Core Nova
Chapter 1: Like Farther. Unlike Stepson.
Grey...just like my masters' eyes. I felt a soothing warmth lap over my body as memories of my master came back to me. I dont know why, but I know, somehow, I will see him again.
Because he said he would...he promissed...
*********************************************************
He hated him, and De'Vaughn had a reason to...
Of all the people to have as parents, Mosrate ( pronounced Moss- Rate ) was the one that hurt De'Vaughn ( pronouced Dev-Von ) the most. Every day, he would beat up the young boy to a pulp, mentaly tourtre him, and somtimes do worse, like cause problems for others, while having the child take the blame, which would normaly get him in jail frequently. And Mosrate, he just did it for fun.
De'Vaughns' Step-Father was a menacing character, standing at 6' 3", dark skinned with a heavily toned a world renowned champian of the G.W.M! (Gone With Mercy!) tournament, and 2nd place wieght lifting champion,it was no surprise that most Cops feared him for his power, which allowed him to get away with any thing, even brutalizing De'Vaughn.
The boy knew that nothing was going to save him, and he fell into a deep depression, which resualted to him also losing a mass amount of social skills, causing him to be a loner at him school, called Blazer High. His depression even caused him to lose faith in realality, and choose to escape life by the two main medias: Gaming, Anime and fighting. DeVaughn was major Playstion player, and heavily into games with deep plot, like Final Fantasy, Devil May Cry, Kingdom Hearts, Metal Gear, ect. He would alwase play with all his heart, placing full attention to the characters as if he was in that persons' shoes. There are even moments where he would lip sync the lines that was said by the person. Hours, and somtimes even days, would go by and he would'nt even stop. De'Vaughn had to make sure of that.
As for fighting, he was more of a silent peaceful person was afriad to fight others, even little youngsters. But if it came to self defence against, say, 10 to 17 S.W.A.T members, De'Vaughn was a monster. Martial Art was his style, which is completly diffrent from Mosrate, who used brute force ,like wrestling, at above average. Few was know to beat the two...
De'Vaughn was a 14 year old african american boy. Black spiky hair gentely coverd his neck and left eye, and sheilded him from the lights of the real world. His body was frail and weak looking outside ,but strong and dexterdious inside, due from all the fights he had with his step farther. His eyes, though looking dark and heartless from its dark green, was truly full of inner kindness. Normaly he would wear dark clothing, most of which Mosrate bought for him on his birthday, or the traditional cosplay clothing that he stole from anime markets, which range from Soras' many clothing designs to Dantes' battle gear. And for some odd reasom, he would alwase carry two extra-long katanas, there blue/ turqouise color showing off its' beauty, even in the dark. On the edge of them, a delicatly enscribed chinese character, called " Sorrow ", would arise at times.
And the word "Sorrow" has a lot of meanings, especaily for the story De'Vaughn has to enter...
**********
"YOU'RE WORTHLESS..."
Devaugn very much knew his back should've been shattered when he was thrown in the 5th TV stand, in a row, by none other than his hateful step-father, Mosrate, holder of the two time GWM championship belt. But he held his ground as his feet landed on the hard rock floor, trying best not to collapse.
"Weak..." The large man didn't give DeV much time to think, for he charged at him again. The boy dodged to the left, but Mos was to fast, and he grabbed Dev's neck with his large left hand, soon to spin him around at a fast rotation before launching him into a faraway wall, using more than enough force to attempt to kill the child he hated so much.
But, timing his footing correctly, De'Vaughn landed softly on the wall before touching the floor. Reflexes at MAX, the teen immediately dodged to the right side, just as Mosrate rammed himself right at the wall, inches from Dev. In one desperate attempt, the boy bounced to the nearest wall and leaped off it just as fast, elevating up to his step-father.
" And did I mention..." Mosrate already saw the move, and rebuffed DeV strike easily. "Slow!?!" he yelled, catching Dev's leg, before using his famous Counter move, "Latch". It was a quick, simple 3-hit that he uses when he perfectly read his enemy's moves. With his left hand holding the boy's leg, he rammed his right elbow into the back of Dev's head, before giving him a swift kick to his face with his left leg, and driving his body on the floor. This took only a matter of seconds, and within those seconds, the boy was out cold.
Mosrate brushed his hands off coolly, commenting at how De'Vaughn still couldn't defend himself. After kicking him in the stomach he added, "Next time you'll learn not to come home late!"
No, the two were not sparring, for it's impossible to get them to even talk without Mosrate having to attempt to kill Dev, much less training with each other. It's really because of what happened earlier.:
[Flashback]
I was already tired form walking downtown from my home to school, aggravated at how I didn't get the chance to kill that damn girl behind me, in class, who kept snapping her gum loudly and shaking the desk under me with her feet in boredom, especially when I was in the middle of a fantastic dream. Yeah, I daydream a lot, even in the midst of answering a question. But hey, what can you do when you can only, and ONLY get a B as your lowest grade?
It was a very odd dream, too, that I had. I was in a purple, black trim metal armor, LVL 99 Fallen Angel, holding a MAXED out Auto Healing Sword (Of Justice!...Not!). This dream was obviously about a game I had played earlier, due to the level stats, otherwise I thought I was another worthless, low-rank servant of ol' Lucius!
Anyway, it was odd, really. I was on a platform. Just sitting there, Indian style. On a multi-color, gothic glass floor. My eyes were closed, concentrating on something, sweating heavily to remember something, as if it was dependant on my life. Suddenly my eyes snapped open, and the word "Remember." flew out of my mouth questionably, possibly asking a question of no reason. And just as I got up to move, a hand touched my shoulder, startling me into consciousness, and out of my dream.
What was I thinking about? Where was I in that draem? How come I was wearing Armor I designed from Final Fantasy? And just WHO WAS IT THAT TOUCHED ME DURING THAT DREAM? When I got a chance, I was going to find out...
My phone rang to a flute-like Japanese tune of the original them song; "Simple and Clean" a record hit of Utada Hikaru's song for Kingdom Hearts. I answered it glumly, knowing who it was.
"De'Vaughn Brathwaite here-" I tried to say my name completely, but I was cut off by the angry voice of
"Don't 'De'Vaughn Brathwaite here' me, you unintelligent bitch!"
Mosrate.
"......" I refrained from talking, hoping not to anger my step-father any further.
"Where the hell are you!?!? I told you to hurry up and get home so you can clean the basement!"
"I'm sorry...I'm almost home." I could already tell that I was in for it, and I was already feeling scared, like a trapped bunny about to become food for predators.
"SORRY MY ASS!" He roared over the phone, yelling loud enough so others around me, waiting to cross the street, could hear my step-father and his booming voice. "When you get home, 15 lashes for not coming home, then 5 more for not DOING THE FUCKING BASEment, AND 70 for screwing the teacher for grades!"
"!?!?!" I was speechless. One way because of my embarrassment in front of everyone, and second for the state of confusion I was in. What the hell was he talking about? I never...
"Hell, I know what you kids do these days to get good grades! You end up fuck'n the teacher as a bribe, to up your homework stats!"
"But I-"
"Shut it, dammit! I new you wasn't smart, but to 'DO' a teacher!?! You're worthless!" before I could get out a peep, Mosrate hung up.
Worthless. That's what Mosrate always thought of me. Worthless. A useless item that can't fight, loses things, lies, steals, was unintelligent, and now can't get good grades unless he scews around with a teacher! That always pissed me off, but I ignore him when he tells me that. It didn't matter anyways. I lived alone with him, and it was going to remain like that for four more years. Then I would finally be rid of him...
I walked onward, watching many cars, minivans, and other vehicles go by. First was a green Volvo, then 4X4s, even Porsches and Dump Trucks zoomed by, attempting to reach their destinations. This was really helping me to get less nervous, though I still had butterflies in my stomach. More cars flew by, like a tan, family van, a red street racer, and a stretched hummer limo with black tinted windows and a red interior. I looked at my watch after crossing the 7th or so street, and it was past 5 o'clock and it was getting dark. Mosrate was going to be very pissed.
***********
I was at the front of my house door, and I was already scared, without hope. I quietly opened the door and snuck inside, begging whatever bastard of a god there was that Mosrate was asleep. I peered around the couch and, to my relief, he wasn't there, which meant he was upstairs, probably on the computer. I was safe for now. I turned around to close the door, a huge smile on my face, already hoping I could sneak my first meal, like a PB and J sandwich. After locking door I immediately whirled around again to run to the kitchen, only to run into a large hand that clasped my throat tightly and lifted me in the air, choking me.
"YOU...STUPID...FUCKER!!" It was Mosrate! He was behind me the whole time! "THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO LET MY GUARD DOWN AND LEAVE YOU UNSCRATCHED!?!?!"
I tried to speak, but his grip was so tight on me, I could only gasp for air, beg, and ask "please" repeatedly. With his free right hand, he slashed my face with the belt he was hiding behind his back.
"That's one!" he sneered evilly as he tossed me aside. I braced myself as I landed softly on the couch, at least able to take in a full gulp of air. But my moments of life was destroyed when Mosrate whipped me again with his leather belt. he whipped my bare back again, with more force and a quicker pace, counting each hit in glee.
"5!6!7!8!" The slashes came harder, and my bare skin was bleeding. I yelled in agony, tears sliding fro my cheeks as he soon reached the end. Beatings. He alwase did this to me. Beatings was the sick little pleasues he would alwas bestow on me. I couldn't take anymore.
"12!13!14!" In his last strike, I mustered enough strength to grab the belt and yank it from his hand, and tossed it to the side, letting it land near the door I entered earlier.
"Stop it father!" I screamed at him, toppling him off his guard by miles. No one ever raises there voice at Mosrate. Ever. He was very intimidating to others, and his champion-bound title and body made him even more deadly. But for the first time, his face usually cold with anger, was now wide open beyond shock, beyond belief and...possibly fear?
"Why do you hurt me!?!" I pressed on, standing up from the couch, hoping to get through to my step-father, and try to knock some sense into him. "You always take your anger out on me, when I haven't done anything to you to piss you off! The food only got stolen when I was hungry, and that's because you tell me NOT to eat! And I never, EVER, stole anything else from you! NEVER!
"But yet, you still torture me, beating me up for the fun of it, getting me arrested for your own doing, forcing me to do horrible, hard things for others, while you get the glory for it! Why does it have to be me!?! Why must you take your anger out on only me?! Is it jealousy? Hatred, maybe? Or..." My fearful curiosity soon turned to hatred as I soon came to realization, a realization that allowed me to raise my voice with more confidence:
"Or is it that you want to feel power? To know how it is to have someone fear you, be under you or even want to be a slave to you, huh? IS THAT IT? IS THAT WHY!?!" By that time, I was already up, from the couch, in this asshole's face.
"Well I'm tired of it, and I'm tired of you!" Then I added, with no more fear or regret:
"Bastard!"
That was when Mosrate snapped into a rage that far killed mine. He ran his right knee into my stomach, with enough force to make me double over. The force of his blow as amazingly strong, and I was soon to spit up blood, red as Hell, on my stepfather's jeans. That mistake only made him angrier, as he then struck me in the face directly. I stumbled a little, stunned by the hit, and regained my balance, though only to lose it again as Mosrate threw his right arm onto me, and my back crashed into the wall behind me. The paint was weak, old, and was peeling, but once my back went medieval cannon on it, the whole thing had a dent, a large one, too.
"YOU..." I felt another rush of pain when Mosrate threw a heavy left hook on my chin, and my body leaned to the right due to the force of the blow.
"CAN'T..." A quick right uppercut knocked many beads of sweat away from me, and my blood falling fast like tears, dropped to the floor, like rain. Soon my body was lifted in the air, and thrown to the ceiling. As I fell down..
"SPEAK TO ME..." Mosrate caught me in the air, but it wasn't to stop my fall, "LIKE THAT!!!" as he threw my body to the ground with enough strength to puncture a sheet of metal. I thought my body was used to this type of damage, but I knew ,at that moment, somthing in my body cracked. I strained to get on my knees, But even my stepfather wasn't going to let me do that, as he kicked my face, causing me to roll over, he kicked me again, this time even harder, and I went through the door to the basement, falling down to the floor without even touching the stairs. I remembered this room. That bastard always took me down there to torture or hurt me if I did something bad when I was younger.. I hated this place. Too many spiders and other horrible looking insects always crawled on me when I slept; and I had a hard time sleeping, because of the cold floors, which were stone. More to the point, I didn't like the place at all. Period. And there was no way in Hell I was going back down there again!
Using the last of my energy, I landed feet first on the bottom of the basement, and held a defensive state as my step-father literally bursted down the stairs at me. I ducked to the side as he threw a right hook, missing me by inches. With Mosrate open, my left leg used the leverage of his body to do a right-footed kick flip. The strike connected to his jaw, my stepfather stepped back, giving me enough time to run in and throw multiple jabs at him. With the pressure of each hit, he stepped back further, and I thought I had a chance to win this small fight, knock him out, and leave this place forever! My hitting tempo increased, and Mosrate was on the wall, and hopefully in pain. As a last move, I spun around to complete a swift kick, mustering all the power I had. My boot reached his face, but what happened next wiped my once eager smile away.
Mosrate caught the strike, and by the looks of it, none of the moves seemed to hurt him, as he showed no, I repeat, NO signs of pain!
My body was caught off balance, since all of my energy went to the kick, and he took notice of it, as I soon was lifted into the air, my Mosrate holding my leg, and slamming my whole body to the ground. Blood must've come along the floor, for I felt my face sting from the dirty floor infecting my cuts and gashes. I knew I could move for the moment, but I wanted to wait until the right moment...
"I can't believe you thought you was gonna beat me, despite the guts ya' HAD a while ago!" He snorted at the word "Had", cracking his knuckles, as he planned to hit me again.
"But you're not even good enough to have as a step-son!"
"Like I would want..." I pushed my entire body off the floor, spinning my right leg at Mosrate. "...To be your step-son!" The kick almost hit him, but he caught it again, and this time twisted my leg, almost making it dislocate! My voice almost blared out a scream of pain, but Mosrate lunged his hand into me, lifting me up one more time.
"You're still nothing..." he spoke, rearing his left arm, which was holding me in the air by the jaw. "No. as a matter of fact..."
"YOU'RE WORTHLESS!"
[End Flashback]
**********
"......."
...And here I am, lying on the floor, bloody, bruised, cold and hungry, thinking on how I believed I had a chance to run away from "him".
"......."
Fuck "Him"...
"......"
Mosrate...
"......." a centipede tramped by and over my finger. A large, disgusting looking one, too by the likes of it. I would've gotten scared and pulled my hand back, but my pathetic ass was to worried about how fast my tears were sliding on my cheek.
"......"
Yes, I admit it, I'm pathetic, just like that guy said. My body should be burned right here where I stand, or lay, in this point of view. I was never good at anything sports-like, especially basketball or soccer. I was never able to do anything right. And even if it did go right, no one notices. But if I end up making one small mistake, or brake one, just ONE, rule, nobody forgives me, and they definetly wont forget. Nothing ever goes my way. My life was always miserable. And of all things, my mother had to die in some Sicko's hands! She knew I wasn't going to like living with my step-father and she had to go off and get murdered! It...
"......" Another tear falls off.
It's a waste just to live. A waste to walk around the school hoping to find someone to love me, someone to look up to me, or even someone to...just to care. Just to care that I was me. That just because I wasn't "normal", like everyone else, there was someone who would look past it, and notice all my other characteristics.
It didn't matter if someone noticed my bad characteristics as well! Even being made fun of -by all those popular jocky boys, no doubt- would be enough to make me happy; at least, I would actually have been noticed and made fun of, versus not being made fun of and not being noticed.
".........."
I want to be noticed...
"............"
I want to be liked...
".........."
And I want to be loved...
A few more minutes passed by as silent tears kissed the floor. Minutes turned to half hours, then hours, until night time covered its ever-dying body, earth. Hopefuly, once tommaro comes, i'll most likly be dead-
"Get up."
I blinked once, wondering if I was going delusional, if I was not already.
"Stand...the wheels have started to turn."It was a woman's voice, firm and commanding but with a gentle, motherly taste.
Wondering what as going on, I slowly pushed myself off the stone floor, but my arms couldn't hold me up, the pain from today and my previous day's beating was to much for them and they gave way, my chin meeting the hard cold floor. I was too weak to move. Too weak, Period.
(Weak...) I restrained myself from crying,
"Rise..."
But I took small, sobbing gasps as more tears formed to drop their watery bombs on the already puddled country called "ASTONEFLOOR". I was weak. I couldn't even be strong enough to stand up. Maybe it would be fun if I killed myself. At least the title of being worthless would go to someone else...
The voice came again, but this time more forcefully.
"Get up, and be strong..."
"...De'Vaughn."
!!!!!
How did it know my name!?! With my free right hand, I wiped the rest of my tears off and looked up, curious of where the voice came from...
No one was there...
Well no one in front of me, in that sense. I shook my head in shame, believing that I had some being talking to me. Wow! What a fool I am. That's almost as bad as a talking sword...
"My sword!" with some ironic burst of energy, I sprang up immediately, whipping around behind me to dash for a nearby desk. (If Mosrate did'nt see it...) I hoped in my mind. (Then, the two cyans should be behind...)
I was right! My two cyan blades were right in front of me, glowing in a dim blue aura. I didn't give much thought into why something like that would happen. All that was in my mind was just holding them both in my hand. I always felt better, more confident, when I had it in my hand. I don't know why, but it just did. Like...like I was holding the world!
"......."
Wait a second...
".......?"
How did I know it was behind the dresser?
"And why did I pick it up at a time like this?"
There was silence for a second. Not a simple, dumfounded silence, but something more of -
"AAAHHH!" A pain, much worse then multiple needles repeatedly jabbing at a paralyzed but alive body, brought in a raging down on my head. A yell was about to emerge from my busted lip but, remembering that my step-father was probably upstairs, all I did was get on my knees, holding my head, trying to squeeze the brain-busting agony off me, but that only proved worse.
Red. All I was seeing was red, as if for some reason the pain caused blood to gush out of my eyes and cover my visual sense. But I ignored that, for my pain was enough to make me roll on the floor, make voiceless screams, and clench my fist jaggedly. Then that voice came again, this time worried, as if it were warning me of danger. And it did.
"Run! Leave now before The Term picks up the Key to unlock the Core!"
The Term?
Keys?
The Core!?!
What...W-What is she talking about...?
"Please, De'Vaughn! GO! She's waiting..."
The pain ceased, fading away like a novice RPG player's hope when it finds out that it's about to lose to a world champion character. The pain was gone, and so was the stone floor, trashed desks, and vile insects in the basement. The basement was gone too, and I was left on the green, near paper-cut-worthy grass, gasping for air after being relieved of my head's stress. I was outside, on the lawn of my house, confused as Hell, and questioning the Who, the What, the Where, and the How.
But I was outside. I was OUTSIDE! I had a chance to run, a chance to get away from the bastard I hated so much. A chance to find an actual place to live, to play games, to live the life I always wished to live; without the suffering false love, or Mosrate at that! Some would say that was called "Another Chance," and that's what I wanted.
I rose from the ground, still tired but able to walk, and headed for the city with, for the first time in my life, a smile on my face.
CHAPTER 2
Republic Restart: The Finish Of The "Weapon"
He saw that look on her eyes, and he knew what was coming.
"Why?"
"Since it's all due to the 'Core' " Said 3rd secretary of Defense Nashen Dard, as he was fixing the heavyly ironed tie around his neck. He, along with Jessica, the new employee of the "Pentagon Fix"-a hidden group area under the official white house-was heading across the lightly guarded hall, discussing an important topic in favor.
"Every 18th of December, all of the world leaders-as some would call the United Nations,-send in their negotiators, each representing one of the seven 'important areas': America, of course, Africa, Austlaila, Canada, Asia, Mexico, and Europe, " Nashen nodded at a nearby guard after reaching the end of the hallway, " to report to us the news on their turf, trade valued information, report of any sightings of Wanted threats, and so on. "
Once he flashed is Identification to the soldier, the door was opened, granting them access to the M.A.E ( Meeting and Exchange ) Room. It was a large, luminescent area, having a freshly painted white wall, reflecting overhead light. The room was empty, because the two was early to the meeting, and only a long, black marble table was present, surrounded by polished pearl chairs, enough to seat over 12 men. If either of the workers was to look above, they would notice the projector on the ceiling, playing an image, in clear format resolution, of a peculiar ensignia, with no familiar design.
The symbol was drawn on a white circular background, in black markings which looked like a small circle in the middle of two objects: under it a flipped triangle with a vertical slash stood there, as above the circle, a slightly "ribbon-like" sketch was drawn, and directly from the through the circle was a virtical slash. It was nothing like the other insignias. Not like Chinese letters. Not like the Arsenist symbol. Nothing.
But secretary of defense Nashen and Jessica didn't notice the symbol yet, for they still busy with the conversation at hand.
"But still, sir." Said Jessica, as a nearby seat was now accommodating to her weight while she crossed her left leg over the other. "Why...THEM?" It took awhile for the secretary to rephrase the question, but by the worried tone in the employee's voice, Nashen understood what she meant. (The "22"...), he thought to himself. (The youngest organization bought by Governmental Society of Future Protection, GSFP, and yet they came out to be the most feared organization! And in under 78 years!). Oddly enough the best answer he had come up with is:
"They made IT, didn't they? Not like we got a choice but to have 'them' here."
His younger worker pouted immediately at the non-straight answer, something he was familiar with. But in the depths of his political mind, something was still bothering him...
"Sir..." a male Asian voice came through, in a slightly nervous tone, as if not sure on something. "is this the board meeting we were...to, uh..."
Another person, slightly farther away then the newcomer, spike in an outraged Chinese language to the other. The first person jerked back nervously, replying to the voice respectfully. After some time, the first man moved out of the way as another, beefier Asian stepped into the room, the other person following him. Nashen realized that the shy one was the translator. And just as soon as those two walked, by the door, more people came in, each accompanied by a foreign, English-speaking translator. All were either suck-ups to their leader of new workers, or scared shit out of being fired.
Jessica stood up immediately from the start, eagerly introducing herself to the others, as Nashen remained in his seat, nodding to a few world leaders who happened to glance in his direction, a stern expression covering his features. It was a sign to the powerful people that, even though the woman in front of them introducing herself was indeed a newly hired secretary, she was somone who could be trusted not to speak of anything that went on in the room, either verbally, mentally, and hopefully not physically.
The entire group was silent, as tense as the start of a world champion match. Stares was traded. Small whispers were exchanged. But no one started a conversation. The reason was simple: If anyone was to speak first, most of the people would believe the person had some status in dangerous and econic problems. In other words, anyone who speaks first, speaks as if they have the most important topic ever, and ends up earning the most attention. And no one wants to stand out at the pentagon Fix, except...
"Well, ain't this a mighty fine way of being lively!"
Them...
The 22...
...ST22...
***********************************************************************
The voice came from the commander-in-chief, President Sena.
He was a young American, only recently passing the age of 24. But for a president, he was tall, very ripped and toned (but not monstrous, more like an animated super hero.), and handsome. He had teenage-like features, unwrinkled, with a short, fuzzy beard and a natural, Caucasian face. As some would suspect, a leader should wear business-style clothes, like a suit and tie, with elegant black shoes and two body guards, for starts, right? Well Sena outright obliterated that concept as he was fashioned with a long white, black trimmed trench coat and gray jeans, which were odiously wrapped with blue chains around the legs, while sporting heavy, punk like boots, spray painted white. As for a shirt, he wore none, and his trench coat was open, exposing his firmly packed upper body. On the right ear, a Red Bead Phono, a clip style phone from Bead Corps was attached, possibly used for cell conversation with active bodyguards near him, which, on that subject, each looked as...different...as the other set of organic people that we hired to defend their world leaders.
They were covered In an occult like garment, those two bodyguards who were behind the young president: a large, near dragging costume that was dark violent with a ocean blue silk trim. Over their faces was a hooded cape, and just like the name indicates, it was a long, purple-blue trim, as well-cape that surpassed the length of the trench coat underneath, and was part hood, as well, to cloak the two bodyguards physical identities. Instead of a normal black shoes, they wore indigo boots; and instead of normal suits, the trench coat was long-sleeved, covering the hands of the two men, both costumes were overall purple with light blue trim. The chest area was covered with a tight-fitting bodice, as well as the lower abdomen, where the odd symbol was enclosed in cyan blue, and held tight by a blue sash...
"Ya' seem to like da' look on my guards here, mista' Dashen!" President Sena whispered in the secretary's ear. The man jumped, not because Sena was the president, but just because he didn't know that he was behind him...
"Y-yes, Mr. President." Dashen muttered.
"Good, now don't look at em! They don't like a be stared at!"
"Mr. Sena," boomed Mister Zanash, leader of the Europe areas. "If you don't mind, we have tight agendas." A large, most likely thick and expensive cigar was being burned away in his mouth." So you should at least START coming on time." A large fog of smoke trailed from his tongue, before he added, "young president."
Sena just arched his head at Zanash, a cocky smirk coming across his face, walked way from Dashen and took a seat at the far end of the lengthy table which was, ironically, in front of the projection of the odd symbol on the wall.
"Now then," spoke Sena as he rested his feet on the dark table, getting disapproving stares from his political partners. Though the president acted clueless, he knew Jessica was eyeing him sweetly. "Let's get yapp'n, shall we?"
******
( An Hour or Two Later...)
You're being truly arrogant, Zhu Lu Bei!" Argued Australian Ruler, Gage, his fist repetitively hitting the table in anger. Zhu, leader of Chinese Territory, did not reply. That pisses Gage, which is truly pronounced ( G-ah-gay ), even further. The two was negotiating on water level arrangements, a tradition on who should give more water to their lands.
But Zhu built a plan: Using the water dams in Australia, he would lower the pressure, causing a "small" drop in availability for its Australians. Though it DID look like Zhu Lu Bei was asking to make the citizens suffer while china has an overload of nourishment due to the trade, he wanted Gage to know that more people will want more water, meaning an increase in the profit for him if his people were able to keep up with his commands...
But Gage couldn't see the good in that. That was just how he is, blind, dumb, and awfully stupid-commenting on the obvious. And Zhu knew how to manipulate that into effect. After all, Zhu Lu Bei was one the best strategist known to man.
"If you dislike your opportunity for increased income and lower taxes, we can always open that original Dam, the one that broke on the FIRST try of it's use...
After the mention of the Dam that failed to hold at least one ton of salt water, Gage held the agreement.
"So," spoke America's commander-in-chief Sena, gesturing to his two 'uncommon' bodyguards to come hither. "Now we all called off our boring little chit-chat," he henced the word 'boring' to one of the world leaders, "We can reach the TRUE topic in hand."
The moment President Sena said the next two words, the cloaked beings whispered in sync, their tones flowing through like a gentle ecstasy:
"GLORIA SENPENTRA....."
Jessica, confused for the moment, repeated the word softly, liking how it sounds. Gloria...Senpentra...They had a beautiful ring to them. (But what does it mean?) she questioned herself. (And why is it so important-)
"Gloria Senpentra: the two words that blessed my ears when I and the entire United States Defensive Tacticians, or U.S.D.T, came up with a VERY special idea." Said Sena.
"And I mean," The two silent guards rolled down a projector screen that was placed over the original screen in the meeting room.
"VEEEERRRRYYY SPECIAL!" With a snap of his fingers, Sena pointed at one of his guards, a slim, tall one by the looks of him, and directed the person to dim the lights. That was when Dashen And Jessica noticed something vital:
It was a Female.
The moment she turned to our direction, part of the trench coat opened, revealing a purple skirt that barely covered the strong, attractive legs she had. If one was to look even closer, they would have seen that his woman had on thigh-length, black, 5 inch high heels. Heels wasn't common in the govern-
The person immediately covered herself, giving us a foul glare; it was obvious she had on that look under the hood that covered her features...
The lights was off, and the girl went back to her original spot without a word, as Sena began to speak:
"In the year 1928, The U.S. Defense HQ has been massively ashamed of how our military warfare-NOT counting the soldiers- has become nothing more than a joke to the advancing technology of other enemy countries. While we were struggling to produce powerful terrain Vehicles, our poor soldiers have been demolished by German Tiger tanks! While we designed aircraft to drop nukes upon your lands, leader Zhu Lu Bei," The president gestured to the Asian ruler, who nodded. "Our plans were slapped back an our faces by Japanese aircraft that hit- literally -our war zones!"
"And speaking of 'plans'!!!" Sena got up at this moment, pulling out a ...GOLD 7mm Custom hand gun, a special weapon of his that was treasured and passed down by his relatives, from father to son and so on. Toying with the projectile, he walked around the room slowly, his heavy punk boots tapping the pearl floor loudly, with the fact that it distracted most of the world leaders. The President continued,
"Plans! Ha! The closet thing our tactics had to be when we made desperate measures-to experiment on willing, and sometimes unwilling, soldiers for enhancement back in the 60's! and NOW look: We have to make excuses to a couple of million over-protective mothers about why we had to keep sending soldiers on the job, when they were actually dead from poisoning..."
"Mr. Sena-" Zanash started to say, though he was soon cut off from one and only.
"BUT!" With a flick of his wrist, the gold gun was spinning in the air flawlessly. "Thanks to the Term, we have made something that ' Insures Victory In All Wars!' " Once he received the correct end of the gold gun, called Pheracom, Sena did what all the people in this meeting expected him to do: with a quick pull of the trigger, he sent the metal remote from the table in the air, where it became introduced to Sena's hand.
"Watch and learn, my-soon-to-be investors of..."
Dashen, without even listening ot the rest of the President's sentence, knew what he was about to see-
Specalist Term 22...
******
" You know, she's been like this ever since we brought her here!"
I just looked at her, wondering if she felt stupid right now. "It's only been 3 days, Smoky..." I told her.
"Oh...right! Hehe!" she scratched the back of her head.
For a Lilune, she's not acting so smart. But that was just for now, for I knew she was intelligent beyond US humans.
"You're one of THEM, too, so you must be going through the same thing..." I did my best not ot be rude, but I only wanted to grab Smoky's attention, her cute, hazel eyes trained so heavily on the other girl we were talking of.
Her name was Jaida M.P, The M.P. stood for Maida Paida. Yes, the name had some oddity to it, but she said it was her name when Black Petal, a friend of mine, brought her here.
She was so wonderfully exquisite, formed beautifully, as if an angel came and carved her from clay in a perfect art. Jaida was no taller then me, standing a barely six feet, her body amazingly attractive and fit, all parts of her shape automatically loved. Her skin had such a delicate, brown tone, creamy in shape and texture, and beautifully in every way. Jaidas' hair was very long, completely passing her curving cute bottom, and cinnamon brown in color, which was lighter then her skin complexion, adding an unique taste to her.
Covering her luscious body was a red Asian dress, cotton and tight-fitting, with slits on the insides of the hips, revealing her silky, strong legs, her red combat boots supporting her feet. The Asian dress was worn loosely, so it showed her slender shoulders , and maybe a small amount of her voluptuous flesh.
She (Jaida) was asleep on the large cushions that supported her, parts of her cheeks trying to recover from the tears that had over hydrated them not so long ago. She was crying only a few minutes before.
Yes, crying. Jaida was doing that ever since we brought her here: If she wasn't crying, the girl was quietly planting all variations of roses, from red, to yellow, even a few white at times. We've never got a chance to ask her why, though all of us, those who were living "here" already knew. The plantation was for the person she's waiting for...
She was waiting for De'Vaughn. We all were waiting...for him...
For the MEMORY...
************
"Core Nova, a multi-billion dollar project designed to ensure Victory In All Wars." Started the Introductory movie. The projectory screen showed a revolving symbol, possibly the sign of the project it was talking of. The insignia was glowing in purple on the screen as the voice, female, continued about the subject.
"Created in 1930 by the Security and Defense organization as a turntable against Germany and it's financial supporters, the Core Nova was a promising feature to U.S. warfare. It's maker:" The symbol froze, faced front, in place. "The specialist Term."
"Beyond the skill of the legendary S.E.A.L.'s and more powerful then the force of an entire elite SWAT group, the Specialist Term 22, also known as S.T.22 is the greatest military power formed by the U.S.D.T. Consisting of a grand total of 23 leaders, 22 of them Generals, 1 a Top Leader, S.T. 22 is alwase kept at tip top shape, training furiously to be the top in its' class, if there was anything that could reach its' class.
" The Ranks consist of 5 groups : Soilders, Liutenents, Generals, Occellela, and Top Leader.
"Soilders take up the bottom rank of the power triangle. In the Organisation, they are mostly used as mechanics, footmen, low rank guards, and , in some cases, ' Cannon Fodder '. These soilders represent the amount of power that hold the Specialist Term together, for even though they may not be the most numerous compared to the mass of soilders in the Army, they definatly have the skill to best them. Equal to: S.E.A.L s'.
"Next comes Liutenents, better in skill than a soilder .As the higher ranks, they deal with maintenance, infomation awereness, and battle tacttics, though some Luitnents are better suited for "secret angent" jobs. They take up at least one-tenth of the Organisation, reporting most of the events, normaly the ones that make there way to becoming potentail threats, to the higher ups. At times they can perfom more dangerous tasks then normal Soilders. This can range from assistant millitary combat, ground force, and, though rarely, search and destroy missions. ".
The projetory screen reverted back to the symbol of the S.T. 22 before continuing: " Then comes the important people of the Specialist Term: Generals and G.A 's ( General Apprentinces ), the commanders of the war zones, Leading tacticans and top Body Guards of the goverments ' important people', like senetors, goverment officals, vice-presidents, ect. With extremly difficult training and deeply focused experiments, they are 22 of the best of the best fighters from around the world, the Elite fighters who deal with the most difficult work of the Term, ranging from Search and Rescue, to Search and Destroy. Each General and G.A has his or her own trait that makes the extremly exceptable to achive that rank, and are very difficult people to beat. As a matter of fact, it has been scientificly proven that one General is equall to 278 S.W.A.T members, 164 S.E.A.L.S, and 59 S.T.22 soilders." The biography went into an even deeper explanation:
" Even though they are the least membered rank, they have a reason to be feared, and are the represenitives of the S.T. 22. They ARE the Specialist Term 22, thus they are called the 'Term'. 22 people who have the command over the Army, S.W.A.T, FBI, SEALs', Air Force, CIA, Navy, Special Ops, Marines, Ceabee, Combat Medics, Nuclear Warfare, and other Goverment Tasks.
" As said before, the Term consist of 22 generals, each that has un ranked skill and ability. Some of the Term are given oppritunitys to train people, anyone they consider worthy of their skill, called General Apprentices..."
A few wispered words was passed between the World Leaders, as Senas' smile grew larger and larger. Just imagining the amount of money that the World Leaders was going to invest on the Specailist Term was more than enough to make him piss in his jeans.
'And we have'nt even got to the good stuff, yet.'
***********************************************************************
After half of an hour passes, the video soon comes to a close. The lights were back on, and many eyes had to adjust to the bright color of white. But when the blinded visions of many became clear, many of the faces of the govermental world leaders was in shock. And that was just the expression the president wanted.
" Th-this...is...amazing!" Stammered Zanash. " How can we support- " But before he got to finish his sentence...
" In front of you is the all the documents based on the S.T. 22, directly from its creator and sub-partner, The HighWay. If all of you would kindly sign your signature on the marked end of the sheets, all of its' property will be shared with you..."
And they immediatly did, without any hesitation whatsoever. One of the two hooded figures the was assigned to be around President Sena, picked up each signed document and passed it to him. He looked over the papers, checking that each one was signed, and looked upon the world leaders with, once agian, the largest smile ever seen on his face. " Congrats on your hard work and commitment to the S.T.22..."
Applause echoed through th hands of the goverment leaders...
" ...and thank you for signing your life away. "
...the applause ceasesed.
Then all he did was snap his fingers twice.
* **
Please review so I can get some feedback on weither or not you want me to continue, because I really want to know if this story will come out good...