[DEADLOCK] Kirara vs PrimalHeart || TITANO-1

[Shoko]

Amnesiacs were a hell of a wild time. Imagine waking up one day and all you know, if that, is your name. If you think about it, at that point you're a blank slate. In fact, the old you is literally dead.
You see...the human body was quite similar, if not directly comparable to a computer. You need a CPU, a GPU, a Motherboard, a Case, Dedicated RAM, a power supply and storage in order to have a fully functioning computer. You also needed a cooling system but while you could still make a comparison it was irrelevant.

The Central Processing Unit, or CPU for short, would be your brain, regulating all the systems in your body. The GPU would be your physical capabilities. Your physical specs. Reflexes, speed, strength. Basically your muscles and reaction time. Your ability to adapt and do things. For example...lets take an example from the world during a more simple time. Person A could be compared to say an RTX 3080 GPU if he was able to do anything person B could do a million times better and faster, as person B just has a GTX 970. Person B would feel comparatively worthless and pathetic as he simply doesn't compare. Though if Person A had a Garbage CPU, then he'd be able to sprint like a god for a few seconds then fall flat on his face and maybe die of a heart attack.

Anyway. What I was getting at is...fundamentallythe identity of your computer doesn't lie in it's specs...but in it's data storage.
If you had years of images, games, data, work, art or whatever on it, It would look drastically different then it would if you wiped the drive clean. It would all be gone and you have to start over from zero. Your computer had amnesia. It's data and memory CAN be recovered. But then again, you might just choose to leave it that way and start fresh.

The only difference is the computer can't wonder what it was like before it's memory was wiped...but a human can.

This wasn't the first time I dealt with these kinds of people...or people in a coma either...

---

The green haired beauty stared down at the English man in a coma with her sharp and deep golden eyes as she rested her hands on his abs, gently shaking her hips on his erection which she provoked with physical contact. She wore a black spaghetti strap tank top which exposed her midriff and nothing else. Her soft, wet, spotless pussy brushed against his head as she circled her hips above his meat. "I think I've been patient enough...Right Jackie~?" She said sweetly before smiling and slamming her hips down on his meat. She winced and inhaled sharply as his size was quite something. She bit her lip hard, eyes closed, trying not to make too much noise. "Damn...Imma start calling you Beef from now on..." She grunted a bit before slowly raising her hips and dropping them again. "Clop~ Clop~ Clop~!" The sound of her fat ass slapping down against his thighs echoed throughout the private hospital room as she slowly picked up the pace. "C'mon big guy...Wake up would ya...? I'll start biting...if you don't...!"

 

[PrimalHeart]

There was no greater comfort than nothingness. Though, perhaps comfort wasn't the right word, more numbness than anything. The absence of suffering was a welcome thing, probably, but holding onto these thoughts had proven difficult for the man. He was a man right? He had a man's name, that much he knew for sure. Jack, that was his name, and it was definitely a man's name, usually. Jack wasn't sure exactly where he was, or what he was, or even if he was a man for sure, it could be short for Jacqueline, after all. Jack knew time had been passing around him, and if he tried to visualize anything he found that he couldn't. There just wasn't anything there for him to visualize. He couldn't even remember his own face. It was as if he were submerged in flesh-temperature water and any rogue thought was a fish that waywardly bumped against him. At best he could grip one for a moment, if only to know the texture of its scales, before it slipped his hands and passed from his mind as readily as he had grabbed it.

But at least he knew he was Jack. Jack....something. Jack was something, but what exactly he couldn't quite say.

It was impossible to know how long he sat in this state of nothingness, but it didn't really bother him. It was at least placid here, though calling it relaxing would be wrong. It simply was. Nothing more or less about it. Just him and the wandering thoughts that would run up against him. Maybe this is where he always had been? Impossible to say, really, but it didn't make a ton of sense. Who would have named him? Did he name himself? These and a thousand other insignificant thoughts joined the dull chorus that threatened to consume his single scrap of inviolable truth and drag him under. He didn't belong here, that much was obvious. Jack belonged elsewhere, since this place had no need for a Jack; it only wanted nothing and he was something, someone even.

Then, suddenly, he felt it, a tug, like a line pulling at his being. He didn't quite recognize where, somewhere on his body. He had one of those? Oh yeah...so he did! Sensation, faint and numb, slowly began to fill him, to give him measure of himself. His body was cool, cold even, except for below his waist. A sound pushed through the din of nothingness, a faint sound, and what had to be a touch. It was like being suddenly plugged into the feelings, and with a sharp rush he suddenly felt those sensations increase. His flesh was cold, but below his waist....that was quite hot. And it felt amazing, such that he wondered how he could stand it. What was it?

Pleasure. Sweet, carnal pleasure, that's what it was. Ideas and concepts began returning to him, present and yet not his own as if scrawled behind his eyelids as he felt heat and weight bearing down on him, swallowing him and sending electricity up his body. Definitely a man, he affirmed. Consciousness began to rush to him, lifting him from the stagnant limbo where he had dwelt for the time he had and, for the smallest hint of a moment, he thought he might miss the serenity. Jack liked the serenity, even if it was sort of hollow.

A voice broke through the void, comprehensible, speaking his tongue, a female voice coupled with the rhythmic sound of flesh hitting flesh. A singular groan broke through the man's lips as he chanced an eye open. A single ice-blue eye peered up at the sight before him and took in what it was. The one who was atop him, the one who was currently busying herself bouncing on his cock, was definitely a beautiful woman. Who was she? A stranger? A friend? A girlfriend? Jack couldn't really say, but at the moment he was a bit too overwhelmed to think, a faint ache in his head suppressed by his body's natural prerogative taking over. Her voice was nice, and the sight and sound of waking up to this was definitely welcome. His mind had settled into his flesh now, and the sensation of bliss prompted him to open both eyes and face her down.

Jack Archer glanced up at the pair of golden eyes that looked down, the ones that invited him to wake up, all but demanding he do so at threat of biting. His mouth was a bit dry, but things like pain didn't matter at a moment like this, his tired arms shifting as if weighted with sandbags as he rested them on her full thighs and relaxed them, opening his mouth to speak. His voice was hoarse, rough and groggy, but he made no effort to hide the sound of pleasure she was bringing with her zealous hips as he croaked in a low tone, "I'm up, love, I'm up," he said in a rough northern accent, a mix of York and Scottish, his voice a deep baritone growl, "but do lets keep that biting offer on the table, yeah?"

Oh right, Jack Archer liked this, and he definitely liked the sound of the green-haired upping her game. Of course, he barely had the strength to be so glib, but his stomach tightened as he shifted a bit on the surface upon which he laid, letting out a low rumble in his chest of pleasure as he gave a half-hearted attempt to buck his hips. His whole body felt sluggish, but before he could drift off and enjoy the show, he forced his eyes to stay open and looked up at her golden ones adding, "Not that I'm complaining, mind, but I like to know the name of whoever's bouncing on me bell-end; just me old fashioned nature." It was said kindly enough, but he was damn curious; who wouldn't be?

He glanced around quickly, trying to take in the details of the room as he waited for a response, but turning his head felt quite difficult, though he wordlessly encouraged her to continue by tightening his hands onto her thighs and letting the pleasure keep him anchored to the flesh-and-blood prison of his body.

 

[Shoko]

From what he could gleam, he was in a tent. Just wide enough for two people to move about comfortably while standing. There were a few containers stacked on-top of eachother haphazardly. The containers were plastic but high quality. Under them was a plastic tarp with a woman's cost lined with fur where his head was. There was a mesh covering the tent entrance which he could see barren wasteland just beyond it with a weak Sand Storm blazing about.

There was a fire in the center of the tent. Under it was cracked and dried out soil, nothing that could catch fire and the rocks surrounding the fire kept it contained. It seemed like the kindling was fabric of some kind. White cloth... But by now it was burnt to a crisp.

The woman stopped as he stirred about to consciousness. "Ha! It's amazing no one ever thought of just fucking the conciseness back into people. I should write a paper on this." The woman mused. Her long, green, straight, rump-length hair slid along her soft exposed arms as her black cropped tank top for her chest nice and snug. Her nipples were erect and visible yet even so, she attempted to get off him, only for him to place his hands on her thick, round thighs to keep her there. "Geez... It worked a little too well..." She rolled up since lose paper on I've of the containers and started bopping him with it till he let go of her hips. Slowly standing up, she gave him a full view of her soft, wet and hairless pink mound. She stepped over him and began to put back on her black cargo pants. "I guess you lost your memories too huh. Well...I guess we'll just take things slow then. I'm Amber. Your name is James Archer. However you used to insist everyone call you Jack. You're a resistance fighter. You got caught in a powerful concussive blast which knocked you the hell out. We sent out a search party to find you... But I only found you about an hour ago. Dragged you here before the storm hit too bad, and fucked you back to life.

Jack was wearing woodland camo cargo pants as well as a black top and a padded ammo vest. "Unfortunately, were on our own for a while. Somehow Albion knew about our plans to transport the goods under the cover of the storm and hit us hard. We're gonna have to stay out of sight for a while. So for now... Any questions...?"

 

[PrimalHeart]

"Oh aye," the man grunted, more than a bit disappointed as she finished whacking him with the paper and slid off of him, "I'm sure the medical community would take very well to this method of resuscitation." His half-hearted grumbling did little to hide the fact that she had left him with a serious case of arousal that was not so likely to fade of its own accord, but regardless, he drank in the show she offered him, saving the sight of what she had on offer. It was an easy distraction from the reality of the words she voiced only seconds later, words that he understood and yet had no chance to ignore. You lost your memories too, huh? A part of him, of course, felt immediately and wholly sick at the idea, that he was left with no memories, something that he could easily confirm as he glanced back into his mind and saw only the void...yet, there was clearly something there. He understood concepts, words, even speech. For example, he knew what sex was, knew that Amber was a woman's name, knew that his name was James, and knew that he wanted her back on his lap. That much was the easy part. The hard part was reconciling her explanation.

Jack sat upright carefully, trying to assess if the soreness of his body was simply from the concussion she had described or whether he was genuinely more seriously injured. Jack sat upright and eventually dropped onto his boots, standing up and pulling his cargo pants up and fastening them, resolving to get a more proper treatment for his pleasant awakening treated at a later time. "Plenty," he responded flatly, closing his eyes after taking in the room and analyzing its details with a scrutinizing eye. In a way, despite the shock of the realization that he had lost a tremendous portion of his memory, it allowed him to see the situation he was in a bit more clearly.

One hand ran up and down his padded vest, checking the contents of his pockets for any sign of personal effects and finding, stuffed into a single small pocket, a cigar, unlit and relatively undamaged. Apparently he had smoked before, but he didn't draw attention to it before looking up and finding the woman's eyes, though finding it difficult to not glance south of her neck at the stiff little mounds waiting for him; with nothing to focus on beyond the present every little detail stood out quite sharply to him. Jack was a tall man with an athletic build, a very predictable look for a soldier, and while Amber certainly had a body that screamed she took good care of it, he wasn't quite ready to trust a woman like that. She may have been his only source of information, but Jack knew he had to trust his gut before anything else.

"I guess my first question is why do you have a fur coat in a sandstorm," he said off-handedly, gesturing behind his back with his thumb to the impromptu bed she had made for him. "Seems a bit of an odd choice," Jack added with a half-apologetic smile. "My second question, lass, is who exactly are we resistin'? What goods are we transporting, and how exactly we are moving all of this shite?" He was speaking very casually, but in truth he was on edge. The "room" itself was pretty barren, and while he couldn't immediately see a weapon on her, that didn't mean she wasn't armed.

Jack stepped a bit closer to her, a momentary flare of cautious aggression in his eyes appearing before he stopped. If she wanted to hurt him, she'd have just done so while he was unconscious. The dark-haired man gave a bit of a chuckle, "Let's start with the easiest question first, though, love; what exactly is our relationship? Since you weren't so kind as to finish what ye started, I'm thinking we were coworkers? Ah, or you're my ex-wife, that'd explain a lot," he added with a dry smile.

 

[Shoko]

All of those questions were pretty easy to answer. For starters, she chuckled as he began to play detective. "First of all... Not a fur coat. Fur on the collar sure. But that doesn't make it a fur coat. Honestly though, I'm surprised how you can't see it's practicality for a resistance member. You were pretty comfortable weren't you? It's like a make shift pillow.

As for what we're resisting... Well... If I say the Empire... Would that don't any bells or mean anything to you? Cause if not then we got a bit of a problem cause this storm is the cover we need to get moving. Which brings me to the cargo. Weapons. Shit tons of weapons and we're using a mechknight in order to carry. It's cloaked just outside. The problem is... You're our only pilot right now. All I can do is pilot an Airknight. So... Assuming you can still pilot Gungnir... I'll provide Overwatch in Arfeudutyr.

And lastly... As for our relationship. Well. The old you and I were lovers. But I get the whole amnesia thing. You aren't him so anything you felt before it's gone. That's fine. There's still plenty of time to fix that. No need to rush." She said, smiling every second of the way. Something about that smile... It was the smile of someone who was always in the lead... Always ten steps ahead. She was either a master technician... Or incredibly untrustworthy... But was there anything wrong with her story...? That was the question.