Short story, told in several parts.
The first part of several; the short one; in which a man ostensibly named Zuriel is sent elsewhere.
Possibly several typos. I apologize if this is the case.
Part I
There are stories about people and there are stories about the extraordinary things they do. This is both, and possibly neither. It is sometimes hard to tell.
What this is, exactly, is a story about thoughts, and ideas, and manifestations that are created when something is wanted but never obtained. Some things can never be obtained.
This is a story about those kinds of things. The things that can never be.
--------------------------------------------
A man races across a steel room, slashing wildly with his weapon. Bits and pieces fly from the storm of blows; bits and pieces that may have been robots at one point but were now not. Turrets line the wall and fire rapidly. The man does not miss a beat. A light shines from his body, and a shield of hexagons is produced that protects the man from the blast.
It is in this instant that we can see the man, clad in pieces of machinery. His hair is brown and dusty; his eyes are blue and blank. On both arms rest titanium tubes; one has a beam of light extruding from it. The other is for shooting. He demonstrates this by destroying the turrets in a flash of light.
A larger robot arrives. It is covered in metal plates, and its arm is a gigantic cannon. It lets out a mighty roar, and is dispatched as easily as the others with a swift flick of the blade.
And the lights come on, and the man stops.
--------------------------------------------
"Brilliant! Simply brilliant," The large man stated jovially to the raven-haired woman from behind the glass. "His powers have excellent potential. Someday he may even surpass the other two."
The raven-haired woman looked up from her clipboard and fixed her glasses. "He is progressing rapidly. Far more quickly than we have originally believed. I believe he has external motivation for his extreme ability."
"Ah. Is that his case file?" The large man stroked his five o' clock shadow. "Would you mind if I see it?"
"Not at all, sir," the raven-haired woman passed the file to the large man.
"Hm. Very interesting," said the large man. "He will be a prime candidate for our first test. Is the young genius ready with his machine?"
"He is running a few last tests on his computer. I believe the program is helping him. It should be ready in about an hour."
"Alright. Perfect," the large man pressed and held a button in front of him. "Excuse me, mister…"
The man stared blankly at the glass.
"Excuse me, miss," he turned to the raven-haired woman. "What is his name? I don't believe it was mentioned anywhere in the case file." He flipped through it a few times for emphasis.
"I don't think we ever found that out. He doesn't talk very often. We know what is in the case file and also some arbitrary figures, like the fact that he is nineteen and the fact that he is one-eighth French. Nothing useful."
"Well, everyone needs to have a name." The large man placed his finger on the button. "Sir. Is there anything I should call you? A name of some sort?"
The man continued to stare blankly. It was a tad unnerving to the large man.
"Well, what did they call you, before you came here? What do you call yourself?"
The man stared for a bit longer before finally breaking his silence. "Zuriel."
"Is that your real name?"
"No."
"At least he's honest about it," the large man murmured to the raven-haired woman. "Zuriel, we have an important mission involving the fate of the world. We have deemed you the best candidate for the job. Would you like to take it?"
The man slightly raised his left eyebrow. It was almost entirely unnoticeable.
"It is going to sound stupid. Do you know of angels?"
"Yes."
"You see, a few decades ago, an angel named Raphael came down from the heavens and laid out a path for humankind to follow, saying it was part of the universe's plan. We have achieved nearly everything we needed to. However, one part of the prophecy remains unfulfilled; essentially, we need to send someone to another world. Apparently we will know what to do once this occurs. We have spent many years trying to cross into other worlds without success. Luckily, about a year ago a young genius came into our employ. He believes he has created a way to change one's frequency to reach other timelines. Now, we need someone to use it."
"And that would be me."
"Yes. That's the gist of it, anyway."
"I'll do it."
"Splendid! Quite frankly, I did not expect an answer so quickly." The large man smiled. "Get ready to leave as soon as possible. Meet us in Conference Room B." He turned and left the room behind the glass.
Zuriel stood for a few moments amidst the formerly robotic pieces. He glanced at his mechanical implements and exited the room through a set of metal doors.
--------------------------------------------
The man faces a device created to send him to another world, created by a teenager with the discretion of the International Police. The man finds it almost surreal. He does not feel the surrealist quality, but he thinks it. He does not feel any fear. He does not feel anything. He cannot feel anything.
"Booting the machine!" A young voice shouts. "Working in five...four..."
The man thinks of his life before the International Police. He thinks about his life before the accident. He thinks about life before he knew about his abilities. He thinks more in the span of a few minutes than many think in their entire life. His machinery is heavy. He does not feel it. He thinks about its purpose, to help him focus his abilities.
He sees a flash as the young voice shouts.
He feels his body seep away as the raven-haired woman and the large man exclaim.
He feels himself move through time, move through space, in a whirlwind of colors and light and shadows.
He feels himself move, and he sleeps.
And he is gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part II tonight, probably.
The first part of several; the short one; in which a man ostensibly named Zuriel is sent elsewhere.
Possibly several typos. I apologize if this is the case.
Part I
There are stories about people and there are stories about the extraordinary things they do. This is both, and possibly neither. It is sometimes hard to tell.
What this is, exactly, is a story about thoughts, and ideas, and manifestations that are created when something is wanted but never obtained. Some things can never be obtained.
This is a story about those kinds of things. The things that can never be.
--------------------------------------------
A man races across a steel room, slashing wildly with his weapon. Bits and pieces fly from the storm of blows; bits and pieces that may have been robots at one point but were now not. Turrets line the wall and fire rapidly. The man does not miss a beat. A light shines from his body, and a shield of hexagons is produced that protects the man from the blast.
It is in this instant that we can see the man, clad in pieces of machinery. His hair is brown and dusty; his eyes are blue and blank. On both arms rest titanium tubes; one has a beam of light extruding from it. The other is for shooting. He demonstrates this by destroying the turrets in a flash of light.
A larger robot arrives. It is covered in metal plates, and its arm is a gigantic cannon. It lets out a mighty roar, and is dispatched as easily as the others with a swift flick of the blade.
And the lights come on, and the man stops.
--------------------------------------------
"Brilliant! Simply brilliant," The large man stated jovially to the raven-haired woman from behind the glass. "His powers have excellent potential. Someday he may even surpass the other two."
The raven-haired woman looked up from her clipboard and fixed her glasses. "He is progressing rapidly. Far more quickly than we have originally believed. I believe he has external motivation for his extreme ability."
"Ah. Is that his case file?" The large man stroked his five o' clock shadow. "Would you mind if I see it?"
"Not at all, sir," the raven-haired woman passed the file to the large man.
"Hm. Very interesting," said the large man. "He will be a prime candidate for our first test. Is the young genius ready with his machine?"
"He is running a few last tests on his computer. I believe the program is helping him. It should be ready in about an hour."
"Alright. Perfect," the large man pressed and held a button in front of him. "Excuse me, mister…"
The man stared blankly at the glass.
"Excuse me, miss," he turned to the raven-haired woman. "What is his name? I don't believe it was mentioned anywhere in the case file." He flipped through it a few times for emphasis.
"I don't think we ever found that out. He doesn't talk very often. We know what is in the case file and also some arbitrary figures, like the fact that he is nineteen and the fact that he is one-eighth French. Nothing useful."
"Well, everyone needs to have a name." The large man placed his finger on the button. "Sir. Is there anything I should call you? A name of some sort?"
The man continued to stare blankly. It was a tad unnerving to the large man.
"Well, what did they call you, before you came here? What do you call yourself?"
The man stared for a bit longer before finally breaking his silence. "Zuriel."
"Is that your real name?"
"No."
"At least he's honest about it," the large man murmured to the raven-haired woman. "Zuriel, we have an important mission involving the fate of the world. We have deemed you the best candidate for the job. Would you like to take it?"
The man slightly raised his left eyebrow. It was almost entirely unnoticeable.
"It is going to sound stupid. Do you know of angels?"
"Yes."
"You see, a few decades ago, an angel named Raphael came down from the heavens and laid out a path for humankind to follow, saying it was part of the universe's plan. We have achieved nearly everything we needed to. However, one part of the prophecy remains unfulfilled; essentially, we need to send someone to another world. Apparently we will know what to do once this occurs. We have spent many years trying to cross into other worlds without success. Luckily, about a year ago a young genius came into our employ. He believes he has created a way to change one's frequency to reach other timelines. Now, we need someone to use it."
"And that would be me."
"Yes. That's the gist of it, anyway."
"I'll do it."
"Splendid! Quite frankly, I did not expect an answer so quickly." The large man smiled. "Get ready to leave as soon as possible. Meet us in Conference Room B." He turned and left the room behind the glass.
Zuriel stood for a few moments amidst the formerly robotic pieces. He glanced at his mechanical implements and exited the room through a set of metal doors.
--------------------------------------------
The man faces a device created to send him to another world, created by a teenager with the discretion of the International Police. The man finds it almost surreal. He does not feel the surrealist quality, but he thinks it. He does not feel any fear. He does not feel anything. He cannot feel anything.
"Booting the machine!" A young voice shouts. "Working in five...four..."
The man thinks of his life before the International Police. He thinks about his life before the accident. He thinks about life before he knew about his abilities. He thinks more in the span of a few minutes than many think in their entire life. His machinery is heavy. He does not feel it. He thinks about its purpose, to help him focus his abilities.
He sees a flash as the young voice shouts.
He feels his body seep away as the raven-haired woman and the large man exclaim.
He feels himself move through time, move through space, in a whirlwind of colors and light and shadows.
He feels himself move, and he sleeps.
And he is gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part II tonight, probably.
