Akesh the Devourer
Scary.
(OOC thread is here. Spots may become available in the future.)
Papers rustled as a bespectacled man with cold grey eyes sheafed through them brusquely. He was not the sort one would usually associate with the gleaming mahogany desk at which he was sat, nor the large, airy office into which sunlight streamed. He was stocky, his limbs well-formed and muscular, his head gleamingly bald. Each action was quick and precise, with no wasted effort. Near the tall double doors, made of a far lighter wood than the desk, sat a number of priceless and ancient vases, each one was filled with earth and had a potted plant neatly ensconced within. For a fair while, the only sound within the room was the rustle of paper, or an occasional cough from the room's grey-uniformed occupant, until a buzzer sounded on the desk. Angry shouting could be heard in the background.
“Service minister Karn to see you, sir” The secretary's voice wobbled slightly. “He says it's urgent.”
“I bet he does.” The muscular businessman's voice was deep, quiet and firm. “What was his reply when you told him I was in a meeting?” Instantly, the swearing and yells that came over the intercom were louder and more vehement. A grin played across the bald man's thin lips, though he didn't look up from reading the papers.
“Less than-” Abruptly, the secretary's voice was replaced by a deeper, far more gruff tone. “Adamson, I don't know what the freg you're playing at, but you let me in right now or-”
“Or what?” At last, the bald man looked up from the papers he was reading and glared at the doors. “Or you'll bully my secretary? Kill her? Band together the small number of troops that are loyal to you and storm the building?” Quietly, he shuffled the papers neatly together and opened a drawer in his desk. He retrieved the wine-coloured folder that lay within, neatly stowed the papers inside, then placed it on the polished surface in front of him and closed the drawer. The silence from the intercom was deafening. “No, I don't think so,” the bald man continued. “It is much easier to stage a coup when you are absolutely certain of winning. But since you are here anyway, why don't you come in? We have much to discuss. “ Sarah, you may take the rest of the day off.”
With a quick motion, the bald man pushed a button just under his desk, and the doors at the other end of the office swung open without a sound. Just visible through the entrance was another set of double doors at the end of a short, un-carpeted, red-panelled corridor. The bald man sat back in the red leather upholstery of his chair, steepled his fingers in front of him and gazed at the doors. They opened hesitantly, and a swarthy face framed with dark locks peered through the gap. The dark brows lowered, giving Karn a distinctly ferocious stare; one matched by the hardness in the bald man's grey eyes.
“Do come in, minister.” The bald man's tone was soft. “We have much to talk about. I already know of the colourful language you used to describe our latest venture into genetic manipulation.”
The visitor scowled in response, thrust the door open wide and confidently stepped into the red walled area. Karn didn't pay any mind to the sound-proofed door as it swung shut behind him with a quiet click. He did notice the doors in front of him slam, however, and certainly noticed the whirring saw blades that suddenly came down from the ceiling. Enthroned upon his office chair, the bald man swivelled to and fro and smiled at the desperate, gurgling screams that filtered into the office. When silence once again reigned in the office, he penned a quick memo to himself to appoint a new Service minister, and then reopened the file.
Three women, a midget and two men, one of which could easily be mistaken for a girl. All had received gene therapy and had their memories wiped. All of them were easily missed. It didn't matter what they chose to do when they got out of their detention; the revolution would roll on regardless. The best part of it was, the entire thing had been engineered by his own hand. The bald man smiled at the thought. The best civil wars were always those that had been specifically engineered, and this one would no doubt take down those two pretenders.
**
Dirty yellow light flooded the room, accompanied by occasional random flickering from a malfunctioning striplight. The scent of old urine stung the man's nostrils as he slowly headed for conciousness from the soft cotton wool of sleep. After a short while his eyes opened, seemingly of their own volition, and he stared mutely at the underside of the top bunk that swam in his vision. A sense of something wrong nagged at his mind, but for the life of him the man couldn't figure out what it was.
Carefully, he sat up. As he did so, he noted that his feet dangled in the air when he sat on the edge of the bunk and there was plenty of room between his head and the bunk above. Ten more bunks occupied the room, and no decoration marked the plain, grey concrete walls. A single metal door with a meshed grille sat in one corner of the room.
“Where th' hell is this place?” The slightly squeaky voice was, the man belatedly realised, his own. “Geeze. Talk about th' Ritz. What'd they do to outfit the joint; rob a bank?”
There were other people in some of the other bunks, he realised. With a swift motion, he slid off the edge of the bed and waddled over to investigate. From the mounds under the bedclothes, the occupants were obviously freakishly tall.
Papers rustled as a bespectacled man with cold grey eyes sheafed through them brusquely. He was not the sort one would usually associate with the gleaming mahogany desk at which he was sat, nor the large, airy office into which sunlight streamed. He was stocky, his limbs well-formed and muscular, his head gleamingly bald. Each action was quick and precise, with no wasted effort. Near the tall double doors, made of a far lighter wood than the desk, sat a number of priceless and ancient vases, each one was filled with earth and had a potted plant neatly ensconced within. For a fair while, the only sound within the room was the rustle of paper, or an occasional cough from the room's grey-uniformed occupant, until a buzzer sounded on the desk. Angry shouting could be heard in the background.
“Service minister Karn to see you, sir” The secretary's voice wobbled slightly. “He says it's urgent.”
“I bet he does.” The muscular businessman's voice was deep, quiet and firm. “What was his reply when you told him I was in a meeting?” Instantly, the swearing and yells that came over the intercom were louder and more vehement. A grin played across the bald man's thin lips, though he didn't look up from reading the papers.
“Less than-” Abruptly, the secretary's voice was replaced by a deeper, far more gruff tone. “Adamson, I don't know what the freg you're playing at, but you let me in right now or-”
“Or what?” At last, the bald man looked up from the papers he was reading and glared at the doors. “Or you'll bully my secretary? Kill her? Band together the small number of troops that are loyal to you and storm the building?” Quietly, he shuffled the papers neatly together and opened a drawer in his desk. He retrieved the wine-coloured folder that lay within, neatly stowed the papers inside, then placed it on the polished surface in front of him and closed the drawer. The silence from the intercom was deafening. “No, I don't think so,” the bald man continued. “It is much easier to stage a coup when you are absolutely certain of winning. But since you are here anyway, why don't you come in? We have much to discuss. “ Sarah, you may take the rest of the day off.”
With a quick motion, the bald man pushed a button just under his desk, and the doors at the other end of the office swung open without a sound. Just visible through the entrance was another set of double doors at the end of a short, un-carpeted, red-panelled corridor. The bald man sat back in the red leather upholstery of his chair, steepled his fingers in front of him and gazed at the doors. They opened hesitantly, and a swarthy face framed with dark locks peered through the gap. The dark brows lowered, giving Karn a distinctly ferocious stare; one matched by the hardness in the bald man's grey eyes.
“Do come in, minister.” The bald man's tone was soft. “We have much to talk about. I already know of the colourful language you used to describe our latest venture into genetic manipulation.”
The visitor scowled in response, thrust the door open wide and confidently stepped into the red walled area. Karn didn't pay any mind to the sound-proofed door as it swung shut behind him with a quiet click. He did notice the doors in front of him slam, however, and certainly noticed the whirring saw blades that suddenly came down from the ceiling. Enthroned upon his office chair, the bald man swivelled to and fro and smiled at the desperate, gurgling screams that filtered into the office. When silence once again reigned in the office, he penned a quick memo to himself to appoint a new Service minister, and then reopened the file.
Three women, a midget and two men, one of which could easily be mistaken for a girl. All had received gene therapy and had their memories wiped. All of them were easily missed. It didn't matter what they chose to do when they got out of their detention; the revolution would roll on regardless. The best part of it was, the entire thing had been engineered by his own hand. The bald man smiled at the thought. The best civil wars were always those that had been specifically engineered, and this one would no doubt take down those two pretenders.
**
Dirty yellow light flooded the room, accompanied by occasional random flickering from a malfunctioning striplight. The scent of old urine stung the man's nostrils as he slowly headed for conciousness from the soft cotton wool of sleep. After a short while his eyes opened, seemingly of their own volition, and he stared mutely at the underside of the top bunk that swam in his vision. A sense of something wrong nagged at his mind, but for the life of him the man couldn't figure out what it was.
Carefully, he sat up. As he did so, he noted that his feet dangled in the air when he sat on the edge of the bunk and there was plenty of room between his head and the bunk above. Ten more bunks occupied the room, and no decoration marked the plain, grey concrete walls. A single metal door with a meshed grille sat in one corner of the room.
“Where th' hell is this place?” The slightly squeaky voice was, the man belatedly realised, his own. “Geeze. Talk about th' Ritz. What'd they do to outfit the joint; rob a bank?”
There were other people in some of the other bunks, he realised. With a swift motion, he slid off the edge of the bed and waddled over to investigate. From the mounds under the bedclothes, the occupants were obviously freakishly tall.
