The Zoogie People
25-07-2005, 16:27
OOC - loosely connected to this unfinished thread. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=409515) Have no real idea where this is leading.
Clunk.
Hansien sat bolt upright and looked around. The window to the room was open, and the wind was blowing something nasty. A vase lay shattered on the ground. But where was he? He shook his head, trying to recall - but couldn't. Dazed and confused, he staggered up and out of the room, dimly aware that he had been sleeping on a sofa, fully clothed but without blankets, so that he might soon catch a cold.
Click. The door to this prison of his opened with ease. Why was it not locked? Surely they could not risk his escape? Well, no matter. Hansien trudged along, groping the stair rail and making his way - where? He couldn't know. It was not yet dawn; the sky was a dark blue, and nobody else was present, wherever he was.
Then he heard them: voices. Blindly he followed them, yearning to find their source, until at last he found what he supposed was the right door, and without much cause stumbled into the room.
Seated around a table were perhaps ten or twenty or sixty people, all in military uniform, all with decorations. He scanned the perimeter of the room; it was not large, but armed guards, dressed in fine suits and wearing sunglasses, were at every corner.
'Good god!' he heard someone say. 'Get this man some water!'
The guards moved quickly. They grabbed him roughly and threw him down into a chair, whereupon he was surrounded by inquiring faces. A cold, wet towel was forced upon his forehead; it stung like the bitter winter cold and he cried out in shock.
'Easy there,' said one of his captors.
The next thing he knew, they were forcing a clear, odorless liquid down his throat.
"No!" he cried out in protest, sure that it was some sort of secret poison, or some other awful interrogation device. Water spilled all over his clothes - wait. Why was he dressed so formally?
'Okay, that's enough,' said a firm voice at last. 'Let's just get him to calm down.'
Calm down? Hansien thought the notion was foolish. He had to get out of here, somehow. Was he armed? He didn't think so...perhaps, if he were quick enough, he could grab the firearm of one of the guards...but could he make it in time? The Enemy were many.
"Who am I?" he croaked at last, his throat achingly dry. "Why am I here?"
His captors exchanged confused, anxious glances. Hansien thought he caught them smirking. Agitated, he shouted, "What are you going to do with me!"
One of the faces swam from a fuzzy field of view into clear focus. It was the face of a man in a green military suit with four stars on its shoulder. It was familiar, somehow...which couldn't be a good thing.
"Mr. President," he said. "Are you quite alright?"
"What?" Hansien was flustered. President? What was he talking about? A man called Dumalar had swept the nation, had held him captive - "What is this place?"
"Mr. President, you're in the ... first floor of the ... capitol building..."
"I - what?"
"He's running a high fever, look at him."
"We'll need to get that checked out right away."
"But, but..." Hansien protested. This was not possible. "What have you done to Dailey? Where has the Imperial Army advanced?...have we retaken Chisliag?...are the Generians coming?..."
The looks on the faces of the men in the room changed to pure concern. One of them spoke tentatively. "I'm...right here, sir." Hansien looked. It was Dailey. He was stuffing his face with donuts. It had to be him. But - "Then is the Tower still intact?"
"Tower?"
"For christ's sake, the Tower of Factoring? They burned it to the ground! You telling me none of this is real; I demand to see the tower!"
There was a long pause, and then one of them, his suit marked with the nametag Smith, spoke slowly. "Mr. President," he said, choosing his words carefully. "There is not, nor has there ever been, a Tower of Factoring."
And then the world went black.
Clunk.
Hansien sat bolt upright and looked around. The window to the room was open, and the wind was blowing something nasty. A vase lay shattered on the ground. But where was he? He shook his head, trying to recall - but couldn't. Dazed and confused, he staggered up and out of the room, dimly aware that he had been sleeping on a sofa, fully clothed but without blankets, so that he might soon catch a cold.
Click. The door to this prison of his opened with ease. Why was it not locked? Surely they could not risk his escape? Well, no matter. Hansien trudged along, groping the stair rail and making his way - where? He couldn't know. It was not yet dawn; the sky was a dark blue, and nobody else was present, wherever he was.
Then he heard them: voices. Blindly he followed them, yearning to find their source, until at last he found what he supposed was the right door, and without much cause stumbled into the room.
Seated around a table were perhaps ten or twenty or sixty people, all in military uniform, all with decorations. He scanned the perimeter of the room; it was not large, but armed guards, dressed in fine suits and wearing sunglasses, were at every corner.
'Good god!' he heard someone say. 'Get this man some water!'
The guards moved quickly. They grabbed him roughly and threw him down into a chair, whereupon he was surrounded by inquiring faces. A cold, wet towel was forced upon his forehead; it stung like the bitter winter cold and he cried out in shock.
'Easy there,' said one of his captors.
The next thing he knew, they were forcing a clear, odorless liquid down his throat.
"No!" he cried out in protest, sure that it was some sort of secret poison, or some other awful interrogation device. Water spilled all over his clothes - wait. Why was he dressed so formally?
'Okay, that's enough,' said a firm voice at last. 'Let's just get him to calm down.'
Calm down? Hansien thought the notion was foolish. He had to get out of here, somehow. Was he armed? He didn't think so...perhaps, if he were quick enough, he could grab the firearm of one of the guards...but could he make it in time? The Enemy were many.
"Who am I?" he croaked at last, his throat achingly dry. "Why am I here?"
His captors exchanged confused, anxious glances. Hansien thought he caught them smirking. Agitated, he shouted, "What are you going to do with me!"
One of the faces swam from a fuzzy field of view into clear focus. It was the face of a man in a green military suit with four stars on its shoulder. It was familiar, somehow...which couldn't be a good thing.
"Mr. President," he said. "Are you quite alright?"
"What?" Hansien was flustered. President? What was he talking about? A man called Dumalar had swept the nation, had held him captive - "What is this place?"
"Mr. President, you're in the ... first floor of the ... capitol building..."
"I - what?"
"He's running a high fever, look at him."
"We'll need to get that checked out right away."
"But, but..." Hansien protested. This was not possible. "What have you done to Dailey? Where has the Imperial Army advanced?...have we retaken Chisliag?...are the Generians coming?..."
The looks on the faces of the men in the room changed to pure concern. One of them spoke tentatively. "I'm...right here, sir." Hansien looked. It was Dailey. He was stuffing his face with donuts. It had to be him. But - "Then is the Tower still intact?"
"Tower?"
"For christ's sake, the Tower of Factoring? They burned it to the ground! You telling me none of this is real; I demand to see the tower!"
There was a long pause, and then one of them, his suit marked with the nametag Smith, spoke slowly. "Mr. President," he said, choosing his words carefully. "There is not, nor has there ever been, a Tower of Factoring."
And then the world went black.