Fanfiction:V Translanka Magness 2
TEMPORAL VORTEX REPORT
-REPORT NO. 2-
[UNKNOWN TRANSFER RATE, SYSTEMATIC DATA MALFUNCTION]
CRYPTIC TEXT SYNCH RESULT - MULTIDIMENSIONAL TIMELINES
CODE - "MAGNESS"
CODE EX. - "THE HALLS OF VITA"
The etched door opened again, the blue swirl swallowed him, the crowds of unsuspecting, unnoticed people shifted back and forth between himself and his shimmering objective. His feet moved forward again, gaining no distance. Did he seem to know it was useless? He couldn't think. He didn't think. A gloved hand shot out again, his hand. His mouth opened, teeth bared in absolute anxiety, in desperation to speak, to plead, to yell, to scream.
The words from the voice resonated into his mind again. Not the pleading, distressed, driving, despondent voice. The other one, the one that came from the heart, "Find your sister, my son." Was it his mother's voice? He couldn't remember how it sounded. The bleeding (just now clotting) scrape on his temple seemed to cloud the past events in a neat shade of lifeless gray.
He looked down and saw that the floor was a kind of steel plating. He was in some sort of man-made dwelling. By this simple piece of information, he knew he wasn't in The Destruction of Zeal-time anymore. He wasn't in The Guardia Mystic Conflict-time either it seemed; no, definately not 600 A.D. Both the Guardians and the Mystics would use some kind of granite or marble, some kind of stone at least, not the glistening metal he saw beneath him.
The words registered and struck him square: 'beneath him'. He was standing. His weapon and pack were not with him. The murky gray that bounded and dully pounded his mind had held these things from him. His left hand just as suddenly-seemingly to make up for the time his cloudly mind had hiddden it from his sensory perception-burst into suffering, agonizing flame. His teeth bore, wicked and sharp, and showed his pain. It was as if someone were lighting his hand on fire with a blazing torch. This pain departed almost as quickly as it had assaulted him. In its place came a softer version of the fiery pins and needles again, along with a softer scowl across his face.
More aspects of the room and his condition came into focus. The room was a dull metal box; roughly thirty by twenty feet in diameter. There seemed to be a silhouette of a door, but no knob, no lever, no switch. He was in the future. He had seen similar doors before, when he traveled with the boy. These doors weren't locked with the Zealian seal though; they were the normal doors of the future that he thought would open if he could only stand in front of it. So he went to go to the door.
Yet another facet of the new place occurred to him out of the blue. His arms, his legs, and his throat were each bound in an electrical device. To the backs of his limbs were metal boxes, each adorned with code pads and blinking lights. These metal boxes wrapped his extremities in a faint white light that seized him snugger than any metal cuffs could. They were chained with a similar stream of light to a console to his right.
He moved toward the console. A spark of light struck his head as he collided with another stream of light. This one was a wall that blocked his approach to the console. The streams from the 'cuffs' seamlessly drifted to and fro when he moved back and forth from the console, but when he approached the door, they constricted and would allow him to go no further.
A panel lifted from the wall towad his right, beyond the console, revealing a concealed, circular, glass object. It looked like a gun. More so, it resembled the laser weapons of that heaping automaton that was with the boy when he traveled along with them. He darted to get out of the path of the ensuing stream of light that came from it.
"You are being detained for further chrono-sequential analysis. You have violated Novous Ordo Seclorum Convention Temporal Codes 84-S13..." It was not a laser at all. When he looked back he saw it was not man-made Shadow Magic, but it was in fact a man. No, not truly a man, for a man does not radiate light in that manner, a man's features are not so dull, nor are any man's form so eerily translucent. It was a hologram. It reminded him of the robot central core network. This one was a much more advanced form than that one he had seen previously though. The network had required three seperate interfaces to be projected and sustained as a corporal being of light. This one required what looked like only one.
The hologram droned on, "...time travel under unspecified and unfounded means, 45-F06, possession of unidentified narcotic substances, 91-M03, possession of illegal and unregistered weapons, 09-C30, security breech in sector 770.907, and 06-C45, breaking and entering."
He had turned away from the shimmering figure at the second code violation declaration. The shadow cast by the hologram of his body was faint because of the room's somewhat heavy lighting, but as soon as the hologram flickered off, the shadow disappeared, and the plate slid back over the hologram interface, he realized what he could do. The streams from the light-shackles moved freely between the barrier of light between him and the console. He let out a slight chuckle of amusement. It seemed they truly were in need-dire need now he thought-of a "chrono-sequential analysis" of him, because they had underestimated him. Their world, their time, had forgotten, their documents didn't show them, or it was even possible that they had rejected the absurdity of it, of...Magic.
"Fools...Underestimate me will you...," He whispered the words under his breath. The simple, apprentice-level spell was chanted in mere seconds. He lifted his good, right hand and the bolt of lightning flew past the wall of light with the fluidity of water and struck the console, burning, charring, and disrupting circuitry. The beams of light glimmered and died, the shackles fell off, and the door opened before his presence.
His bad, left hand still hung lifeless at his side, and it annoyed him. He did not know what sorts of mechanized monstrosities, holographic humans, or secret traps awaited him. He would want his hand back. More importantly, he would want his scythe and supplies back. His Amulet was stolen from him and he was angry for it.
His clothes remained the same; they had left him with that much dignity at least. His plain leather vest still hugged him tightly, yet comfortably, a blue cloth was wrapped around the more flexible (and thusly more exposed to the cold) mid-section. His light, plum-colored pants, with the inch-wide metal band wrapped around his right leg, disappeared into his shin-high, worn-in, soft-soled, leather boots. His forearm-length gloves (also leather) were the same, but he noticed that they had done a thorough search and had found the small charms and medicines he had held within their inner pockets.
The doorway from his waiting cell led in a dark and damp hallway. It stank of decay and must. The lengthy metal walls of the hall had gone grimy from time. There was no one waiting, nothing out there to get him, yet. He could see the hall's end to the left of his cell door and so went on down the right.
As he went on down the empty and lengthy hall, he came upon various cells similar to his own. The only exception being that no one occupied these rooms. The dankness of the place began to thin as he went, but it was still just as distinct. The hall took a slight curvature to the right. In a moment, extended by the emptiness, the vacant rooms, and the silence, he came to a small split in the hall. The right rounded sharply and looked like another long hall filled with a similar, albeit opposite curve and more empty cells.
He took the other direction, whihc was more of a nexus forward of the two hallways' points. The whole place seemed to be in the shape of an upside-down "Y". Panels of light began to brighten and come to life above him, where further down the hall they were only flickering fireflies. This provided him with even less cover in the exposed and cramped corridor. As he went on, he wondered if the people who had captured him weren't somehow watching him. Could it be that they were analyzing him even now?
"You're going to be found. You're going to be killed." The drifting, doubtful voice reminded him. He went on. Doors to either side of this hall contained only a minisculte amount of things, nothing useful. Many were simply more cells, others were a bigger mess hall, a meeting hall with a large metallic desk, and even a few toilets. But after a while the doors thinned out and the hair at the back of his neck began to stand up.
The end finally struck him with a much larger, double-door version of the doors he had previously seen. Instead of going up or down, this one split at the middle and opened outward to the left and right. The right part of the door's circuitry ceased to function properly; a crease of light came out from behind the door as it jerked back and forth spasmodically, rhythmically.
He snuck up to the door with a silent grace that had taken him only days of boyhood curiosity to perfect. The room itself was poorly lit. The light that came from within originated from a large monitor in the very back of the room. Three shapes stood at different parts of the screen. A glare streked itself across the monitor from a light out of sight to the left. The one directly in front was conversing with someone he couldn't see.
"There is 'insufficient data' in regard to what exactly?" The middle person said in a barely audible, raspy voice.
"600 A.D. is a possible origin." A voice (did it seem familiar?) said that seemed to resonate from deep in the room, "There is insufficient data regarding the true origin of the subject in question."
"How is it only 'a possible origin'?" The person to the right asked. Its voice seemed to cackle with static. He couldn't hear any of their voices outside of the resonating one very well, "A time traveler? Wouldn't we have more on a subject if he were a time traveler?"
"The subject's TDNA goes further back, closer to 12,000 B.C." The voice said, "This era is mostly unknown to us presently. Further information is required. Suggest a questioning of the subject immediately."
"You know we can not do that." The being to the right stated matter-of-factly.
"Clotho is correct. It is a breach of Temporal Code to distribute information regarding future timelines, regardless of situation." The person to the left announced. Its voice was more subdued, rather effeminate.
"It is also a breach of Temporal Code to keep temporal refugees." The person in the middle said.
"Detainment was necessary." The right being countered, "Contravention of Temporal Code 09-C30, security breech in sector 770.907, is a high priority offence."
"Prometheus, do you still suggest questioning even with the added danger of further breaking Temporal Code?" The person identified as Clotho asked.
"Questioning is necessary for further advancement in chrono-sequential analysis. The subject cannot be released otherwise regardless." The voice said, "Further temporal disturbance is forbidden. If the subject is a traveler, it should have means of further travel, which it does not."
"Then we question." The one on the right said. At that, each of them swiveled in unison, with the grace of a troup of ballerina. They each took quick, fluid steps toward the door. They were firm and unwavering, yet time seemed to slow, to stop, as they moved. Still they came, closer and closer.
Clotho led the way, hitting the jittering door, causing it to open for the three of them. They stepped out into a long, but compact, empty hall. Clotho and the one on the right stood side-by-side, which was the maximum allowable space, and the one on the left followed behind them.
They weren't human.
Clotho raised a hand to stop their advancement after the door behind them closed. The moment before Clotho began to speak stretched out into an eternity. He took this time to properly examine these new adversaries. His closest thought was that they resembled that robotic ally that had accompanied himself and the boy; although these three had many obvious differences.
For one, they seemed to have a more female anatomy to them; they were slimmer at the waists, wider at the breast, and they even had more pronounced-and functioning-lips. They were obviously far more advanced than any automoton he had ever encountered previously. Their structure much more closely resembled that of a human, each with only a few exception of a robotic extension here or there.
Clotho's metal had a green tint, the one beside her, a blue, and the one behind had a pink hue. Their eyes glowed, or twinkled, their respective colors. Clotho opened her mouth to speak to the others, "Perhaps Prometheus is malfunctioning."
"What makes you say this?" The pink one asked.
"Should Prometheus suggest breaking Temporal Code, even if it is the only alternative?" The blue one asked, backin gup Clotho's point.
"Perhaps you two are malfunctioning."
"You are always so unquestioning of Prometheus, Atropos. Perhaps you are malfunctioning as well." Clotho retorted.
"And you and Lachesis are always so questioning of Prometheus. Perhaps we are all malfunctioning."
"Let us worry about Prometheus later." Lachesis stated, "Questioning the subject is the only course of action we can take, malfunctioning or not."
"Agreed." Atropos said.
"Agreed." Clotho said with a curt nod.
They dragged on down the corridor, their soft-soled feet making only a whisper of sound as they went. After they were out of hearing range, his right arm buckled, he spat his lifeless left hand from his clenched teeth and he dropped down from the ceiling. A single bead of sweat traced down his cheek before he wiped it away. He had been up there no longer than two minutes, but it seemed like it was still going on. His right arm twitched and he flexed it, trying to get the blood flowing into it again.
"Prometheus...?" He wondered to himself, "Atropos?"
He shook off the familiar names. He didn't have time to sit and ponder. After they reached his cell, they'd realize he wasn't there, and they would look for him. They would find him.
He entered the shadowy room, completely enraptured in his element. The room was somehow more colorless and filled with even more melancholy than the halls and his cell had been. Aside from the main console that the three robots had occupied, a slightly askew lamplight shone off to the left, the source of the glare on the main screen. Every wall glittered with a full assortment of esoteric lights and dials and meters that he would never understand.
Various shut doors stood to his left and right, like poised guards watching his every movement, as he approached the main console. The glare gently subsided and he saw and recognized the very familiar face on the screen. It was Prometheus, R66-Y, aka Robo. He lifted a brow at the sight.
"Magus, I knew you would escape." The hidden speakers announced and the eyes of the image of Prometheus in the screen glowed and pulsed with the words.
"Do not call me that." He said plainly.
"Shall I call you Janus then, or perhaps 'Prophet'?"
"Neither." He said abruptly, "How do you know who I am?"
"I know because I am meant to know."
"Don't give me that bullshit. How do you know?" He spat the question out, even though he knew he didn't have the time to be asking questions.
"Do not worry. They have been subdued. I locked them into your cell and overloaded a few of their primary circuits as soon as they entered." The computer shifted focus as if reading his thoughts.
"Why?" He was mystified by the turn of events.
"We are not allowed to keep or question you for one."
"And for another...?" He asked.
"I am not allowed to disclose information on the events of 12,000 B.C. Much less give out any information pertaining you in 600 A.D."
He gave this new information a quick dismissal and then said, "The Chrono Trigger."
"You know what I mean." He said, shifting quick glances to the sides of the room, constantly aware that the doors to his left and right could hold any and all sort of devices that could eradicate him.
"Ah, you are referring to the Time Egg! Of course, it must be what you seek."
"Tell me." He said, the two words on the brink of a command.
"I am afraid any information I give you will not help. There has only been one stable Time Egg, and you witnessed its destruction."
"How is it possible that you know all of this?"
"I have told you already."
"Of course, you were meant to know." He said with a snarl, "Give me the information, I'll decide if it's helpful or not."
"If you insist..." The voice continued with something that resembled an electronic version of a sigh, "One Lucca Ashtear, circa 1025 A.D. has been developing, unsuccessfully I might add, the means to travel to critical points in time via exponential temporal energy waves, a.k.a. a Chrono Trigger."
"Now, tell me where my belongings are." Before he could finish, one of the doors to his right whooshed upward, revealing his effects.
"Take them away then. Possession of many of those artifacts is illegal, and Temporal Code would be enforced more strictly, if they weren't so archaic." The machine told him, "Might I suggest the use of a more concealable weapon? It is not as if you will always be in 600 A.D. where people actually revered and feared the name of Magus."
"I might take it under consideration, but I am not Magus." He said with distaste as he slung his pack around one shoulder, replaced various items, and held his scythe in his right hand. After doing this, he noted his left hand again, he'd need to treat it soon, but now wasn't the time, "How do I get out of here?"
Another door, this one to the left, opened, "There is a Temporal Displacement System within. I am afraid that too is against Temporal Code to use though."
"I'm going to use it anyway."
"Yes, I am aware of that."
"Then why are you telling me all of this?"
"I am helping you because I am supposed to. It is my purpose." Prometheus stated, "I must tell you also about the Temporal Code violations because they will be used against you afterwards."
"After the Temporal Code Enforcers find out about all of this..." Prometheus said solemnly, "...After that, a full investigation will be held. My circuitry will be dissected and I will be permanently shut down. Of course, all data I am meant to conceal will remain so, though I am not able to conceal that which Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos have currently discerned."
"No, you said they would be used against me." He said, a bit agitated.
"Oh, of course, you wish to know the implications regarding you. During the investigation, they will find out that you have used the TDS, and they will find your whereabouts. They will try and detain you for questioning at any and all costs."
"Why would I be so important to them?"
"Well, your code violations aside, you are a temporal disturbance, and as an anomaly, you are only growing as you go further in time."
"Looks like I'll be hunted then."
"You will become priority number one."
"Wait, won't they be able to track me down to this time, right now?" He asked frantically.
"Most certainly not, it is impossible. Time travel is not so precise. Travel is only possible to the point of time of the exit or presence of the last traveler."
"What do you mean?"
"I am afraid time has run out and it is time for you to go. Find Miss Ashtear. Give her my regards." The speakers let out a sound that seemed like a faint laugh, "Of course, I do not expect you to actually do that."
He gave an annoyed, unsatisfied look downward and proceeded toward the door to the left. The path was opening before him, but there were so many unfulfilled questions he knew would come about later. Would he find her so easily?
"Goodbye traveler of time, man of many names." Prometheus' voice faded as the door closed behind him. The device's settings showed 1025 A.D. There was no specific date, as Prometheus said there could not be. He wondered when in that year he would end up. Would they really not know when exactly he was? Would they be able to travel to the time he popped up in 1025 or would time go forward like it did before, and they wouldn't be able to pinpoint his exact location in 1025? Again, there was no more time.
He stepped up onto the platform, and the energy transfer began almost immediately. He got only the briefest hint of a glance at the cautionary notification just above the machine's main console:
EXPERIMENTAL TEMPORAL DISPLACEMENT SYSTEM
Designed For Operation by Vita Hardware Only
Prometheus Supervision Required
Seperate System Needed For Use with Non-Robotics
An irritated look started on his face before time was torn. It was not the pleasant deep ocean blue of any of the previous portals he had been through. In a second, the world cracked away and was replaced with a dull electric yellow filled with sparks and bolts of blackness. In fact, it even felt entirely different. Instead of that fleeting, instant feeling of traveling without moving, it was more like a ripping, splitting sensation, followed with lavish amounts of pain and agony. Time and space were being physically and unnaturally split open like a gapping knife wound. It was extraordinary.
His eyes became small pin-pricks as he was enveloped in the torture and the hurt of it all. His right fist clenched deeply at his scythe, nearly crushing it. Energy surged through his left, giving it new life, and just as instantly, new anguish. The nails of his left hand's fingers bore through the leather of his glove, through his skin, and fresh blood blotted his hand.
A very base part-somewhere in the back perhaps-of his brain thought that soon enough the pain would subdue, if not because it would actually stop, than because his nerves would dull and it would have to reseed. That part of his brain was proven wrong. Seconds floated. Minutes crawled. Hours dwindled. Whole days were rising and dying in the endless cycle of pain. His brain did not shut down because of the pain. The pain kept him awake. It kept him going. Centuries and eras passed before his sightless, unseeing eyes in a kaleidoscope of yellow and black like an old carousel on its last legs, somehow deliberate, unhurried, and leisurely in its circles. Around and around it went.
If he saw the robot-any robot for that matter-or whatever was possessed with the Prometheus circuitry next, he would obliterate it with great vengeance and furious anger. Yes, all robots must go. He could not think these thoughts presently, but they would be the first thoughts that would drift in the back of his head after he came out and the pain started to fade away. That did not come for what seemed like an eternity, a lifetime, forever.
...But I was another person then...