student, Johnson. You can’t mean to suggest this is all his doing.” It was a statement.
“He is Emericlitus’ student, Doctor. I think that should speak for itself.”
Crouching behind the air-conditioning unit in his soaked sweatshirt, Alex saw his opportunity; both Einsbeck and Samson were looking at Johnson, and two out of three was the best he could hope for. He jumped to his feet and into a sprint, the stones beneath his feet scraping loudly against each other and they were kicked up from his stride. He set his sights on the ladder so very far away.
“There he goes.” Johnson said no hint of urgency in his voice.
Samson and Einsbeck both turned their attention from Johnson to the sprinting figure. Time slowed down.
He had taken five steps; his legs felt brittle, the wet air became syrup. From the corner of his eye, he saw Einsbeck reaching into a pocket of his lab coat. Johnson was already removing his arm from inside his suit, retrieving a sleek black handgun. Samson was hunched over, one hand in the gravel, making as to give chase to his now-sighted prey.
The ladder was in his sights, and now that’s all he saw. A bullet whizzed passed his leg, a near miss. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears. The cold rain stung his face like slivers of glass falling at him. Then he felt it, something changed. It was as though the world around him twisted slightly, as in a fun-house mirror, and then snapped back into place.
He felt the wave of force sweep up from behind him, and move past. There was a metallic screech when the wave reached the ladder, tearing it from the side of the building. The ladder dipped on one side and then fell completely, clattering loudly between the buildings on its way to the alley floor.
Convenient.
As he turned from the lost ladder, only a matter of feet away when it fell, another bullet flew from Johnson’s gun and caught him hard in the shoulder. He cried out as the pain flared. Einsbeck had a strange conical pistol out now, and Samson was loping forward, almost on all fours, and closing quickly.
Another bullet nearly hit his arm as he ducked and started a run toward the back edge of the roof, away from Johnson and Einsbeck, out toward the open roadway; Samson altered his course to intercept him. As he ran, Alex whipped the pendant from around his neck, and swung his arms in an intricate tracery. Just as he finished, Samson’s foot slid on the gravel, throwing him onto his side and causing him to skid past Alex, slamming shoulder-first into the low lip of the roof. Running on, Alex made a hefting motion with his arms as Samson’s momentum carried him over the edge of the roof.
He reached the end of the roof and, running his arms through another tracery, put a foot up on the brick lip and pushed off, jumping out over the traffic as another bullet flew past him.
To think, not long ago his only concern was turning in his philosophy paper on time.
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^^...
Date: 2004-02-21 07:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-02-21 10:31 am (UTC)