Newest revisions March 01, 2010

Siren removed her rifle from her back and loaded a tranquilizer dart. She considered for a moment the repurcussions involved in activating the security system of the Gaiasphere and paused before she pulled the trigger. Her eyes turned in attention to the turrets scattered about the area, obviously built at a later date then the original structure itself. Along the ceiling also dangled rune bombs, set to activate upon any threat. Thus far her movements remained untracked, the motion sensors were used to the movements of the ambient flora and fauna and she was indistinguishable thus far. She uncocked her rifle and regrettably climbed the rope.

When Siren arrived at the roof of the Museum the dropship was already there to pick her up. As she climbed the rope into the dropship it began to lift off, headed toward the Hotel Yorba, the designated meeting place upon the completion of the mission. Sitting in the copter Siren cursed herself for not taking the target of oppurtunity that presented itself in Graven. Her human side, her cautious side, she knew was responsible for her weakness and inability to act.

The lights hung low in the concrete arches of the aquatic streets of Venice making them near indistinguishable due to the rain that poured down like sheets from an unrelenting opaque sky. The bar at the Hotel Yorba was crowded and near closing time. Peyton had procurred the bar to serve as headquarters for her 'off the books' operations. Serving as the bark keep, Peyton had just called a water taxi, a vaporetto, for one of her regular patrons, Stanley.

Stanley came to see Peyton once or twice a week. He worked for a special division of the military that tracked the trajectories of high velocity weapons in the upper atmosphere and was stationed in the Deep South Pacific Ocean most of the time in a island chain called the Marshal Islands. His Island was named The Kwajalein Atoll and he affectionately called it “The Catchers Mitt” because this is where weapons of all kinds were caught and data was recorded for official use by the military and The Solomon Corporation which is better known as Solomon United.

They had a special relationship that no one on the outside quite understood. He always brought her a brown paper sack that was stained all the way through with heavy cooking grease. Rolled up in the bag were two of the most toxic Hunan wanton’s Saint Mark’s Square could produce, Peyton’s favorite. Also in the bag were half a dozen fortune cookies that all had the same thing inscribed on them vertically on the inside; the number (thirty three). Peyton was very good at keeping up the pretense of being human.

Peyton smiled at Stan as she always did and accepted the bag as she turned to see a familiar face walking her direction. Siren walked into the bar and sat next to Stanley and ordered an extra dirty electric Skye martini stirred.

“Excuse me sir is this seat taken?”, said Siren softly to Stanley with no pretense trapped in her voice.

“No ma’am she is all yours.” spoke Stan like a Texas gentleman as he stepped casually away.

“Stan, I’ll see you next week.” Replied Peyton and he was gone without a response. Like a ghost.

“Siren you seem to keep lock step with the algorithmic dance of the rain patterns. They whispered to me you’d be coming this way soon.” Said Peyton.

“How is Stanley doing? Does he still commute from Nepal? Kathmandu is it? An odd ball that Stan.” Siren replied.

“Let me just clean up a little here and we can be on our way. I have a few things I want to show you.”

With the flip of a light switch behind the cleaned bar glasses and ash trays there was a loud pop but by the way both Siren and Peyton composed themselves they were fully expecting it. The room went pitch black.

The crowd faded as quickly as did the lights. Nothingness was swallowed up in nothingness. Movement began to occur subtle at first and then more obvious. Siren felt herself loosing consciousness and did not understand why because alcohol had no effect on her system as far as intoxication is concerned. That deficiency in her system had long ago been put aside by the cybernetic upgrades Peyton provided her for payment.

She felt her body shutting down systematically one system at a time. First she lost control of her hands because she could not reach for her revolver. Second she lost control of her ocular system because she could not scan to take pictures of her surrounding for when the lights came back on. Each system one be one shut down and in the end only one remained to insure her vitals kept her alive. Siren was helpless and obviously not in under the care of Dr. Feinburg.

Several hours passed in this suspended state of amniotic being where Siren could only speculate as to what was happening to her. She felt sedated. She felt movement. She was confused

When Siren Finally came to she was in an immaculately constructed recovery room designed by Peyton especially for Siren who was by her side with a doctor standing to Peyton’s immediate right. The space was decorated with scattered light sculpted and bent around odd angels and curves that broke up a space embedded with holographic depth at every glance. A massive collection of glass books made itself the frontispiece of an underground libraric Mecca of obtuse esoteric knowledge.

Sculpted glass from the Island of Burano littered the place like frozen water tongues anxious to speak their stories into existence. The room itself appeared much larger on the inside than it did on the outside. Its design lent itself to the notion that much like the inner core of Siren’s interior life there was much more refined a nature than the cavalier life of a solitary calloused mercenary.
The surroundings seemed to be a natural extension of her inner make up but she hid this make up well. Peyton among very few others in this world knew her and that always made her uncomfortable.

The floor to ceiling widows in the room overlooked a small but immaculate garden that housed at its center a most peculiar statue of a muscular man covered in blackened scale like skin made from medium sized dark translucent microchips that were connected by spiraling glass tubes. The figure had matching black wings razor like that cut the suns rays from the sky casting perfect prisms that danced across the multiplicity of glass that was abundant in the surrounding rooms of the complex.

A second figure also had larger grotesquely shaped organic tubes that were connected to various places on his back that ended in large connecting nodes that appeared to be the scar tissues from an ancient incarceration. The black male winged figure rested his head in the arms of an equally beautiful nude female figure that seemed to be saying 'I forgive you.' She also had wings but hers were markedly different. They were light and organic and seemed to float with the passing air. Her hair was white but not from age. It was white from an authority she carried.

Siren looked up on the bookshelf and began to laser focus in to check her diagnostics and run various tests to see if she was functioning normally again. She was anxious to find out what had happened from the time she had entered the bar in Venice until now. While running an ocular diagnostic scan she saw tiny nanotech bots crawling along the glass bookshelves eating all the microscopic detritus in the room to make things a (stately) spotless. These tiny machines existed with a singular purpose; they were the gravediggers of the infinitesimal dead.

From the center of this circular pristinely manicured garden flowed various arrangements of vibrant colors and shapes that tangled one's sense of smell into a tight seductive labyrinth. The place captivated all the senses simultaneously and seemed to be yet a further fitting extension of Siren’s internal persona. Peyton had certainly prepared well for Siren’s arrival as she had always done in the past. This was her softer extension. Siren thought it was a strange choice of habitation considering the failure and recent reprimands from Dr Feinburg. She thought surely her visit with Peyton would be a further study in disciplinary action. She decided she was strong enough to rise from the bed and walk to the window. Peyton and the doctor came to either side and began to walk her down the hall for surgery.

"It occurs to me Siren that you have failed us more then you have exerted our will as of late." Peyton spoke to her knowing full well she was incapable of responding. "And yet you are due for payment, I believe four upgrades are warranted and four you shall have. Though typically we give these one at a time and sedate or at the least anesthetize the patient, I figured we would expedite the process for such a fine soldier as yourself," said Peyton in a suspicious yet dulcet tone that put Siren in a state of panic. Her heartbeat began to rise.

Peyton touched Siren softly on the right arm and said.

“Siren, are you comfortable? Is there anything that you require?” Again he asked knowing she could not answer.


After passing through the library down an elongated mirrored hall Peyton guided the drifting Siren into a spare bedroom of sorts which had various amenities that had more book shelves and a Spartan single bed that had one item of clothing on it. It was a black leather jacket carefully draped over a chair by the study desk that had a crisp simple embroidered emblem on it that said "Solomon United". Siren nearly fell unconscious but something kept her awake. Dr. Strassman prepared the room for his surgery.

Somehow Siren found a way to speak. "Sedate.....me...please..I beg ..you. I..won't..fail...again."

"We can't have our employees accepting failure without reciprocation. If so things might never get done around here." Spoke Peyton rather matter of factually.
"Never...again...I'm...only..human." Siren said the last appeal she capable of speaking.

"I suppose you are right in this regard though after the surgery that will scarcely be true. Very well. Sedate the patient...this time."

Siren's head was pounding as if it were about to explode from herculean sensory overload when she finally woke up in the recovery room after the surgery Strassman performed.

"I think I am awake but where am I? How did I get here? I can't see anything!",
Siren announced in a half panic.

In a pronounced weakened state due to the events that had taken place over the last several, what seems like days, she continued.

"I can't see. Feinburg, are you here? The darkness is closing in. It is to much to bare"
Peyton answered calm but stern.

"Try to be still Siren don't cause Dr. Strassmass to botch the post op. Neither of us wants to start this process over. I will explain later but for now it is critical that you remain calm and still. You must trust me. He must perform a minor surgery that will restore your sight. There is the chance that you will not be able to see right away but be assured that your sight will return.

I can not tell you precisely when but it should not take more than a few hours for your sight to fully be restored. It could rebound fully upon completion of the procedure. Would you like to be sedated once more?"

With fingers of surgical perfection Strassman invaded her visual cortex injecting mercurial enlightenment into the rods and cones of her hazel, smoothe-muscled, inner irises. He lathed the charged alloy thick directly onto a thirsty optic palate. With perfect precision Strassman released Siren’s sight from a knot of antiquated depth and angular perception that was severely out of date and handicapping her ocular abilities that for epochs had enslaved her clouded partial vision.

New eyes were now breathing in warm, liquid, metal. These eyes took on a new life independent of former being as if they were completely sentient in their own right. Slender, digestible photons were embedded into Siren with surgical fidelity as she delicately sculpted a new metallic Ouroboross into tight willing irises. With gracefully compliant hands she made new life out of soft musical balance.

Peyton assisted Strassman and dissected and explored each orb unfolding them one by one into a brave new pulsing lucent space that the formerly dead stones knew nothing about. A space breathing with electric viral freedom.

"After the operation you are going to need a great deal of rest. Hold still just a short while longer while I finish up."

As Strassman was finishing the operation Siren began to see spectres in the background and dark shifting patterns on the wall in grey scale but her vision was not anywhere near what she could call normal. Where she had been and what she had witnessed meant that normalcy would be a luxury she would never hold onto again.

"Is there any activity in your visual field yet?, asked Peyton.

"Yes, I can vaugely see patterns on the wall and ghost like spectres floating by but I can't make out any color or hard shapes." replied Siren.

"That is part of the accepted progression. I have completed the restructuring the vital tissue reconnecting the optic nerve to the visual cortex while also splicing the inner cornea and cones of the pineal gland back into the new optic system. I don't know how long the grey scale will remain. It could linger for a few days or it may dissipate quickly in a matter of minutes at that point things will grow from grey to clear, from clear, to crisp, and then from crisp to a level that you have never been capable of seeing before. While I continue to work tell me what you do remember of the ritual in the forest."

* * * * * *


Graven awoke to find his work completed and his ether more vibrant then ever, another part of his purpose on earth completed. Though he should have felt a sense of fulfillment he found himself longing once again for something to guide his actions. The Gaiasphere museum was more then he could have ever hoped for. It stood magnanimous over the forest and yet for all it reminded him of Gaia it more intently reminded him of how she was gone. That morning while Kalyx was playing with Veyn and Syrka he left his home. Coral stood there ready before him, as if she had already anticipated his fading enthusiasm.

"Graven I have come to you today with the intent to help you keep your focus strong."

"I'm not sure I grasp your meaning Madame Coral, but go on. Why do you call on me this day?"

"For too long have you endured Gaia's demise without understanding the scope of her sacrifice. I have already made preparations for your journey."

"Journey? I have no plans to leave the tree any time soon, you should recall my appointment to defend the tree for the span of my life." Graven spoke in effort to find an excuse not to leave the tree, his lost love.

"Your duty can wait for a few weeks. There is something you must do for the betterment of yourself and all the community."

"I suppose I will do as you ask Lady Coral merely because it is you bringing the request, but I insist you place guard upon the tree."

"The tree is under no danger Graven. It was for your benefit I made you keeper of the tree, not hers."

"Please come, I will follow you to the boundaries of the forest while I explain my intent."

The two walked together several days and spoke of many things Graven could scarely understand. How every action carried a purpose, no matter how insignificant. How every will carried weight and how every mind mattered. The more they talked the more mysterious her words and the more paradoxical she became. Despite revering the Lady Coral because of her imminent sense of presence and power, he resented her because of her role in Gaia's death and he sensed she knew it. So it was several days later they parted company at the edge of the forest that Graven was glad of it.

He arrived many days later at the site of Coral's prison. Her instructions at this time were vague but he knew at the least he was to enter the cave itself and make note of what he found there. So enter he did. The cave was dark and dank and the scent of mold was palpable. He found the cave oddly uncomfortable and ominous. He lit a torch and wandered into the cave to see that the walls of the cave were covered in the writings and rantings of Coral herself. He began to dismiss them as innane at first before he really began to scrutinize their true intent and context.

The writing was all done in runes and at first glance it seemed to annotate the sovereign will of the masks themselves. It seemed in various verses that individual masks were channeled and in some parts a 5th will was made manifest. Coral was a receptical for the word of the shadow crow itself.

It occured to him that the words described themselves as the book of...the book of IND. He knew in that moment the meaning of the acronym then it slipped his mind as if it never existed. He settled on calling the writings the Book of Ind regardless. He started to scribe the words to plant leaves which for some reason retained the remnants of charcoal. These were often cut into rectangles and bound together to form books. He started with a single letter and that single rune expanded in his mind one thousand fold as he began to write. That one letter turned into sentences, turned into paragraphs, turned into pages.

Days passed, then weeks, then months. No day lapsed without some new revelation of the sentient races plight. When Graven was sent upon this mission he thought it no more then a whim of Coral's, one to keep him occupied and distracted from dwelling upon the past but as he read he learned that Gaia's sacrifice had been ordained. Not only ordained but mandatory to save the races from themselves. The time for the race of Etherians, the era of Order, had passed and Gaia was harbringer of the age of Forge.

As he continued to write another revelation was made apparent. That the Gaia tree itself was destined to be destroyed. No amount of time could reconcile Graven with this fact. He continued to scribe the Book to find some sort of reprieve and in the Ind he found it.