| From: | Team ODIN <jhary-a-conel@***.NET> |
|---|---|
| Subject: | ODIN: Southwards |
| Date: | Tue, 3 Nov 1998 15:58:39 +0100 |
>>>>>[
+++++ Execute User_Confirm.ext
+++++ User Confirmed: Canis <RK-00002030-06723>
+++++ Begin Entry
Strange.
Memories of the past are reanimated... a friend calling for
help. Last time, we met all those Invasion_Force people.
Friends, most of them. Dead. By now, dead, nearly all of
them.
Is this what the Easterners call "Karma"? Fate? Luck or
lack thereof? Does it just happen, or was it our presence
that brought ill fate upon them?
I failed. Where it was my duty to be there, to protect them,
I was somewhere else, striving to fulfill my own arrogant
quest. I should have known there was no way we can stop
the /invae/. They're just everywhere. Climbing up from
whichever stone we turn is a new hive. Stronger then the
ones before.
What good did we do? Why weren't we there to help Red
Shift? Damn, I couldn't even help the people when I was
there... the safehouse ambush still causes nightmares in
me...
And now...
+++++include: Trid_Call.103059.174913.01.log
An italian face, burned by the sun. The hair is black, and
cut military short. The man has small, brown eyes, and a
scar runs across his forehead. What is visible of his
clothing seems to be blue mechanic's overall, grease
stained.
The man smiles carefully, before speaking. "Hey, ... hello,
Sam, that you? It's me, Paolo... Paolo Mangani.
Remember me? ..."
He pauses for a moment, then continues, the smile fading
from his face. "Either you don't, then feel free to ignore
me, or you aren't near the 'com. Well... I know it's
somewhat unusual, but... Well, I need your help.
"like, _really_ need your help. See, I am now in New
Orleans, working as truck driver - yah, I know, but one
gotta feed, and it's not as dangerous as the Sahara, you
know? Well... something strange is happening here.
Really strange.
"Plus, it's bad mojo..." He pauses, and the grin returns, "I
even talk the local slang by now... it's a delta-three we
have here. Someone gotta stop them. I can't, not alone,
that is. Tried to call Michael, but he's somewhere down in
South America, hunting some renegarde mercenary outfit
there. Can't reach him. So...
"Get back to me, ok?"
The image inflates into a pixel, then the screen goes dark.
+++++end include
Paolo is one of Fohdytoo's squad members from when he
still was fighting in the Desert Wars, for people's
amusement and corp's field-tests of weapons. He says
Paolo is no no-brainer, and this gotta be serious. And he
owes him. And we... well, we are a pack.
When Paolo turned out to be un-reachable, Fohdytoo got
really restless, and we moved at once. And then...
Shado, Shado the silent, broke her silence. She brought
us the message Red Shift was extinct. All of them dead,
killed by river pirates, all but Shado and Blaze dead. I
_know_ I could have stopped them when they decided to
go back. I mean, the Twilight Soul was not that important.
As long as we controlled at least one piece of it, our
enemies couldn't use it - not to the full extend of it's power,
anyways. But they... I guess it was more of a salute to
their dead leader, father, to Clint, to Dark Avenger, then a
rationale decision. But... I could have stopped them! Why
didn't I? I dare not speak to Orion, or the rest of the team.
I know I will cry out all this desperation, this frustration, this
hatred against the world that made people die who didn't
deserve it, when I open my mouth. Okami still tries to
contact me, but I can't let her share my feelings. Not now.
I don't want to learn her this desperation - she will learn
soon enough. We all learn it, normally way to fast. How
ignorant, how arrogant was I to think I could change this
world, do something to better it. What a stupid fool was I...
We are now in New Orleans.. The last toast is spoken to
the dead, and I sit awake in the nights, remembering
them. Feeling them, hearing their laughs, hering their
voices. All the voices... all the voices
The area is just on large swamp some moron decided to
build a city in. When you leave the town, you are right in
the swamp. Hell, if you get off the damn /sidewalk/ you're
walking in swamp. It is supposed to be cold by now, but a
slimy, wet heat fills the air. Sweat doesn't evaporate, and
half a minute after you leave the shower you need it again.
And all these mosquitos in the air, their constant buzzing,
doesn't do a thing to help us. Those of us who still find
sleep awake with dreams of Chicago. De ja vue.
We haven't found Paolo yet. Not only he doesn't answer
his phone, he seems to have hidden his trails quite well.
Probably he wasn't as legitimate as he sounded on that
call. Well, everybody here seems to trade with, or in, the
shadows, and many people seem to be smugglers. Life
is chaotic down here, but the music from the street cafe's
isn't loud enough to drown out the insects.
Something is strange here, Trixter senses it too, and
Okami. We can't put our finger on it - maybe it's just this
area, with all its stinking swamps, is more awakened then
Seattle... but it still gives me the creeps.
Orion and Fohdytoo are now out there, searching trails.
And we are sitting here, in this stinking, damp hotel,
waiting, left to our memories...
+++++ End Entry
+++++ Logoff: Canis
]<<<<<
-- Canis <08:49:57/11-03-59>
