Date: Fri, 7 Mar 2003 13:23:45 -0800 (PST) From: Liam Barnes Subject: The Awakening: Chapter 7 This is a work of fiction involving the relationship of two young men ( late teens to mid twenties), both physical and emotional. If you are made uncomfortable by such subjects as gay sex, magic and the supernatural, then please stop reading now. Likewise, if you are below the age of 18, please stop here. This story uses elements from White Wolf's World of Darkness series of games. Mage: The Ascension, Magadon Pharmaceutical, PsychDiv, Verbena, Cult of Ecstasy, Freak Legions, Werewolf: The Apocalypse, Pentex, The Traditions, The Technocracy and similar elements are copyrighted by White Wolf Game Studio. This work of fiction is not a challenge to existing copyrighted materials, and no profit is gained by its publication. Kate Sanders, Aaron Barry, and Stefan are the intellectual property of Don Bassingwaite and White Wolf Fiction. For a more in depth treatment of these characters, and a great read, pick up a copy of SUCH PAIN from Harper Collins. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated; flamers and hate mail will be ignored. Write me at PaganGamer@yahoo.com with Awakening in the subject heading. ** I have also published this and the previous chapters in an MS Word format on the Gay_Fantasy_Fiction group at Yahoo Groups. I have started placing artwork depicting scenes and characters from the story there as well. Give it a look, or upload your own Sci-Fi / Fantasy stories. It's totally free. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Gay_Fantasy_Fiction/ ** The Awakening By Liam Barnes 7 Revelations May 23rd, 2002 12:10 p.m. Magadon Pharmaceuticals, San Francisco Agent James Preston stood in front of the large mahogany desk of Roland Jouas, Vice President of Research for the San Francisco branch of Magadon. The executive was sifting through papers that were neatly stacked on top of the desk's darkly polished surface. Jouas had a face which only a mother could love, though Preston seriously doubted even a mother could feel warmth for such a homely face. His lumpy head was covered in a matt of ragged brown hair that refused to lay flat, and his pasty skin was covered in liver spots. Jouas looked up from his papers, cold, black eyes assessing the Iteration X agent as though he were a slab of meat. Of course, he figured that in the eyes of the company, he was. "So then, Mr. Preston," the executive began with a gravely voice, "the Cultist escaped?" The agent felt a twinge of fear run through him at the sound of the man's statement. "Yes, sir." Roland Jouas stared unblinking at the Enlightened operative. Preston tried to gauge what the man was thinking from his flat expression, but couldn't. Finally, after what seemed to be several minutes, the man spoke. "Well, then that gives us a greater advantage than if you had just captured him, like you wanted. As long as he is free, we can continue using him as a scapegoat." "I had thought the same thing." Jouas gave him a dark smile. "I want you to make sure that your Technocrat friends don't find him." "That may be difficult," Preston quipped. "That Grayface bitch is heading up the assignment. She's already gone out looking for the little faggot." "Then I suggest you get to work, Agent Preston. Our masters won't be pleased with excuses. They expect results." Jouas steepled his hands on the desk, and gave the Technocrat a smile which showed very sharp teeth. Something in the way the little man was smiling sent shivers down James Preston's spine. He expected the Technocrat to fail, and relished the thought of it. Perhaps, the Iterator thought, Jouas should be brought down to size. He's only human, where as I am Enlightened. "Miss Jensen," the executive spoke into the intercom, "Could you send in Charles Ledescu?" Agent Preston raised an eyebrow at hearing the name. The office door opened and a tall dark-haired man walked in. He was dressed in a black business suit with a dark red shirt underneath. In one arm he carried a black leather folder stuffed with paperwork. Sure enough, James recognized his face from the Union's file. Mr. Ledescu sat down in the chair before Jouas, reclining comfortably in the leather seat. "So, Charles," Jouas started pleasantly, "How is Project S. C. coming along?" Sparing only a cursory look at the agent, the man stated, "Very well, if I do say so. We finished the first testing of the final product two weeks ago, which was distributed to the streets through Chris Safavi's daughter. Already we have noticed a significant rise in petty crimes within areas of distribution. Primarily shop lifting and fights. So far nothing major." The homely looking Jouas smiled contently. "I'm sure that the Board will be pleased with that. Has anyone taken notice the project's true nature that is outside of the development group?" Ledescu shook his head. "No one. As far as any of the corporate staff knows, the project is research for the PsychDiv group; the name Sticky Candy a joke referring to the compound's physical state before manufacturing in pill form. "As for any paper trail, staging the sabotaging has allowed for the temporary displacement of any real documentation. The fake files have already been placed on the `backup' disks for eventual dissembling. We even have a video of the theft merely waiting on a face to place in the image." "Hold off on the video for now." Jouas leaned back. "Actually," he said thoughtfully, "you might give it over to Mr. Preston here after the meeting. He has our scapegoat picked out already." "Really?" Charles looked inquisitively at Agent Preston. Preston smirked. He had a lot more than just a scapegoat; he had an opening. "Yeah. In fact Miss Safavi brought him right to us." Preston pulled out a palm pad and clicked up a picture of the Cultist. He handed the pad to Ledescu. "His name is Marcus Uptmor. He's the sorcerer that she insinuated herself with about two months ago." "Is she still with him?" Preston shook his head. "He's gone on to other fish in the sea. Some little school boy fairy," he added, trying hard to suppress the irony he so wanted to express. That would come later. Ledescu snorted in disgust. Clicking off the picture, he handed the pad back to the Iteration X agent. "He'll work." "Is there anything further, gentlemen?" Jouas added the last with a bit of derision. Preston shook his head as Ledescu stood up, saying, "We're going to have to deal with the Safavi girl soon, I think." "Why do you say that?" "She's becoming demanding, wanting more money and acting above her earned position." "Then get rid of her," Jouas said evenly. "Chris won't like that much." "So don't let him know that we were involved," the ugly little man grinned. "It's not as if such a disappearance is so uncommon in her line of work." "Let me handle her," James offered. "Are you sure?" Jouas gave him a critical look. "Don't you have enough to look after?" "I can handle it," he reassured. "It will be added material to keep the Union after the Cultist." "Do it then. And don't fail." With that, Jouas went back to his papers. Preston and Ledescu walked out of the office and towards the elevators. The two didn't even seem to acknowledge the other until they entered the elevator. Preston felt it was time to set up his mark. "So, what exactly is Project S.C.?" "I'm not sure if I am supposed to disclose that." "Please, Mr. Ledescu. I am about to kill the daughter of the head researcher to help distract from the research itself. Whom do you think I am going to tell? Besides," he added, "if I am about to tangle myself in some lame scheme, I'd like to know what it is I am getting into." "I see your point. Very well then, Project Sticky Candy is basically a way to create multiple Formori through the use of easily accessible street drugs, in this case, Candy Flips." Interesting, Preston thought, a mass produced corrupt army. Formori were humans or animals whose bodies and souls had been twisted into monstrous forms through the possession of blighted spirits called banes. "Call me naive, but I have never heard of a candy flip." The elevator doors opened. Charles motioned for the conversation to stop. After maneuvering through rows of gray cubicles, the two came to a corner office outside which an old crone sat, typing steadily at her computer. "Please hold any calls for me, Ms. Katzburg." The woman gave a noncommittal grunt as he closed the office door. Ledescu reached into a drawer of a metal file cabinet, pulling out the security tape to be doctored. He handed it to Agent Preston, and then leaned against his desk. "Candy Flips are XTC pills laced with D-lysergic acid diethylamide. After a few minutes of intensified sensation, the XTC fades and the acid's effects set in; hallucinations and other false mental sensations. "Our version, under the street name of Tiny, contains various banes and Formorol to help catalyze the change into Formori. Very few actually contain the bane spirits, most just contain the Formorol, acting as an addictive agent. At first, the targets merely feel more violent, or perhaps have a feeling of lower inhibitions. Gradually, the bane will awaken and start whispering into their `soul's ear' and their depredations will grow. Most won't even realize when they've changed." James Preston was amazed at the ambitious plan. If it succeeded, Pentex would significantly increase its might, as well as contribute to an impressive amount of corruption. Of course, it might prove too ambitious. Great spikes in criminal or deviant behavior would never go unnoticed for long by the New World Order's personnel. "The violence, hatred and disease spread by the targets will greatly strengthen Pentex's position," the executive continued. The agent smiled. "Yes, I imagine with the sexual appetites that most teens display normally, this Tiny of yours is likely to send STD cases through the roof." "Exactly. You may not need to do anything to Safavi's daughter. If she isn't infected already, she will be soon." The dark-headed man gave a sickening laugh. "Probably even infected your scapegoat, as well." James practically grinned as he placed the tape in his jacket pocket. He turned to leave, stating, "It would sure be a shame if he was." "Why's that?" Ledescu asked looking up in genuine confusion. "Why considering that he and your son were caught this morning in Flagrante Delicto at Fort Funston. And not a condom anywhere to be found. If he wasn't infected before, well . . ." the agent let the remark hang there as he walked out of the office. Let the corporate fuck chew on that for a while. * * * Charles Ledescu sat down at his desk. Andrew had nothing to do with any of this business, and he sure as hell wasn't a queer. The man must have been making some sick joke at his expense. But deep down, he knew better. No one made comments like that in Pentex unless they meant to. If anything it was more of a threat than a joke. He felt the beginnings of a stomach cramp coming on. He picked up the phone and dialed home. Meredith would tell him that Andrew had come home this morning, without any events. He pulled a prescription bottle out of his desk drawer as another stomach cramp hit. He had been taking the pills for weeks now, but with limited effect. He was seriously thinking about having the dosage increased. The phone continued ringing as he drummed his fingers impatiently. "Where are you, you doped up bitch," he muttered aloud. The phone clicked. "Hello?" "Hello, sweetie," he responded with false caring. "Have you happened to have heard from Andy today?" "Funny you should ask that. He just called about ten minutes ago. He said that he was going to be staying with friends all day today. He said that he would be home tonight, but that he might be staying over at one of his friends for the night." Charles felt his stomach cramp harder the longer she prattled on. He waited for his wife to shut up for a moment then injected, "Has he even been home yet?" "No," she seemed unsure at first, then "At least not that I have seen or heard." Doped up on whatever prescription of the day you're on, he thought caustically, I doubt you could have. "Say, he wouldn't have said whose house he was at, did he?" "I think it was some kid named Mark, or some such. Why? Is there something wrong?" He popped another pill as a cold sweat broke out. "No, everything's fine. I'll see you tonight, hun. Love you." He hung the phone up and staggered to the office's private bathroom. His hand was pressed against his stomach as though that would stop the pain. He stumbled to the toilet, sure that his stomach was eating itself. It wouldn't surprise him if he did have a fucking ulcer. The rise to his corporate position had been cut throat, requiring many hours of overtime and being away from his family. Any sign of weakness would have lost him the chances to advance. Then being introduced to the true mission of Magadon and all other companies owned by Penetex had added a whole different level of stress. Now the phrase `eat or be eaten' was no longer a metaphor. Failing was no different than a death sentence. With the commitment to work came the associated marital problems. Meredith was reduced to taking various anti-depressants and other mood elevators just to keep up appearances. She spent most of the time asleep at home, or gossiping with other bitchy wives on the street. Any love he had felt for her quickly faded as he watched her fall so fast when things began to get tough. If Charles Ledescu hated anything, it was weakness in others. Now, this whole situation with Andrew. His stomach churched nauseatingly at the thought. It had to be the sorcerer. He had to have put some kind of spell of his son! Andrew wasn't queer! He wouldn't allow it! Suddenly, he vomited noisily into the toilet. After several heaves he finally stopped. Relieved at the loss of pressure, he wiped his mouth with some paper, and then dropped it immediately when he looked in the porcelain receptacle. He let out a terrified cry and launched himself off of the floor. The toilet writhed with fat white worms; at least, that is what they would resemble if worms had gaping teeth-filled maws. Backed up against the wall, he turned to flee the room but was brought up short by the presence of someone standing in his office. Ronald Jouas stared intently at Charles Ledescu, an approving smile on his homely face. He held out a hand and said, "Let's talk about your future here with Magadon, Charles."