Turning the page. [Invite only]

[[get to that later]]

A man, shrouded in shadows, writes at a desk. Using pen and paper, long since out of fashion, he signs off for the last time and seals the page in an envelope. A quiet moment's contemplation of all that has brought him to this point is punctuated by the hiss of the airlock. The new arrival, still in an armoured spacesuit, visor reflecting the little light in the room, and says "Hi boss... what's shaking? Other than this place, I mean, you got every generator in the joint running here? What's going on?"

Over the vibrations in the air a tired tone slowly sails from the depths of the desk in the darkest part of the room to reply "No. I won't even ask where you've been." The shadowy silhouette shakes it's head before sighing "Again." Checking his reflection in a mirror the shadow stands before continuing "There is much still left to do. I suppose you now have time to help me?" The suit contemplates this as, with a click the helm folds neatly away, two cigs are slighted from nowhere to the fingers of the right hand of the suit and, unbidden, they flicker into life. Still the suit, now with visible occupant, complete with a look of concentration and contemplation, takes a deep draw then, eventually says, "Sure! Oh. wait. I've got the time... but you don't. Why? I hear you ask rhetorically? Because you..." the cigs point towards the shadows before a draw and exhale "...need to see..." the cigs are now joined by a small data slug which is idly flicked and landed neatly into a nearby console "...this."

"Okay! Okay, you win, I'll see what you're so proud of then you'll help me?" asks the figure still shrouded in shadow, as he clambers through the curls of smoke to view the console.

"...."

"I-it can't..."

"No."

The suited man's smile brightens visibly as he cuts shapes through the now thick smoke and, after another triumphant deep draw of his cigs says "....YES. Look, Matt, you've been good to me, hell I owe it all to you, but, despite the limitless evidence to the contrary, I'm no dummy. I know just about all of it and that's a little... 'gift'. Something to help you get past it, move on, turn the page. It's over now.

The man, now outed as Matt, asks the nameless suited figure "I kept the files on all of that... all of them..." Matt spat the word as his friend finished his cigs and proceeded to cheerfully start two more "...safely locked up. How did you... ?" As Matt's voice tailed off the other man piped up "I'd love to say it was my super secret spy mojo. I'd be thrilled to say it was my devastating good looks, natural wit and charm that released that secret in a fade to black kinda way co-starring a beautiful lady, or more, but.... no. I'd be lying out of the orifice of your choice. Mr Spectrum... you talk in your sleep kiddo. To be fair though... when you take those patches off at night to sleep... kinda gives the game away? You know? Just a little bit?"

Matt chuckles in a mixture of surprise, shock and a joy before asking "None of that was odd? Even for you? You just chose to stand by me and do all that... after seeing me... unedited as it were?" The suited man smiled even brighter before finishing the second round of cigs and replying "Yeah. They say there's a fine line twixt genius and madness. Only problem is I fell off of it a long time ago. Only problem is... I know what's coming next. You really gonna put yourself on ice? There really nothing else that can be done?"

Sighing, Matt shakes his head as he says, "If there is I either can't think of what or can't do anything about it in time. Although, despite the huge violation of my privacy, you've made it a lot easier on me. Thank you." Pointing at the console screen he continues, "Thanks for that too. It helped to watch that. Know it's over. See every last one of them burn." Playing the words a second time in his head then taking another draw a question comes from the suited man, "So it's not hopeless then? If you can't do something 'in time' and you go all stasis field on me the clock stops for you. Doesn't stop me helping while I still paddle in the timestream? Am I right?"

Nodding, smiling, and looking considerably better sat in front of the console than the writing desk Matt says "Yes. In fact... take this." as he holds the envelope up he continues, "A 'to-do' list. Anything that might help. It's there. Just... if you would... do what you can." The envelope is taken on the backswing of another draw of the suited man's cigs and on his exhale he says, "Hey, no problem at all! I'm on the case ace. Which reminds me! We can't sit here watching video all day! Stuff to do! You said so! Plus, if we finish early, we can have a going away party!"

Whilst trying to hide his face in his hands from the idea of a 'going away party' Matt loosened some of his psuedoskin patches which then fell to the floor unnoticed. As he got up from the table and towards the side door, keeping pace with his friends footsteps, Matt says, "A 'going away party'? You really have some weird moments... you know that?" As the pair reached the door the suited man could see in the better light the bluish-whitish skin the patches were formerly covering on Matt's face as well as the blackened trails running through the unusual areas of skin. Taking another draw off his cigs the man simply said "Yes boss." and, with that, they both left the room.

[[get to that later]]

"So... this is it then. You're freezing yourself now." A simple statement floats through the clouds of smoke produced by the suited, but still as yet unnamed, man. He receives a singular nod in reply. "Well, it's been a blast, really and actually most of the time, and... I'm gonna miss you." Clapping his armoured hands together to overcome both the noise from the various generators and the silence of the moment he then chips cheerfully "So what's still to be done? I need to fill out an address form on this thing? Computer tappity-tip-tapping? Ritual sacrifice? What's the deal?"

"Noting so dramatic." Matt chuckles, "See the monitor there? Once the green bar's full I get in, the field activates and the pod launches to the destination. It takes a lot of energy to form a coherent field or, indeed, subsequently collapse it but whilst it's running it doesn't much if any charge at all. Due to being a non existent mass with a quantum probability of zero." Looking at the stasis pod Matt realises in that moment not only does it look like a coffin but, in all likelihood, that it is. His. The squealing of metal forced the thought to stop in it's tracks and to turn and see what was happening.

Servos, circuitry and sinews streching to hold back a generator bucking and brawling to break free of it's brackets is what can be seen. What can be heard, slightly muffled by the two cigs he's still smoking, is the suited shore prop shouting "Looks like we'll have to cut the goodbye and good lucks short! Matt, get in there! I can hold this thing back for long enough! Maybe? But you gotta go now!" Refocusing his attention on the manic machine he says to it "Naughty... trying to bunk off for a break again! Hey! Don't spark at me kiddo! No! I said don't spark at me! That's the opposite! Cut it out! Woah there!"

As the sparks became arcs of electrical energy discharging around what has been his only friend and ally over these many months Matt loses sight of the man. After a brief unheard "Goodbye." Matt runs over to the console, sets the pod to automatic, and climbs in. As the door swooshes shut he looks at the internal readouts and says "Ninety nine percent. I may just make this aft-" Sentence unfinished the stasis field activated and Matthew Spectrum became a non existent mass with a quantum probability of zero. As far as time is concerned he ceased, temporarily, to exist.

At the same time the pod's contents stopped existing in time and the pod itself launches another arc of electrical energy forks as it discharges. Partially onto a otherwise unmentioned surface, partially through the unnamed man. He flops to the floor with the only accompaniment being the now silenced generators and the dull glow of the suits readout on the neck mounted secondary display WARNING. POWER OVERLOAD. PRIMARY SYSTEMS OFFLINE. PLEASE STAND BY. . .

"Hey! Who turned out the lights? And the physics? And where's my suit while we're at it!" asked the man while he looks around at the infinite emptiness in every direction and the plain jumpsuit that has replaced his usual, more hi-tech, number.

[woo-oo!] (Aye?) *I can talk now... great. Just another misery to deal with* {Biscuit now?} 'Oh dear. If we're back then then the protocol's active too.'

"Hey! I know you... all of you. It's coming back to me... a bit. Twentyseven, Fifty, Sixtyfive, Four and Fourteen, right? Wait a minute... was that the boyscout you were talking about? I thought the stuff the old man gave me killed him off."

'One day, one glorious day and you'll pay attention when others are explaining something to you' Fourteen sighed, 'As you were told... repeatedly... there was an experiment. Where a datapacket was to supposed to write to only one small part of the brain. It didn't and the brain was stimulated globally creating echoes of it's own architecture. Some of which formed us. Protoforms of a quasi personality or, as you take great pleasure in referring to us, voices. As for you....'

Confusion and boredom demanded an interruption and the man gratefully obliged. "Yes? No? Maybe? About two percent of that went in and I don't remember all this from before. I think. The old man talked about things long after the point I needed a smoke break. So how'd you know all about it and how does the boyscout fit in to it all?"

'...I'll try to explain but, please, listen and pay attention!' After taking a moment Fourteen continues 'I receive the same information you do. As it passes through the mind but I, unlike you, pay attention to it. That is how I know and you don't. The protocol, or boyscout for whatever reason you call it that, was the intended product of the experiment. A neural... program of sorts. It's limited code - quote unquote - knows, as it were, that it should be the only thing present in the neural pathways and, subsequently, tried to erase you and us. Mr Spectrum gave you a stabilising agent that inhibited the portion of the brain it was encoded on but which also lowered your global conductivity enough that we were also suppressed. At a guess I would surmise you've either stopped taking the medication or somehow electrocuted yourself or both. This also means the protocol will finish executing its directives... and us.' Fourteen ended solemnly.

"Fourteen? Remind me never to invite you to any parties. Relax. I've got this..." unfortunately the blast, which emanated from a doppelganger of the former speaker, cut the sentence short. Knocked down onto a horizontal plane the passed for a floor in the nothingness the man looked at his double then, after getting to his feet, paid close attention to his hand. "Wow. they don't make me like they used to. I never used to fade in and out like that. Harsh." As the double silently advanced, hand bathed an a ball of energy which was growing in size and intensity, the original seemed too interested in his fading form. Or, at least, that's how it seemed up to the point the next blast fired. Deftly sidestepping the bolt the fading original smashed his double to the 'ground' "Yeah! I can still stay solid enough to kick seven shades of the proverbial outta you kiddo!" Not waiting further he launched himself at his double again.

As the two fought on it became very clear who was going to be the victor. Fading faster and more frequently the original was insubstantial more often at the wrong moment yet solid in time for the next bolt to connect.

[I can't look] (The big eejit's gonnae be pan soon) *I knew this was bad... now it's gonna be even worse* {He be fine. Then biscuit} 'Wait a moment. I think he's up to something...'

With the original only visible once every few seconds for a brief flicker, prone and lifeless, the protocol advanced charging up what was to be the killing blow. Then large letters popped into the nothingness where all were assembled encircling them. They spelled out

SELF REPAIR AND DIAGNOSTICS ROUTINE COMPLETE.
REACTOR - ONLINE
INTERFACE - ONLINE
MOTORS - ONLINE
WEAPONS - ONLINE

ALL SYSTEMS NOMINAL.

The protocol unleashed the blast and the bolt connected. What it connected with, however, was a now fully solid original, complete with armoured space suit, still lying prone on the floor but otherwise unaffected by this latest blast. Slowly and shakily the formerly faded man stood. An unseen command caused the suits helm to unfold from the recesses it had retreated into and, with some effort, he took it off and held it in his hands. Weakly he said to the doppelganger "Like the suit? I do. Here, try it on for size!" and plunged the helm onto his copy's head.

For the first time the protocol spoke, well, screamed. The scream echoed through the emptiness until it was punctuated by an armoured knee to the groin. "Shut. Up! Seriously, kid, you gotta realise that some people live. Some people die. It is what it is." The knee was withdrawn only to be followed by a trip to the floor. The protocol barely manage to roll onto its front to see the foot speeding toward its chest. It never had time raise a hand in defense before being stamped out of existence. All that remains is an empty space, no body, and the now empty helm rolling slowly away. Picking up the helm and reintegrating it with the suit the man cheerfully chirps "Okay. First number to tell me where the way out is wins a prize. Any takers?"

{Prize... like a biscuit?}

"Four, kid, if you know the way out... you get a whole pack of biscuits!"
{Yes. Out. Then biscuit.}

[[get to that later]]

"That was a resounding success, wasn't it!" Fourteen managed over the din of the overworked cruise engines "Exactly how many times do we need to be fired upon, eject into the void and repeat this fruitless labor before you concede that, perhaps, these people aren't friendly and do not, under any circumstances, wish to speak with you!"

"Fourteen, kid, you just don't get it." was the reply as the suit's helm folded around the man's head "It isn't enough to say 'Hi, here's what I know... bye!' I need to find the right person."After correcting course to avoid another incoming blast from an annoyed station turret he continued "Look, take that first guy we encountered, he was so busy getting his jollies off of talking about killing and shooting up the ship he never took part in the conversation. People are different, some expect to fire first and think later, others take a different route. Like me. Like the right guy... when I find him."

As another shot seared dangerously close to the ship Fourteen's voice resounded within the man's head "For the love of the sanity you obviously lack! None of these... people want to talk to you! That other one was determined to kill you and, as much as I respect your choice to fulfill your former mentor's wishes, I don't want you to get us all killed!"

The ship corkscrewed around another flash of light to which the man remarked "Ooh. Pretty. Sorry... what was I saying? Yeah, you can go hide in the back with the others if you want but I'm doing this and, for the ol' scoreboard, you're wrong. I'm not getting killed. Look how many ships get shot down in the big black out there. Then look at the fatality rates. Why the gaping chasm between that unhappy couple? Lemme tell ya. Most people smart enough to know, when things are going sidey-ways, to hit the escape pod. Whilst all those wanting to prove that they are, in fact, the most anatomically inadequate in the party zone by pushing buttons and feeding into their fantasy that they're the anthropomorphic personification of that robed, and out-of-date, farmer who's looking a bit on the skinny side are completely unable to do so. Why? I don't hear you ask? I'll tell you that too. "

"Unless you've got an EM signature like if your pod's been tagged by a spy hired by the mish-commish to allow a capture or bio data as you're going pop in the void, sans le pod de la escaping, no ship, no sensor array, nada can see you. Space is big and, unless Mr Targeting Computer's got something to work with, you can't tractor or shoot El ex pilot. Or El ex crew. Or whoever. That's why EPs all over the sector fly to the nearest friendly station and no one dies. Because they are.... survey says... EM shielded!"

"Now the old suit here is a step or so above most tech kicking about and is similarly protected from the sniffing of electromagnetic scents. Which brings us to the end of the thought process. Regardless of how many times I engage in being exploded whilst shipbound it'll come to, pretty much, nothing. What it does do, however, is tell me who's who. I can't just hand off to the organ grinder... I need the monkey. Someone there with clout and is elder enough to remember the old man... or who heard about it over the share-ware. Not an entry level grunt who's job it is to not kill things. Which reminds me... I told you what plan B was... right?"

"NO! There was thought enough in what you were doing already to assume there was no plan of any letter, number or other designation! It did occur, however, that we could be ever so slightly further out of range of this station's defenses! So what precursor to death are you going to attempt now?!?"

"So glad you asked." was the reply through a sixty four gallon grin. "I was going to do... this." As the air was sucked out of the cabin the man took a moment for the void to encompass the now open cockpit before reaching down and grabbing a bottle happily sitting on the floor. Standing, bottle in hand, boots magnatracted to the cockpit's floor, only the voices inside the airtight helm of the suit could hear the man's call of "A-AND HERE'S THE PITCH!" The bottle sailed through space until it magnetically stuck to the one of metal arcs rising up from the station. "Right. Onto the next one." was the only explanation from the man as the cockpit closed and the ship screamed on to it's next destination.