Stike to the Heart [Zero & Confrazzled] a Sci-fi roleplay

[Confrazzled]

Zellie ran a hand through her halo of shorn tawny locks, causing them to frizz out wildly, like the petals of a sunflower that sheâ??d seen, once or twice on childhood visits to the conserva-dome. Her father had taken her, back when the cities still towered high above the tunneled-and-drilled rock of the Earth, when alloy-plastic-and-glass structures surpassed scraping the skies, as their ancestors had predicted, but actually plunged their spires beyond the clouds themselves. None exceeding a mile high, of course, for that had been the legal limit. The conserva-dome, quaintly deemed â??the conservatoryâ?? by Zellieâ??s embarrassingly archaic scholar father, had not been like the other skyscrapers, for those around it plunged lower, tapering in like a funnel about it, and it had squatted centre of the others, much resembling the centre of the blossoms it contained. The equivalent of the top eight floors were enclosed in a bubble-like dome, constructed of wired in triangular glass panes like a fractured crystal. Exotic trees, extinct everywhere else save in the hardier, quick-growing hybrid varieties, flowers from pleasure gardens, even the fruits referenced so numerously in the old works her father poured over. Zellie had been intoxicated, wrapped up in the sights and smells, the green, the ruffling of leaves, the mutability of it all. How different was the world that her father retreated to! So much less concrete than the plastics and gears and fuses and alloys of her day-to-day life. How fragile, all of the plants save that bold-looking sunflower.

But Zellie wasnâ??t thinking about her hair, how embarassed her scholar father would be of having a mechanic for a daughter, plants that no longer existed anywhere anymore, of the shard-littered ruins of the conserva-domes, or anything more concrete than what squatted before the pale oval of her grease-smudged face. Nothing more than fitting together the wires and chips of these two completely incompatible but halfways destroyed systems.

Tried not to think of Kai, loosed in the mown-down wreckage outside of twisted steel and half-burnt plastics, of the long-stretching dalliance of his current mission. Surely he hadnâ??t succumbed to any threats. This was Kai after allâ??he could handle himself. Zellie did not quite succeed at this aim.

Pursing her lips into a determined line, Zellie hunched her petite form further over the near-blasphemous hybridization of a contraption, twisting herself round to try to wrap the raw wire ends together, and complete the circuit. Cresting the machine she presented the very shapely curves of her rump, packed to fill the menâ??s britches. Her modest breasts pressed into a metal bar, makeshift to hold the mechanized beast together. Just a little further . . .

But it would be some time yet before the brute would fire to life. This was just another phase of modifications in the series of manyâ??manyâ??which would be required to derive functionality again. But when it roared to life, it would be oh so useful, implemental directly to their Resistance work. But which would happen first? Kaiâ??s return or the projectâ??s completion. Zellie near-prayed Kaiâ??s.

It was quite possible that they would achieve the same timeline, and neither venture would ever succeed. But life without Kai . . . Zellie forced the thought away. Focussed on her hands, and what the hell that broken blue fuse was doing there . . .

 

[Zero]

Elena was walking around the wreckage underneath the very inconspicuous building, attempting to get into the headquarters of one of the resistances that she had very often visited. She gave the knock of her trade, three quick, two slow and then two more quick. A field medic, she was out and about quite often got very strange looks from others, whom were very wary of her. That was what happened to people who were out too often. Sure they appreciated what she did, but she was always at risk of being captured. She was one of the biggest risks to the resistance. Her biggest fear was that her name somehow got on a blacklist, and soon could not get into any headquarter, or worse... her head put on a shoot to kill list.

But this of course was cleared when the door opened and she was let inside as she sighed, looking to her bag to see who had gotten a little mail. There were very few of course, but she started off with the soldiers at the gate, giving them a small amount of letters before she took out a neat looking white envelope... too neat, and after looking at it for a little bit, she could tell it could only contain bad news. Obviously it was not from Kai, his letters were always rugged and sometimes he even liked to fool her by putting burns on it. But this one looked like it came from a council... and as she moved down further towards the mechanical area, she held it to a light and saw the clearly the red note inside.

She hated to be the bringer of bad news, especially to such a pure soul such as Zell. She pulled the band out of her hair, letting her ponytail out as she sighed, before knocking with her leather gloves upon the steel door. "Mail...." She yelled, actually hoping that Zell wasn't here. Maybe she could leave it somewhere and she wouldn't have to find out until later. But this was now inevitable news, she could most likely count the number of red letters which were early news, and that they were still alive. She was tan, from being outside so much, as she narrowed her eyes and twitched just a little, hoping she'd be able to get away right now.

 

[Confrazzled]

The rapping filtered through the door, permeating the room with all its littered near-rubbish. â??Just a minute!â? Zell called out, her words somewhat muffled, reverberating oddly on itself through the maze of pipery, wires, and other odds and ends she was using. What was that expression that her father was so fond of using? Ah yes. She might as well be using â??duct tape.â?? â??Just let meâ??ah!â??â? Clang-clank! â??â??finish up withâ??aragh!â? Much more clanging resounded, until a low, clicking-winding sound spread outwards, clacking harshly to a crescendo until . . .

Silence.

â??Done!â? Zellie called. She let the workings of the machine fade from her mindâ??s eye, the visualization of positive and negatives of the circuit that she always overlaid in her mindâ??s eye fell away, and she regarded Elena with gradually-clearing eyes. Zellie never assessed her quite so harshly as the others did. She figured that her job as the mechanic was to fix the machines, and if the higher ups and doorkeepers and whoever else organized and dispatched the cells and troops failed to notice, well that was merely their prerogative. Zellie was there to fix mechanisms, not people. And she liked it better that way.

But Zellie was also concentrating very hard on ignoring the facts of this confrontation, on accepting the impending knowledge at the last possible moment. Could it be that Kai . . . ? If she was in the middle of something, something of such obviously important bearing, a mere letter would simply be deposited. This had to be . . .

Zellâ??s pale hand extended slowly, stiffly. â??Pass it to me,â? she stated, no cheer, artificial or otherwise, diffused in her tone. It was clean. Far too clean. â??I can handle it.â? No she couldnâ??t. She really couldnâ??t.

 

[Zero]

The letter had clearly gone through a typewriter, and the name right neatly typed in the middle was her full name, something of course Kai would never do. No, this was from one of the generals of the resistance, and it was now becoming more and more apparent what the letter was. Elena watched as she extended her hand to take the letter from her, as she slowly placed the letter into her hand. However, her grip from it was pretty tight on it too. She didn't want this to happen to Zellie, it wasn't really fair, but things in this world had gone all to hell, so what was fair anymore?

Ever since the arrival of those, things... nothing had gone well for any human. Either they believed their lies in the beginning and became a brainless toy, or for those in the resistance, a long wait for those to get organized and then a more paranoid group came out and slowly were able to work together. But then, once again things turned for the worse, as supplies became ever limited, and more humans needed to go scavenge and fewer came back. Now there was talk of some sort of alien threat inside, which could turn the resistances against each other.... A quick death might soon be better than a slow one at the hands of the demons in control of their world. Perhaps Kai had given his soul honorably, the worst would be... well, it would be what the letter actually wrote.

The letter gave a very small and vague message. Kai had gone MIA, the M clear enough of course to distinguish from a K. A small search team (a nice way of putting it, most likely it was just a single scout or sniper), had been dispatched to search for his body. Of course, this would give Zelle the hope that her very own was still alive, but also the same paranoia that sometimes drove people mad, that he had been sent to his death and now he was just a number crunched into the system. Elena really hoped Zelle could handle it, before she had also heard of those whom could not, those whom had lost everything and decided to take that fate upon others as well.

 

[Confrazzled]

Zellieâ??s hands, always so steady no matter what dangerous course of item she handled, be it sensitive but outdated explosives needing either diffusing or a more useful rewiring; or live, eroded circuits; strange razor-toothed chewing machines that were once, supposedly, used for harvesting green foods; guns of any make or model; or any of the other plethora of members of the kingdom Machinaeâ??these infamously steady hands shook as she took the paper from her almost-friendâ??s clutches. MIA. There was that M. That was a hope, at least, she could cling to. He could well be en route to their rabbit warren yet. He could be just outside, for all that she knew. But then again, it was far more likely that he . . .

â??Get out,â? Zellie stated, quietly but firmly, and devoid of resentment. Devoid of any emotion, really. Elena did not need to see her like this. Not with the fat tears that were threatening to spill themselves from behind her still-stoppered eyes. She didnâ??t move, just stood there, clutching the letter before her, and her blank, dribbling eyes.

Lissla Sinclair, on the other hand, combing outwards the sun-parched rubble with several guns strapped to her back, hips, legs, and other accessible appendages of her body, had known exactly what the letter had concerned the moment she and her remaining squadronmates had spotted the somewhat distant courier. Too crisp, too white, and the medicâ??s face too grim even if the blasted demons had rewired it. They hadnâ??t grasped that kind of subtletyâ??it wasnâ??t their style. Lissla prided herself on knowing everything that went on behind the scenes at baseâ??who bedded who, and who knew about who bedded who, and also whose mail was more innocuous and who would be receiving those dreaded telegrams. So it was fitting that she allowed herself to be smug for about half a moment before she noted towards whom Elena was bound. Zellie. And that meant . . .

Kai. Her heart bottomed out, for all that about her commander, and the man that could have had, at a mere snap of the fingersâ??nay, a mere crook of oneâ??much more of her than the mere loyalty of his squadâ??s second in command. So this was how it ended, then. And that blasted Rapunzel had won, keeping Lissla from ever receiving her chance with the man upon whom she'd set her heart for the majority of her adult years. Rapunzel Bookbinder had won, irrevocably and inarguably, Kai's affections. If there were any winners in this situation, truly. Somehow this thought intensified her emotional pain anotherfold.

Her chocolate-haired head clouded as it was, Lissla couldnâ??t think. Keeping her booted footsteps somewhat even she strode to the relative quiet of one of the dustier, craggier, and several-floors-intact buildins now converted to a makeshift clocktower of sorts, the crude pin of a sundial. â??I shall just . . . clear out here,â? she warned a nearby cellmate in a voice slightly huskier than the usual, to think on this in piece. Compose herself somewhat.