DramaMyth
TRUST me, you have a purpose.
Juncture One: The Dawning
"You can feel it too, right? That tingling in your soul... like a gut feeling, but more. Like your DNA is literally nagging you to succumb to it's true intention. Change."
4.16 Years Ago
"OH HELLLL NAHHH." A suave yet mellowing voice echoed through the Asheville home, nice and complacent among the beautiful mountains of North Carolina. He'd faced a tedious task, it was literally all down to him. His teammates had fallen, twas but him that was left to take on an opposing team of 5 in Rainbow Six: Siege, one of his current favorites. Mr. King of All Trades had lived up to his name in a typical day. He'd woken up 6AM to get his Iron Spartan workout in, a brutal regime for the conventional human. He'd then danced in the nearby studio following his weight-cardio flex as if the insanity of energy wasn't already enough to perplex the mind, before heading home to shower and write some music and find appropriate instrumentals to make soul changing ballads to. And later, the young quasi-progeny would do some coding to brush up on his comp sci skills and probably head out again for Krav Maga. Typical outline for the life of Lance Rush. He was enjoying yet utilizing his summer to the fullest, having recently graduated with honors from his alma mater with a couple of bachelors' degrees and a thick aura of confidence and fulfillment in his spirit. He'd sat composed as he played his gaming console, moving as tactically in the virtual recreation as he matched to do in life. Humble, but ready to conquer any moment. That was until of course the sound of footsteps breached his headphones, and his character was assassinated. Groans and criticism covered the party chat with disdain. Dammit Lance... you suck. "Did you-- I suck!? HUNNNNNNH!? I'm sorry I had to mount the team on my shoulder and carry y'all to the wins we did manage to get! Bunch'a JAGGALOONS". Laughters emit in good kinship following, his friends and peers all synthesizing the experience as they all prepared to log off and head about their day. This was classic Lance, this was true Lance. The one who was always the life of the moment, but never demanded it. He was just simply himself. Optimistic & always faithful in the path life would deliver. No matter the storm, he always told himself that he was the wind. He was ready to drift anew to a day of potential and limitless opportunities. It was going to be a good day.
Was.
It was the last time Lance would remember tranquility.
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Eight Days Ago.
The shoe. The shoe has dropped. Four years of pain and torment. Four years of The House... a will minimalized, but not diminished. Long dread of searing lights and screams, his own. He doesn't remember tears, nor does he remember life... he just was. The Orchestrator as they'd called him and Lance had come to known, said that Lance was destined to change the landscape of the universe, that among all his occupants... Lance truly was one in a trillion. Something they'd never mentioned before. That was the day The Orchestrator made the biggest mistake of his or her life. He'd told the only subject that had been assessing this entire time the key to his... and now others' liberation. Being a cinephile had its merits, and no matter how long the time, a person's soul never withers... only sleeps, or soars. It triggered a memory of Lance's, a biopic about a chess player. It was providence, The Montecelli Trap. The endgame was the middle-game. And so... it was. The seconds, minutes, and hours melted into a stream of dormant consciousness, only occupied by his locked away thoughts of the notion of who he was before The House. Lights associated with pain, and then nothing but lucid experiences of voices and more lights... he could feel himself fading away from reality, only anchored by his sheer willpower and faith now.
And that was enough. It was more than enough. Because the next thing he remembered, were lights glitching as the voices and senses around him became more than lucid, they became real. It was a shock to the system that brought severe disorientation and psychological shock, so much so the young man jumped from his state like a rabid nightmare, sweating and body weak from what seemed like limb indolence and mental fatigue. He saw black suited security uniforms with no logo, no nametags, no identity. They flooded the room, yet their sight scattered all about as if they were searching for something. Lance crumpled himself off of a sole medical bed, the IV in his arms bringing a slight sting to his epidermis. The momentum should've been enough to send the bed crashing down with him... but a peculiar thing: Lance looks up at the bed, and the IV's... both perfectly intact. For a nanosecond, confusion struck Lance as he then immediately converted it into resolve, bolting for the open door as he bumped into a guard, sending the being flying into the wall. Not too weak I see... Lance thought to himself. But that was where his mistake came, as the guards all fired in the direction of the contact at the exact moment Lance lost resolve and concentration. It seemed to have gave attention to the security, as all of a sudden their focus laser locked on him, but as Lance noticed their body language... it was as if they'd seen a ghost. Lance felt the sting of a needle in his back, as he gradually slumped to the floor, his eyes fading on the view of the medical bed and a large, helmet construct above it with searing lights. That was it, the shoe. It clicked for Lance. He wasn't experiencing anything at all, because he was living in a dream... they all were. It was the most frightening, but most liberating piece of information. It was the key.
"Put him back in."
Lance knew that voice anywhere. The Orchestrator. "Ninety-Five... you gave us quite a scare. You're too precious to risk. You are going to change the world don't you see? You are the one of the strongest souls I have ever seen, and it will save humanity." Lance managed to peer outside the door, leading into a very long corridor of other two-way mirrors and doors, designed like the room he was confined to. It was them, the occupants. Had to be. Lance ushered a deep exhale in revelation of this, the awareness fading from his perception. He heard for the first time in the endless stream of time at The House.. other voices. Screams, cries, pleas. A huge burden ironically left his chest, he knew now he was truly not alone, moreover... they were going to be just fine. Just hold on a little bit longer... Lance sinks to the cold surface beneath him, yet upon his final moments in the conscious realm... he felt a distinct shape pressing into his abdomen. Slinking faintly, he brought his hands under him as if trying to get up, when really he was feeling out the object... it was the shape of a card, and almost as if God Almighty placed a gift in his lap, Lance sighed in a ending relief, too weak to react any stronger. It was from when Lance bumped into the guard, it must've pulled the card free. The guards turned him over and picked him up, to find nothing but a cold & hard surface. They sat him back on the bed, and The Orchestrator begin initialization of a monitor in the corner of the room, that activated the helmet-of-lights. Lance's last view was of The Orchestrator in an all black hazmat suit, tinted visor. "Lance, The Centennials are just a me-----" He fades away into REM State, losing all grip of senses. However, upon looking at Lance's face just before meeting the void, one would swear the young king of fortune was smirking. An internal seed to sprout at the moment of imminence.
Remember... HURRY.
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One Week Ago.
Endless streams of time. Watching. Waiting. The one flaw in the system: It looked in there as it did in reality. REM State allows for the brain to be actively cognitive, yet subtly dormant. Lance skated in between the blurred line. Solemn, stoic, and silent... those were his laws in an environment designed to cripple and torment the persona. Lance was an anchor, and he knew they were watching both inside and out. Good. Because today was the day. This was the eve of a new dawn, for him and for all the oppressed like him. he didn't know who they were, or where they hailed from, but they shared a common bond, and that bond would be enough to forge a fire to burn The House to pieces, if not just metaphorically, then fundamentally. Lance closed his eyes in the artificial construct of causality. The laughs from his family, banter from his friends, the loves he invested, the tears that he's shed, the life that was removed from his peace. He felt it all at once, blended it into one single purpose; It was the purpose that availed him last time. To simply be, and to fade away. He meditated, waiting..... waiting.... in the abyss of dark and unknown, he was there, waiting for the light.
But he was met with something else. Destiny.
The helmet-of-lights glitches as Lance comes back to the real world. The seed that was planted embedded his mind with ambition and objective: HURRY. Lance awakens and rips the IV's from his arms, a roar of absolution sounding through the corridor. He felt the changes on his skin, his afro and very bushy beard prominent from all the time under. Lance shakes and smacks himself as he drags himself to the security door to his room, the craggy stone walls almost as if they're underground somewhere being a cold reminder of the hardship ahead of him. Focus... this is it. The high tech door slides open as the light goes green and a team of security flood the room to an empty bed. "Sir, Nine-Five is invisible again, orders?". It was too late. Lance clings to the wall of the corridor, mustering himself along as more guards run past him and into Room #95. He was still silent, stoic, and solemn, but this time there was a lighter expression to his face. Hope. He channels his inner top tier athlete and training, shaking himself into a primed state as he starts to get feeling back in his arms and legs fully. He runs from Rooms #94 down to #90, pulling the keycard he'd stashed in his white gown out and swiping past the doors, the beautiful sound of the code switching from red to green as the doors to the rooms open. Lance one by one removes the REM helmets from the occupants, and it wasn't until he got to Room #91 and saw a young girl about his age did the House Security catch on. "CODE BLACK! WE HAVE A CODE BLACK! THE DOORS ARE OPEN PROTOCOL CONTROL OVERRIDE!" The corridor now darkened as red alert lights flashed all over the place, with Lance freeing #91 and moving down to #90. If the format was true, then there were 10 Rooms on each floor... but how many were there? It was then Lance remembered The Orchestrator's words... Centennials. That's the term associated with one-hundred. For the first time in the years that he'd been here, Lance spoke out. "Well damn." Numbers 90-94 awaken and falter out into the hall, with the Houseguard drawing from non-lethal to now dangerous weapons. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW, HANDS U--" One body flies into the wall. A barrage of bullets goes off as another guard body is used to shield the direction of 90-94. "SHIT, NINE FIVE IS ACTIVE. I REPE--" Two more bodies clash into each other. Nothing can be seen in the flashes of dim red in the corridor, as the Houseguard all try to remain composed, getting knocked unconscious one by one. Lance was sure the new awoken were panicking, he had to be the beacon they could lean on. He drops his focus, his invisibility ending and appears abruptly to the five individuals "Hey! Hey! It's okay... I'm one of you. This has been a long time coming, I know you're scared and frazzled but they've been keeping us here sedated in an engineered coma. We don't have much time... I don't know if the term Gift or Centennial means anything to you but that's us okay? We have to use it and stick together if we wanna get out of here. Okay? Oh... I'm Lance by the way." Just like that, the king of trades was back and in rare form, adapted and ready. It didn't remove the years of pain, but he could channel the storm, to become the storm now.
There had to be an override somewhere, where they could control the lock mechanisms on every Room. Lance knew 90-94 were still waking up and gathering themselves, but he needed to get the rest out. There were 90 other lives he needed to save and liberate, and he'd do just that. He hands the keycard to #91, the girl he'd seen and freed when things went to shit. "Stick with the others. Find the other floors and free everyone. I'm gonna find the override and monitor the controls from there. They can't catch what they can't see." Lance gives a hopeful smile to the girl and her group and fades into existence. He finds the swarm of Houseguard filling into the stairways at the end of the hall, but that wasn't his target. They were probably following protocol and going to secure the other rooms, Lance needed the big fish. He peered up the vast stairway, seeing that he was on the bottom-most floor. That means 1-89 were on the above floors. The stairs were scattered with black uniforms, but a focused sight locks Lance's gaze on a spot of white. A white lab coat, not a guard, likely higher clearance. They seemed to scan into the central pillar which Lance inferred served as an elevator of sorts. That's where he needed to be. He moves swiftly, skimming the walls and trying to be as off-base as possible from the center of the stairs as not to run into anyone. He reaches the ramp leading to the central pillar and stands idle yet pacing to himself, eager with adrenaline to free the rest of The Centennials and praying #91 and her group was okay. This was the only shot they'd have, if this failed they'd likely be killed or worse, more of the same with added security measures. Like a call by fate, Lance sees another researcher hastily moving down stairs towards the pillar, but a few floors up. Lance rushed with grace to the stairway and sprints up closer to the scientist, the door just opening as Lance was closing in from yards away. The lab coat shines to Lance's eyes like a beacon to a sailor, as he slides and shifts pasts dwindling Houseguard to make it inside the elevator just before it closes, the researcher none the aware for Lance's presence. Lance controls his heavy breathing as quietly as possible, not certain if his gift extends to hearing as well as sight. His eyes never left the scientist, gazing down to a keycard that had no photo or ID, only color. It was black. Code Black instantly triggered in his mind. He needed that card.
The elevator opens as Lance reaches the top floor of The House, to see that it was more like a vast and advanced bunker of sorts. There were way more white suits than black ones here, meaning this had to be the main hub for operations. It would make sense to keep the captives deeper underground. Lance wondered if this was some terror group or government organization, but he had no time for that... he had to act. He followed the researcher into a lab where a whole staff of scientists, engineers, and operators were all communicating to one another and getting feedback. Lance was almost amazed at the structure and setup of the place, it was some technology he was familiar with studying computer science. All his attention faded at the mention of The Orchestrator, who could be seen on a monitor labled Section 9, showing the black hazmat suited director on the floor Lance was on. This was the perfect opportunity. They were on the deepest floor, the only way to go was up... right into the rest of The Centennials. Lance moved through the hub to where operators on headsets were typing in commands to lockdown all exits and doors. Okay, here we go... Lance takes a deep breath and pinches the operator, the shock from the sensation making him jump out of his headset and grab his arm in bewilderment. Lance crouches under his legs to see a series of wires running concurrent with the computers and monitors. That would lead him to the servers. It wasn't long before Lance found the closed off room, but with a looted keycard from the pinched Operator, the code switches green and Lance enters the room where there were only a handful of technicians. This whole thing had to be adequately funded to be this well supplied, but it no longer mattered, because as Lance found the central servers where all wires would lead, he smirked an invisible satisfaction. He heaved the bulk of cords in his hands, and with all the built up anguish and empathic turmoil of his fellow captives, he pulls the cords from their server sockets as hard as he could. And then darkness. The emergency power would queue, but by then it would be too late... the REM helmets would be shut down and The Centennials would be free to their own volition.
Free to be free.
The rest was in their hands. All they had to do was get themselves to the top, where the Hub was. Lance and Team 91 as he dubbed them would take care of the support. In the brief moments of the power assimilation, Lance would take the chance to help The Centennials out further by heading back into the main area of the Hub, where frantic researchers and crew all scatter from section to section trying to salvage data and information imperative to The House's operations. Lance managed to slide up to a vacant station and open the command console, viewing the list of commands and then promptly typing in the command to manipulate and shut down all monitors tied to the cameras in each Room, every single one. Lance then jumps from the chair and scurries into a scientist on accident, breaking his lucid focus and reappearing to everyone. The man in front of him looked paled and in sheer terror, as if Lance was a loaded gun pointed at the guy. He might as well been, they'd all been deemed nothing more than subjects of pain and evolution here, maybe he'd seen the anger in Lance's eyes... or maybe even the sadness. Neither was worse, but both were immensely powerful influences. Lance tilted his head in cognizance of the scientist... it was the same man who'd done his REM psych evaluation. Lance was certain not every Centennial would have the same composure and self-discipline, but The House brought it on itself. There's no telling what they've brought out of people's deepest crevices. Lance nabs the keycard from the fallen scientist and bolts for the main door, a huge silo looking door he was sure was the way out. Houseguard close in on Lance with guns drawn as he presses the keycard against the reader, as it switches green, the huge door slides open slowly, but not at a pace that would ensure his safety. Lance turns around, fatigued but empowered in the moment from the surge of it all.
"NINE-FIVE! DOWN NOW! OR WE WILL KILL YOU!" Suddenly, a breaching voice on the radio of one of the guards... THE voice. Orchestrator. "No! 95 is to be taken in alive! The Deca cannot be harmed!" Lance heard all he needed to hear to bolt for the exit as the guards swapped to non-lethal measures. The door simply wasn't opening fast enough, and like a lion cornered, Lance turned back and run full speed at the guards, as they aim at Lance he closes his eyes. And then, nothing. Among the buzzing horns and flashes of emergency lights, Lance was still up and active, but the guards were down. They were subdued, he didn't know how, and he didn't know who but he was grateful nonetheless. "Thanks!" he uttered to anyone and no one, whoever it was that may have graced him. The path was clear, he could see it: Light. Stopped at the cusp of the border of The House, lined up dozens of Houseguard all aimed on Lance, with a helicopter swirling outside overhead ready to intercept any stray activity. "You're done now." Lance's heart drops as the Orchestrator walks forth obscured by the black hazmat suit, voice muffled and distinct. How did he make it to the top!? Let alone outside!? "It's over, 95... you are truly a spectacle. This was your endgame huh? Admirable. Four years of silence just to manipulate a fracture of opportunity. More and more you and your occupants impress me. But this is done--" His speech is cut off by the terrifying scream of both guards and scientists from behind Lance, as bodies fly and the Hub goes dark with red flashes. Silence. And then... liberty. The sight of a crowd of white gowns emerging from the stairs and pillar alike, placing an involuntary gasp & smile into Lance. They seem confused and dazed, but focused enough to know the situation at hand, that they were taken from their life as the person beside them was too. They looked pained, but they looked hungry, and not for food, but for answers. Lance turns back to The Orchestrator, whom even though he couldn't see their face, he knew it was full of fear and panic. "You were saying?" Lance says as he fades from sight & reality, the white gowns all screaming and charging the exit. "TAKE EM DOWN. Bring Section 9 to ME." The Orchestrator yells as the Houseguard fires lethal bullets into the crowd of subjects. Lance could only have faith none would perish, but that would be unrealistic. No checkmate came without pawns of sacrifice. Which is why he opted for the Montecelli Trap: To win the exchange, you must surrender to the logic of loss. From outside, Lance hyperventilated at the choice before him. It was the age old question: Would you kill lives, to save lives? While in his Null-State, He'd slipped a gun from a guard and knocked him out, and now his reflexes had but seconds to combine all his life wisdom and experience into one impulse decision. He could mow down the legion of guards, here and now and allow The Centennials to break free, or he could freeze, and possibly die, ending all of this for nothing. All the Krav Maga and athleticism in the world couldn't be applied adeptly in this surreal situation, where the stakes are life altering. So he chose outside the box. He switched to tranquilize and aimed the ACOG scope at the pilot of the helicopter, having faith there was enough force to push through the window, let alone his aim.
"Come on Lance...just like Siege, but ...er, real." he steadies... and shoots the tranquilizer into the steady chopper, the window creating a micro hole as the dart lands in the pilot's arm, a very unlikely probability. It was almost like the odds were fated on The Centennials' side. The chopper starts to swirl out of control, as the pilot dozes into a sleep, the chopper spinning towards the outside team of Houseguard, distracting them from gunfire and causing them to scatter like roaches. Among the thunderous clash of metal onto earth, the roars of white gown Centennials soon followed, their faces almost clung to the light outside as they blasted past the doors to The House and into a remote mountainous region. Cries of joy and of pain alike went out from subjects, as everyone ran in various directions. It was a misery to endure, but a beautiful sight in Lance's eyes... partly due to him. But there was no time to breakdown in joy yet, they still had to vacate the vicinity. Lance drops his focus and reappears, tired and drained from his endeavors. A small group of Centennials stop to help him up. "Thank you... we.. we can get out of here now. You're free. You're... we're..." Lance collapses. And that, was the beginning of a revolution. The Revolution of Evolution. That was a week ago. Not long after that, he'd woken up in a run down villa to find out they were in Puerto Rico. They, being his group of Centennials that managed to escape and get themselves and him to safety.
His current family.
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Now.
"You can feel it too, right? That tingling in ya soul... like a gut feeling, but more. Like your DNA is literally nagging you to succumb to it's true intention. Change."
A now clean-face shaven Lance says to everyone and no one about their Gifts, trying to build some camaraderie with his fellow group of Centennials. There was himself, Vince: an abnormally tall and more elder man, Anna: a young kid that seemed isolated and detached, Landon & Nick: another two teens around Lance's age that seemed the quiet but angry type, Kostya: a Russian looking fellow, and three females: one seemed a little older: Credence, one was about Lance's age: Mila, and the other was the first person he'd recognized when he'd woken up, #91, the girl that he'd woken up in The House: Sofia. They were laying low in the villa, trying to avoid all attention and attraction from The House. Lance was the one least in the loop the past couple of days, the first few days after the escape he was sleeping, hard. They'd almost thought he was in another coma. There was one point when Lance's Gift kicked in and he vanished from view, he got a laugh at that when they told him. He'd been keeping to himself lately, knowing sooner or later he'd have to formulate some sort of plan of advancement. Then there was the priority of them finding the others. The other Centennials, who were probably so lost and scared, the empathy of it all made Lance's eyes mildly begin to water. They needed help, all of them. He'd probably make a run to a mart soon in the barrio, to get more shave razors, water, and essential foods for the group. From the little time he'd known his group, he'd seen Vince was more equipped to deal with covert situations like these from his explanation of his military knowledge, Credence had mentioned experience too, but then she stared on about being a baby and an old woman and lost Lance. But, they had to stay sharp, this was the end of a misery but a start to a new peril.
This was only the beginning.
I 0 0
"You can feel it too, right? That tingling in your soul... like a gut feeling, but more. Like your DNA is literally nagging you to succumb to it's true intention. Change."
4.16 Years Ago
"OH HELLLL NAHHH." A suave yet mellowing voice echoed through the Asheville home, nice and complacent among the beautiful mountains of North Carolina. He'd faced a tedious task, it was literally all down to him. His teammates had fallen, twas but him that was left to take on an opposing team of 5 in Rainbow Six: Siege, one of his current favorites. Mr. King of All Trades had lived up to his name in a typical day. He'd woken up 6AM to get his Iron Spartan workout in, a brutal regime for the conventional human. He'd then danced in the nearby studio following his weight-cardio flex as if the insanity of energy wasn't already enough to perplex the mind, before heading home to shower and write some music and find appropriate instrumentals to make soul changing ballads to. And later, the young quasi-progeny would do some coding to brush up on his comp sci skills and probably head out again for Krav Maga. Typical outline for the life of Lance Rush. He was enjoying yet utilizing his summer to the fullest, having recently graduated with honors from his alma mater with a couple of bachelors' degrees and a thick aura of confidence and fulfillment in his spirit. He'd sat composed as he played his gaming console, moving as tactically in the virtual recreation as he matched to do in life. Humble, but ready to conquer any moment. That was until of course the sound of footsteps breached his headphones, and his character was assassinated. Groans and criticism covered the party chat with disdain. Dammit Lance... you suck. "Did you-- I suck!? HUNNNNNNH!? I'm sorry I had to mount the team on my shoulder and carry y'all to the wins we did manage to get! Bunch'a JAGGALOONS". Laughters emit in good kinship following, his friends and peers all synthesizing the experience as they all prepared to log off and head about their day. This was classic Lance, this was true Lance. The one who was always the life of the moment, but never demanded it. He was just simply himself. Optimistic & always faithful in the path life would deliver. No matter the storm, he always told himself that he was the wind. He was ready to drift anew to a day of potential and limitless opportunities. It was going to be a good day.
Was.
It was the last time Lance would remember tranquility.
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Eight Days Ago.
The shoe. The shoe has dropped. Four years of pain and torment. Four years of The House... a will minimalized, but not diminished. Long dread of searing lights and screams, his own. He doesn't remember tears, nor does he remember life... he just was. The Orchestrator as they'd called him and Lance had come to known, said that Lance was destined to change the landscape of the universe, that among all his occupants... Lance truly was one in a trillion. Something they'd never mentioned before. That was the day The Orchestrator made the biggest mistake of his or her life. He'd told the only subject that had been assessing this entire time the key to his... and now others' liberation. Being a cinephile had its merits, and no matter how long the time, a person's soul never withers... only sleeps, or soars. It triggered a memory of Lance's, a biopic about a chess player. It was providence, The Montecelli Trap. The endgame was the middle-game. And so... it was. The seconds, minutes, and hours melted into a stream of dormant consciousness, only occupied by his locked away thoughts of the notion of who he was before The House. Lights associated with pain, and then nothing but lucid experiences of voices and more lights... he could feel himself fading away from reality, only anchored by his sheer willpower and faith now.
And that was enough. It was more than enough. Because the next thing he remembered, were lights glitching as the voices and senses around him became more than lucid, they became real. It was a shock to the system that brought severe disorientation and psychological shock, so much so the young man jumped from his state like a rabid nightmare, sweating and body weak from what seemed like limb indolence and mental fatigue. He saw black suited security uniforms with no logo, no nametags, no identity. They flooded the room, yet their sight scattered all about as if they were searching for something. Lance crumpled himself off of a sole medical bed, the IV in his arms bringing a slight sting to his epidermis. The momentum should've been enough to send the bed crashing down with him... but a peculiar thing: Lance looks up at the bed, and the IV's... both perfectly intact. For a nanosecond, confusion struck Lance as he then immediately converted it into resolve, bolting for the open door as he bumped into a guard, sending the being flying into the wall. Not too weak I see... Lance thought to himself. But that was where his mistake came, as the guards all fired in the direction of the contact at the exact moment Lance lost resolve and concentration. It seemed to have gave attention to the security, as all of a sudden their focus laser locked on him, but as Lance noticed their body language... it was as if they'd seen a ghost. Lance felt the sting of a needle in his back, as he gradually slumped to the floor, his eyes fading on the view of the medical bed and a large, helmet construct above it with searing lights. That was it, the shoe. It clicked for Lance. He wasn't experiencing anything at all, because he was living in a dream... they all were. It was the most frightening, but most liberating piece of information. It was the key.
"Put him back in."
Lance knew that voice anywhere. The Orchestrator. "Ninety-Five... you gave us quite a scare. You're too precious to risk. You are going to change the world don't you see? You are the one of the strongest souls I have ever seen, and it will save humanity." Lance managed to peer outside the door, leading into a very long corridor of other two-way mirrors and doors, designed like the room he was confined to. It was them, the occupants. Had to be. Lance ushered a deep exhale in revelation of this, the awareness fading from his perception. He heard for the first time in the endless stream of time at The House.. other voices. Screams, cries, pleas. A huge burden ironically left his chest, he knew now he was truly not alone, moreover... they were going to be just fine. Just hold on a little bit longer... Lance sinks to the cold surface beneath him, yet upon his final moments in the conscious realm... he felt a distinct shape pressing into his abdomen. Slinking faintly, he brought his hands under him as if trying to get up, when really he was feeling out the object... it was the shape of a card, and almost as if God Almighty placed a gift in his lap, Lance sighed in a ending relief, too weak to react any stronger. It was from when Lance bumped into the guard, it must've pulled the card free. The guards turned him over and picked him up, to find nothing but a cold & hard surface. They sat him back on the bed, and The Orchestrator begin initialization of a monitor in the corner of the room, that activated the helmet-of-lights. Lance's last view was of The Orchestrator in an all black hazmat suit, tinted visor. "Lance, The Centennials are just a me-----" He fades away into REM State, losing all grip of senses. However, upon looking at Lance's face just before meeting the void, one would swear the young king of fortune was smirking. An internal seed to sprout at the moment of imminence.
Remember... HURRY.
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One Week Ago.
Endless streams of time. Watching. Waiting. The one flaw in the system: It looked in there as it did in reality. REM State allows for the brain to be actively cognitive, yet subtly dormant. Lance skated in between the blurred line. Solemn, stoic, and silent... those were his laws in an environment designed to cripple and torment the persona. Lance was an anchor, and he knew they were watching both inside and out. Good. Because today was the day. This was the eve of a new dawn, for him and for all the oppressed like him. he didn't know who they were, or where they hailed from, but they shared a common bond, and that bond would be enough to forge a fire to burn The House to pieces, if not just metaphorically, then fundamentally. Lance closed his eyes in the artificial construct of causality. The laughs from his family, banter from his friends, the loves he invested, the tears that he's shed, the life that was removed from his peace. He felt it all at once, blended it into one single purpose; It was the purpose that availed him last time. To simply be, and to fade away. He meditated, waiting..... waiting.... in the abyss of dark and unknown, he was there, waiting for the light.
But he was met with something else. Destiny.
The helmet-of-lights glitches as Lance comes back to the real world. The seed that was planted embedded his mind with ambition and objective: HURRY. Lance awakens and rips the IV's from his arms, a roar of absolution sounding through the corridor. He felt the changes on his skin, his afro and very bushy beard prominent from all the time under. Lance shakes and smacks himself as he drags himself to the security door to his room, the craggy stone walls almost as if they're underground somewhere being a cold reminder of the hardship ahead of him. Focus... this is it. The high tech door slides open as the light goes green and a team of security flood the room to an empty bed. "Sir, Nine-Five is invisible again, orders?". It was too late. Lance clings to the wall of the corridor, mustering himself along as more guards run past him and into Room #95. He was still silent, stoic, and solemn, but this time there was a lighter expression to his face. Hope. He channels his inner top tier athlete and training, shaking himself into a primed state as he starts to get feeling back in his arms and legs fully. He runs from Rooms #94 down to #90, pulling the keycard he'd stashed in his white gown out and swiping past the doors, the beautiful sound of the code switching from red to green as the doors to the rooms open. Lance one by one removes the REM helmets from the occupants, and it wasn't until he got to Room #91 and saw a young girl about his age did the House Security catch on. "CODE BLACK! WE HAVE A CODE BLACK! THE DOORS ARE OPEN PROTOCOL CONTROL OVERRIDE!" The corridor now darkened as red alert lights flashed all over the place, with Lance freeing #91 and moving down to #90. If the format was true, then there were 10 Rooms on each floor... but how many were there? It was then Lance remembered The Orchestrator's words... Centennials. That's the term associated with one-hundred. For the first time in the years that he'd been here, Lance spoke out. "Well damn." Numbers 90-94 awaken and falter out into the hall, with the Houseguard drawing from non-lethal to now dangerous weapons. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW, HANDS U--" One body flies into the wall. A barrage of bullets goes off as another guard body is used to shield the direction of 90-94. "SHIT, NINE FIVE IS ACTIVE. I REPE--" Two more bodies clash into each other. Nothing can be seen in the flashes of dim red in the corridor, as the Houseguard all try to remain composed, getting knocked unconscious one by one. Lance was sure the new awoken were panicking, he had to be the beacon they could lean on. He drops his focus, his invisibility ending and appears abruptly to the five individuals "Hey! Hey! It's okay... I'm one of you. This has been a long time coming, I know you're scared and frazzled but they've been keeping us here sedated in an engineered coma. We don't have much time... I don't know if the term Gift or Centennial means anything to you but that's us okay? We have to use it and stick together if we wanna get out of here. Okay? Oh... I'm Lance by the way." Just like that, the king of trades was back and in rare form, adapted and ready. It didn't remove the years of pain, but he could channel the storm, to become the storm now.
There had to be an override somewhere, where they could control the lock mechanisms on every Room. Lance knew 90-94 were still waking up and gathering themselves, but he needed to get the rest out. There were 90 other lives he needed to save and liberate, and he'd do just that. He hands the keycard to #91, the girl he'd seen and freed when things went to shit. "Stick with the others. Find the other floors and free everyone. I'm gonna find the override and monitor the controls from there. They can't catch what they can't see." Lance gives a hopeful smile to the girl and her group and fades into existence. He finds the swarm of Houseguard filling into the stairways at the end of the hall, but that wasn't his target. They were probably following protocol and going to secure the other rooms, Lance needed the big fish. He peered up the vast stairway, seeing that he was on the bottom-most floor. That means 1-89 were on the above floors. The stairs were scattered with black uniforms, but a focused sight locks Lance's gaze on a spot of white. A white lab coat, not a guard, likely higher clearance. They seemed to scan into the central pillar which Lance inferred served as an elevator of sorts. That's where he needed to be. He moves swiftly, skimming the walls and trying to be as off-base as possible from the center of the stairs as not to run into anyone. He reaches the ramp leading to the central pillar and stands idle yet pacing to himself, eager with adrenaline to free the rest of The Centennials and praying #91 and her group was okay. This was the only shot they'd have, if this failed they'd likely be killed or worse, more of the same with added security measures. Like a call by fate, Lance sees another researcher hastily moving down stairs towards the pillar, but a few floors up. Lance rushed with grace to the stairway and sprints up closer to the scientist, the door just opening as Lance was closing in from yards away. The lab coat shines to Lance's eyes like a beacon to a sailor, as he slides and shifts pasts dwindling Houseguard to make it inside the elevator just before it closes, the researcher none the aware for Lance's presence. Lance controls his heavy breathing as quietly as possible, not certain if his gift extends to hearing as well as sight. His eyes never left the scientist, gazing down to a keycard that had no photo or ID, only color. It was black. Code Black instantly triggered in his mind. He needed that card.
The elevator opens as Lance reaches the top floor of The House, to see that it was more like a vast and advanced bunker of sorts. There were way more white suits than black ones here, meaning this had to be the main hub for operations. It would make sense to keep the captives deeper underground. Lance wondered if this was some terror group or government organization, but he had no time for that... he had to act. He followed the researcher into a lab where a whole staff of scientists, engineers, and operators were all communicating to one another and getting feedback. Lance was almost amazed at the structure and setup of the place, it was some technology he was familiar with studying computer science. All his attention faded at the mention of The Orchestrator, who could be seen on a monitor labled Section 9, showing the black hazmat suited director on the floor Lance was on. This was the perfect opportunity. They were on the deepest floor, the only way to go was up... right into the rest of The Centennials. Lance moved through the hub to where operators on headsets were typing in commands to lockdown all exits and doors. Okay, here we go... Lance takes a deep breath and pinches the operator, the shock from the sensation making him jump out of his headset and grab his arm in bewilderment. Lance crouches under his legs to see a series of wires running concurrent with the computers and monitors. That would lead him to the servers. It wasn't long before Lance found the closed off room, but with a looted keycard from the pinched Operator, the code switches green and Lance enters the room where there were only a handful of technicians. This whole thing had to be adequately funded to be this well supplied, but it no longer mattered, because as Lance found the central servers where all wires would lead, he smirked an invisible satisfaction. He heaved the bulk of cords in his hands, and with all the built up anguish and empathic turmoil of his fellow captives, he pulls the cords from their server sockets as hard as he could. And then darkness. The emergency power would queue, but by then it would be too late... the REM helmets would be shut down and The Centennials would be free to their own volition.
Free to be free.
The rest was in their hands. All they had to do was get themselves to the top, where the Hub was. Lance and Team 91 as he dubbed them would take care of the support. In the brief moments of the power assimilation, Lance would take the chance to help The Centennials out further by heading back into the main area of the Hub, where frantic researchers and crew all scatter from section to section trying to salvage data and information imperative to The House's operations. Lance managed to slide up to a vacant station and open the command console, viewing the list of commands and then promptly typing in the command to manipulate and shut down all monitors tied to the cameras in each Room, every single one. Lance then jumps from the chair and scurries into a scientist on accident, breaking his lucid focus and reappearing to everyone. The man in front of him looked paled and in sheer terror, as if Lance was a loaded gun pointed at the guy. He might as well been, they'd all been deemed nothing more than subjects of pain and evolution here, maybe he'd seen the anger in Lance's eyes... or maybe even the sadness. Neither was worse, but both were immensely powerful influences. Lance tilted his head in cognizance of the scientist... it was the same man who'd done his REM psych evaluation. Lance was certain not every Centennial would have the same composure and self-discipline, but The House brought it on itself. There's no telling what they've brought out of people's deepest crevices. Lance nabs the keycard from the fallen scientist and bolts for the main door, a huge silo looking door he was sure was the way out. Houseguard close in on Lance with guns drawn as he presses the keycard against the reader, as it switches green, the huge door slides open slowly, but not at a pace that would ensure his safety. Lance turns around, fatigued but empowered in the moment from the surge of it all.
"NINE-FIVE! DOWN NOW! OR WE WILL KILL YOU!" Suddenly, a breaching voice on the radio of one of the guards... THE voice. Orchestrator. "No! 95 is to be taken in alive! The Deca cannot be harmed!" Lance heard all he needed to hear to bolt for the exit as the guards swapped to non-lethal measures. The door simply wasn't opening fast enough, and like a lion cornered, Lance turned back and run full speed at the guards, as they aim at Lance he closes his eyes. And then, nothing. Among the buzzing horns and flashes of emergency lights, Lance was still up and active, but the guards were down. They were subdued, he didn't know how, and he didn't know who but he was grateful nonetheless. "Thanks!" he uttered to anyone and no one, whoever it was that may have graced him. The path was clear, he could see it: Light. Stopped at the cusp of the border of The House, lined up dozens of Houseguard all aimed on Lance, with a helicopter swirling outside overhead ready to intercept any stray activity. "You're done now." Lance's heart drops as the Orchestrator walks forth obscured by the black hazmat suit, voice muffled and distinct. How did he make it to the top!? Let alone outside!? "It's over, 95... you are truly a spectacle. This was your endgame huh? Admirable. Four years of silence just to manipulate a fracture of opportunity. More and more you and your occupants impress me. But this is done--" His speech is cut off by the terrifying scream of both guards and scientists from behind Lance, as bodies fly and the Hub goes dark with red flashes. Silence. And then... liberty. The sight of a crowd of white gowns emerging from the stairs and pillar alike, placing an involuntary gasp & smile into Lance. They seem confused and dazed, but focused enough to know the situation at hand, that they were taken from their life as the person beside them was too. They looked pained, but they looked hungry, and not for food, but for answers. Lance turns back to The Orchestrator, whom even though he couldn't see their face, he knew it was full of fear and panic. "You were saying?" Lance says as he fades from sight & reality, the white gowns all screaming and charging the exit. "TAKE EM DOWN. Bring Section 9 to ME." The Orchestrator yells as the Houseguard fires lethal bullets into the crowd of subjects. Lance could only have faith none would perish, but that would be unrealistic. No checkmate came without pawns of sacrifice. Which is why he opted for the Montecelli Trap: To win the exchange, you must surrender to the logic of loss. From outside, Lance hyperventilated at the choice before him. It was the age old question: Would you kill lives, to save lives? While in his Null-State, He'd slipped a gun from a guard and knocked him out, and now his reflexes had but seconds to combine all his life wisdom and experience into one impulse decision. He could mow down the legion of guards, here and now and allow The Centennials to break free, or he could freeze, and possibly die, ending all of this for nothing. All the Krav Maga and athleticism in the world couldn't be applied adeptly in this surreal situation, where the stakes are life altering. So he chose outside the box. He switched to tranquilize and aimed the ACOG scope at the pilot of the helicopter, having faith there was enough force to push through the window, let alone his aim.
"Come on Lance...just like Siege, but ...er, real." he steadies... and shoots the tranquilizer into the steady chopper, the window creating a micro hole as the dart lands in the pilot's arm, a very unlikely probability. It was almost like the odds were fated on The Centennials' side. The chopper starts to swirl out of control, as the pilot dozes into a sleep, the chopper spinning towards the outside team of Houseguard, distracting them from gunfire and causing them to scatter like roaches. Among the thunderous clash of metal onto earth, the roars of white gown Centennials soon followed, their faces almost clung to the light outside as they blasted past the doors to The House and into a remote mountainous region. Cries of joy and of pain alike went out from subjects, as everyone ran in various directions. It was a misery to endure, but a beautiful sight in Lance's eyes... partly due to him. But there was no time to breakdown in joy yet, they still had to vacate the vicinity. Lance drops his focus and reappears, tired and drained from his endeavors. A small group of Centennials stop to help him up. "Thank you... we.. we can get out of here now. You're free. You're... we're..." Lance collapses. And that, was the beginning of a revolution. The Revolution of Evolution. That was a week ago. Not long after that, he'd woken up in a run down villa to find out they were in Puerto Rico. They, being his group of Centennials that managed to escape and get themselves and him to safety.
His current family.
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Now.
"You can feel it too, right? That tingling in ya soul... like a gut feeling, but more. Like your DNA is literally nagging you to succumb to it's true intention. Change."
A now clean-face shaven Lance says to everyone and no one about their Gifts, trying to build some camaraderie with his fellow group of Centennials. There was himself, Vince: an abnormally tall and more elder man, Anna: a young kid that seemed isolated and detached, Landon & Nick: another two teens around Lance's age that seemed the quiet but angry type, Kostya: a Russian looking fellow, and three females: one seemed a little older: Credence, one was about Lance's age: Mila, and the other was the first person he'd recognized when he'd woken up, #91, the girl that he'd woken up in The House: Sofia. They were laying low in the villa, trying to avoid all attention and attraction from The House. Lance was the one least in the loop the past couple of days, the first few days after the escape he was sleeping, hard. They'd almost thought he was in another coma. There was one point when Lance's Gift kicked in and he vanished from view, he got a laugh at that when they told him. He'd been keeping to himself lately, knowing sooner or later he'd have to formulate some sort of plan of advancement. Then there was the priority of them finding the others. The other Centennials, who were probably so lost and scared, the empathy of it all made Lance's eyes mildly begin to water. They needed help, all of them. He'd probably make a run to a mart soon in the barrio, to get more shave razors, water, and essential foods for the group. From the little time he'd known his group, he'd seen Vince was more equipped to deal with covert situations like these from his explanation of his military knowledge, Credence had mentioned experience too, but then she stared on about being a baby and an old woman and lost Lance. But, they had to stay sharp, this was the end of a misery but a start to a new peril.
This was only the beginning.
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