#valadox

Valadox had tried his best to avoid sleeping since his rescue. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw darkness, and it terrified him. Worse yet, he hadn’t received any contact from his creator in days, and the man had, without fail, contacted Valadox at least once a week since he’d left. “Progress reports,” his creator had called them, and it was always him who contacted Valadox, not the other way around. But now, there was nothing. He’d been a prisoner for weeks, and he’d been rescued since four days before, but his creator had not contacted him.

Finally, on the verge of panic, Valadox called him.

The voice on the other end of the call was low and smooth, as it always was. Valadox marveled at how well his creator could control his tone. “Yes?” he asked. “Is there something I can help you with, Valadox? I hope you are not interrupting my work for something... trivial.”

The last word hung in Valadox’s mind as he spoke. “I only wanted to give you a progress rep-”

“I know what happened,” said his creator. “I spoke with the individuals who rescued you. I also spoke with the medical professionals to examined you. I know. This contact with unnecessary, Valadox.”

“I merely... expected you to contact me at some point, if only for a-”

“I did not ask for a progress report because I did not need one. Valadox, you-” There was something like a sigh from the other side of the call, and Valadox heard his creator rustling through some unseen papers. “You are a failure, Valadox. Unfortunately, that is only to be expected from the first generation, but I have gleaned all I can from you. Your mental state is now far too unstable for any data gathered to be of significant use, so we are done.”

What was he talking about? This was unexpected- Valadox had no idea their relationship had something like this underlying it. “W-what are you saying?” he stammered. “What do you mean? How am I a failure, what- what the hell are you talking about?”

There was another sigh, this one clearly annoyed. “Valadox, I created you with an express purpose. That is why you are... different. That is why I have been monitoring you, and that is why. You have failed me. The trial is over.”

Failure. He tried so hard, he’d gotten so far, this had been his only slip. His only failure. “I don’t... understand.”

“Mmn. I do not expect you to. No one really understands. They are afraid of progress, so I was forced to move things forward myself. You are... the first fruit of my labor. Naturally, the first fruit will bear seeds for the next, and so you have done. That is all I expected of you.”

The darkness in the corners of the room began to grow, and Valadox clutched onto his datachron as if the light from its screen could save him. “Why are you... why are you saying this? When did this start happening, why are doing this to me, why... why is everything moving so slowly?”

“Because that is how I designed you, Valadox.” There was a rhythmic tapping, like Valadox’s creator was drumming his fingers. “You are different. Obviously, while there are some benefits, it also seems to increase the speed of trauma development, which is not a desirable outcome.”

Valadox stood alone in his pool of light. “There’s so much... darkness here,” he whimpered. “You said you could help me.”

“The second generation will improve upon your design,” said his creator, unheeding. “I imagine it will also end in failure, but progress takes time. Fortunately for me, I have a good deal of it.”

“What about me?” he shouted against the shadows. “You were going to help me! I don’t want to be alone again!”

“Valadox.” His creator’s tone was strong and smooth, and Valadox clung to it. Without it, he would have nothing. “You are going to close the communication channel. You will not contact me again. I do not care what you do next, but it will not involve me. Do you understand?”

More whimpering was Valadox’s only reply, so his creator continued. “You have nothing left to offer me, so I am not going to waste my time. If it is any consolation, while you are the first, you shall not be the last. Now, hang up.”

He did so. Valadox couldn’t disobey an order. As the datachron’s screen flicked off, he was swallowed by the darkness, alone again. “I’m not a failure,” he said. “I’m not. He can’t do this.” He stepped forward, knocking aside a chair as he stumbled in the darkness.

Something caught Valadox’s foot, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. “Me! He made me!” he shouted, still blind. “You made me like this! This is your fault! Everything’s moving... so... slow! Even you’re crawling along!” His fists slammed into the floor, leaving dents in the metal sheets. “There won’t be any more progress. If you want to move forward, I will show you exactly how backwards you are.”

1.

Xallius knows how to ballroom dance. He only knows a few, and they’re all waltz-type dances, but he can do them, and he does them really well. He was taught by one of his former commanders in an ill-fated attempt to “civilize” him. When Xallius found out the reason behind it, he punched them in the face.

Osseira has a bit of nursing practice. She was in a nursing school for a year or two before dropping out, but she knows the basics fairly well. She dropped out when she became a singer instead.

18.

Draximus likes family sitcoms. Old stuff, like the Wildstar MASH or Family Ties. He’s an old guy, he has old-fashioned tastes.

#11

Xallius likes weapons systems and armor development, though he hasn’t done much of it lately. He’s spent a good amount of time pretending to be something he’s not (a scientist), so now he wants some time away from that to focus on other things. Namely, Lorelei and Shezka’s Blade.

Valadox is mostly focused on interrogation techniques, though lately, he’s taken a keen interest in the process of mechari manufacture. However, given that only Millennials are privy to the secrets of the Forge, he has a hard time finding anything.

Korenna is still trying to figure out how to repair a uniblade. She has a half-finished one sitting out behind her house, but she hasn’t quite got the time or patience to figure out some of the finer mechanical points.

#39

Xallius is sitting somewhere on the edge of inferiority. He doesn’t feel that he’s beneath anyone, and he never really did, but he always felt he didn’t quite fit in. Not because he wasn’t good enough, but because he was just too different.

Korenna falls on the side of an inferiority-complex, thanks to her mother. Always being compared to her brothers and being reminded of how scrawny she is didn’t do the girl a lot of good. She’s trying to prove herself, but failure terrifies her.

Valadox has a good number of scars on his body. The most prominent are the large scorch marks on his chest and back, which he received during his time as a prisoner of the Black Hoods. He opted not to have his body repaired, and keeps the scars as a reminder. What exactly they remind him of is another thing altogether.

Recently, he’s also gained a few slash marks on his torso, given to him by Lorelei Blackclaw. She tore him up pretty good, but he opted for repairs instead of replacements again. Maybe one day he’ll give her a matching set.

Draximus has a few combat injuries, but the most noticeable one is his missing eye. A piece of shrapnel hit him in the face during combat, so he received a cybernetic replacement for when he needs depth perception. When he doesn’t, he wears an eyepatch.

She set the box down in front of him, opening it up to reveal a number of pieces carved in black and white. Setting them on the table between the two, Valadox reached out to inspect them. They were carved in different shapes, some more common than others, but each one had a counterpart of the opposite color.

“What are these, ma’am?” he asked, rolling his digits over a black tower-shaped piece.

“This is an old game, Valadox,” she said, fully opening the box. There was a checkerboard of black and white square on the backside, the playing field of this game, Valadox surmised. “But one that I enjoy. It is a game of logic and thinking. An excellent way to hone one’s mental muscles, and indulge in a little friendly competition.”

Placing the black tower on the board, Valadox watched as Kraxta moved it to her side of the field. “So what is it called?”

“Chess. I hope you will enjoy it.” The black pieces began to assemble on Kraxta’s end, with their white counterparts on Valadox’s.

“What is the point of this activity?”

“I want to see how you think, Valadox. You are very new to the ICI, correct? If you are to work under me, I want to know what I can expect to see.”

“And you would learn that much from a simple game?”

“You would be surprised. And you will find it is not so simple.” She reached forward for one of the black pieces, one of the smallest on the board. “This is the pawn. You have eight of them. They can only move one space at a time, so they are also the weakest piece.”

“Like foot soldiers in battle.”

“If you prefer to think of it that way. But do not dismiss them because they are weak; each piece is invaluable in its own way. It all depends upon how you utilize them.”

“Are you expecting to see if I am willing to sacrifice the weak for the sake of the greater goal?”

“We shall see, won’t we?”

It was a waste of time, decided Valadox as the lesson continued. They were playing a game, and Kraxta thought she would be able to figure him out with it. He’d play her game, but he’d be damned if he let her have her way with it.

The game turned out annoying, with Kraxta’s superior knowledge trumping Valadox’s inexperience at every turn. She was merciless, and it frstrated him.. He’d only captured two of her pawns when she placed her knight with a very final air. “Checkmate.”

Valadox glanced from the board, to Kraxta, and back to the board. “What?”

“Checkmate. Your king has nowhere to go. I am the victor.”

“I don’t-” he glanced back at the board, recalling the last few moves made by both sides. “I fail to see the point of this exercise,” he growled. “You obviously have far more experience than I. What do you hope to learn from such a one-sided affair?”

“That is for me to know,” said Kraxta. Valadox imagined he could see a small smile play upon her lips, and something about it irked him to is very core. He rose to his feet, headed towards the door.

“If you have anything of import for me to attend to, let me know,” he said, slamming the door shut behind him. The glib nature of their interaction was beginning to border on infuriating for Valadox, and try as he might, he couldn’t take his mind off the humiliating defeat, nor from Kraxta’s smirk. So he resolved to remove it.

He had no idea if Kraxta expected him back the following day or not, but it was hard to tell if she felt any emotion at all. “Good day, Valadox,” she said, without looking up from her work. “Can I help you?”

“Are you busy, ma’am? I would hate to interrupt you.”

“Nothing of significance,” she answered, though she continued to write on the sheets before her. “State your inquiry.”

“I was wondering if you might like to play a game.” She looked up at him, and for a moment, Valadox imagined he saw that small smile again.

“I suppose I might have time for a quick game,” she said. He noticed the word “quick,” but their game was anything but. If Kraxta had expected the same outcome as the previous day, she’d find Valadox to be a much more able opponent now. He actually knew how to play the game, and play it well. After a lengthy back and forth, she sat back in her seat, ocular discs twitching as she survey the board.

“I believe it is a draw,” she said, and Valadox noticed an impressed edge to her voice. “You have improved very rapidly, Valadox.”

“I spent most of the previous evening studying chess techniques,” he said, allowing himself a grin. “I would have hated to bore you further after our last game, ma’am.”