09-05-2013, 08:15 PM
A sudden rush, a crashing sound, and then a billowing jet of air. It was always the same sensation. Always the same. For all the things he had forgotten, this was an experience that couldn't be wiped away. It went beyond memory and bled into instinct.
"Name."
"Kazuko."
"Directive."
"The destruction of Kusari's enemies."
"Mission."
There was a brief lapse in time before images and schematics flushed out before his mind. Names and designations, combat techniques and applicable skills were injected right into his head and set into their perfect resting places. "The discovery and assassination of Jien Kogan, renegade Emperor and traitor to Kusari." The words carried from his lips with great weight, knowing that this man was a grand target worthy of a great hunt.
The significance of this man, though, was skewed. For he knew not of his accomplishments. Or even of his rule when he was emperor. The only word synonymous with the man was enemy. After all, why would having sympathy for your targets be of importance?
There was a beep and the images became mere thoughts, eyes opening to a blinding white light that was quickly falling dim. Without hesitating he rose from his seat; a cage of straps and injectors dangling from numerous arms that sprouted from the base. The features of the room were nonexistent: A simple concrete box with the intricate machine sitting in the middle.
"Documents and equipment have been provided for your transit to Bretonia." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. The sound simply filled each room he passed through upon his exit from the chamber and the source was impossible to pinpoint.
First he collected his gear, stripping down from the medical gown and donning the bodyglove. It was another thing he was able to remember. The suit itself was sleek and advanced: Numerous systems protected it from heat and cold, and allowed for brief EVA with its storage systems. The matching mask and helmet was tucked into a sportsbag, packed already with various tools, weapons, and survival gear. Each he was familiar with, knowing full well the names and purposes of each thing. The last to slip on his form was a pair of civilian pants, boots, a Kishiro product t-shirt, and a riding jacket. Simple yet effective.
"Do not fail us," The everywhere-voice commanded, failing to echo after him once he left the equipment room and stepped into the small portal beyond.
"Name."
"Kazuko."
"Directive."
"The destruction of Kusari's enemies."
"Mission."
There was a brief lapse in time before images and schematics flushed out before his mind. Names and designations, combat techniques and applicable skills were injected right into his head and set into their perfect resting places. "The discovery and assassination of Jien Kogan, renegade Emperor and traitor to Kusari." The words carried from his lips with great weight, knowing that this man was a grand target worthy of a great hunt.
The significance of this man, though, was skewed. For he knew not of his accomplishments. Or even of his rule when he was emperor. The only word synonymous with the man was enemy. After all, why would having sympathy for your targets be of importance?
There was a beep and the images became mere thoughts, eyes opening to a blinding white light that was quickly falling dim. Without hesitating he rose from his seat; a cage of straps and injectors dangling from numerous arms that sprouted from the base. The features of the room were nonexistent: A simple concrete box with the intricate machine sitting in the middle.
"Documents and equipment have been provided for your transit to Bretonia." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. The sound simply filled each room he passed through upon his exit from the chamber and the source was impossible to pinpoint.
First he collected his gear, stripping down from the medical gown and donning the bodyglove. It was another thing he was able to remember. The suit itself was sleek and advanced: Numerous systems protected it from heat and cold, and allowed for brief EVA with its storage systems. The matching mask and helmet was tucked into a sportsbag, packed already with various tools, weapons, and survival gear. Each he was familiar with, knowing full well the names and purposes of each thing. The last to slip on his form was a pair of civilian pants, boots, a Kishiro product t-shirt, and a riding jacket. Simple yet effective.
"Do not fail us," The everywhere-voice commanded, failing to echo after him once he left the equipment room and stepped into the small portal beyond.