We Are Legion

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June 27th, 2019




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Age: 29
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05/26/2019 08:47 PM 

My Insanity 4

So it’s been a little bit since I’ve written one of these things, or written anything really. Some of you noticed that… its weird. Being noticed. Not bad, just weird. Different. Interesting. Anyway, yeah I wasn’t around much the last few so I guess that bears… bares.. Some explanation.


I mean not really, its my life and I’m not beholden to any of you, but the point of this whole thing is to get my thoughts, experiences, etc etc, out here on paper… digital paper… whatever so that I can suss it all out. Sort through everything, and if one of you happens to get something out of it? Neat.


So I tried to off myself the other day. No real easy way of putting that. Tried to think of a soft transition, but there really isn’t one for that sort of thing. You’re either a well functioning human being and no matter how I put it it’ll be a gut punch OR your an egotistical sociopath type, and you’re just gonna roll your eyes at it and move along. So yeah there’s that.


See it's funny how people look at that sort of thing when you tell them you tried to take yourself out. They always want to know what’s wrong, which is nice in a way, but they always assume it's some BIG thing. Like they expect me to say ‘oh somebody dumped me’ or ‘I lost someone close to me’ or ‘I was abused as a child’ or some other grand traumatic event.


You want to know what it was that set me off?


Nothing.


Well nothing and everything.


I know that sounds bullsh*tty, I know it does, but that’s the thing that most people need to get their heads wrapped around when it comes to this kind of sh*t.


Depression? Manic depression? It's like riding a sh*tty sh*tty rollercoaster inside your head.


See first you have the mania. Though it really is a ‘chicken or the egg thing, so neither is first or last, but let's do mania first because it's the easiest to understand. You feel good. Like really really good. Like you’re body is full of energy, your head is full of smiles and happy thoughts. Like Peter Pan after an orgy or something (gross metaphor). But point being you feel like you can take on the world. So you start trying to. Like not quite literally, but damn near it.


You start cleaning all the things. They writing all the things, then calling all the people, texting all the people, asking the people why they aren’t instantly responding to your crazy level of energy. You go for a run, you mow the grass, you try to take up oil painting, or chinese calligraphy for some unknown reason. You put it down never to touch it again because now you just remembered you have that 300 piece matrix puzzle that you never put together, and NOW is the F***ING TIME!


Then, sometime later, maybe hours, maybe days, you get the depression. And everything is the opposite side of the coin. No energy, no will power,  you don’t want to do anything. You don’t really feel anything. And that’s another point, depression isn’t always like ‘oh I’m sad’ sometimes it's just nothing. Like you just can’t get excited, or sad, or angry about anything. It's just like your brain ceases to have emotions anymore. But yeah so there's that part.


And that’s the scary thing about it. It's not like one glaring big thing that gets you to decide to end the roller coaster. It's just little pebbles rolling down hill. They roll down the hill and hit a tiny stream of thought. Slowly, they block the stream. It was a tiny stream, so you don’t notice that its stopped flowing, and slowly the water backs up. Still more pebbles fall, click clack, until finally you start to notice. You feel the weight of it slowly bringing you down.


Oh I haven’t heard from so-in-so in a while I’ll reach out to them. Oh no response guess they don’t care anymore.


Oh they cancelled that show I really liked


Huh the ex I used to fight with all the time is now happily married with kids and sh*t, maybe it was just me.


Someone at the store poked fun at my shirt I really thought looked good, am i just dumb?


Click


Clack


Little pebbles that just stack on up. Then eventually this little stream if your head has built up. Got a big old reservoir of undealt with feelings and emotions. So one pebble just hits the wrong spot and BAM you’re just done. You snap. Not outward. You snap inward, because that’s the kind of self loathing you got going on. It's not other people its you. It's your fault. It's always your fault. So best to just let it be done with.


But there is always that little part of you that’s holding back. For me it's the alters.


See that’s the other thing. Hardest thing to describe. Like.. you ever have a hard time deciding what you want for lunch? Like you look in the fridge, the freezer, the pantry, and you have a fair amount of options, but you just can’t seem to pick the one thing you want because they all seem equally ok? Like it really doesn’t matter if you have that can of soup, or that frozen chicken pot pie. It's not going to change d*ck about the day, but you just can’t figure it out for some reason?


That’s what it's like in my head. CONSTANTLY. With everything I do there’s innumerable voices constantly chattering away that I should be doing something else.


But in this case its, kind of a good thing? I guess. Because no matter how ‘decided’ I am, I’m never 100 percent there. EVER. So I decided to go the classy suburban mom route. Poured a glass of wine, put on a little music, get in the tub with some nice bath salts, and slowly start taking some pills. Then just


Drift


Drift


Drift away.. Easy, smoothe.. Simple.


Then I wind up falling asleep and waking up who knows how much later all pruney and cold.


And see that’s the other thing that’s scary about stuff like that. Like I moved on, obviously, I felt somewhat better (relatively speaking) after. But how often is that kind of thing happening?


Like how often are people slowly trying to kill themselves and just, not mentioning it. Just not getting help for it? Scary sh*t to think about.


Now usually this is where people put inspirational sh*t. Like ‘believe in you. Things can get better’ blah blah blah.


But this isn’t some fairy tale work of fiction.


Life doesn’t always just magically get better.


Most times… it doesn’t. Harsh sh*t right? But truth.


The pebbles keep dropping. The cycle starts over.


So I’m out the tub. Drying off and what not and trying to decide what to do with an evening I wasn’t planning on being around for.


Decide to check my phone, more out of habit than anything else really. See Selina sent me a text. Random, simple ‘Thank you for being my friend. I appreciate that very much’


And just like that. That little simple thing. Out of nowhere. Makes me smile. Things start to feel better. Emotions even out a little. Makes me realize. Those pebbles go both ways. For every little disappointment, there is a chance for a little victory.


So my inspiration isn’t for the depressed people out there I guess. It's for everyone. Be someone’s little pebble of happiness. It doesn’t need to be some grandiose gesture of kindness. Just little nods of care that weren’t expected, and weren’t sought out. That’s what makes the difference in people’s lives.


05/15/2019 11:28 PM 

My Insanity 3

So for another day, night, whatever, I couldn’t sleep. The thing about not being able to sleep, but trying to make it happen, is that it gives you a lot of time to think. And I couldn’t help wandering to thinking about ‘my fellow mutants’ and how I’ve never really been a part of em. Specifically how, ya know cliquey it is for being such a ‘tight nit’ community.


See first you got the ‘originals’ First class kinda folks. The ones that think that, since they’ve been around forever that they are something special. Like simply not dying, or quitting makes them special. I mean have you seen how often they ‘die’ and come back? Its ridiculous, hardly an accomplishment. Always talking about how they are ‘pillars of the mutant community’. Ridiculous nonsense in my opinion. Thinking that the whole world would just go on and crumble if they weren’t around. They only let the folks they want in, and if you cross em, you better watch out. Easy way to hide monsters that, getting in good with em.


Then you got the newer folks, second classers they tend to be cheer leaders of the originals. They don’t spend as much time doing things as they do cheering on the accomplishments of the ‘pillars’. They are accepted by the originals like family, but still looked down on by them in a weird way, table scraps.


Then you got the ‘outsiders and proud of it’ group. The ones that rail extra hard against the first two groups. Try to act like they are above them by not being part of them. Like somehow saying ‘i’m not a cool kid’ makes them some kind of alternate cool. Always stirring up stuff, never changing a damned thing.


Then there’s the self proclaimed ‘loners’. ‘Oh I don’t talk to anyone, I don’t participate in anything’ blah blah blah, then why are you even there.


So I’m thinking of all this and I can’t really figure out where I fit in that scenario. Son of Xavier you figure I’d have some seat at the table, but must just give me the squint eye when I come around. I get it, I’m sick, I’m different, I’m a liability. Can’t be sure of what a fella is going to do when even he isn’t all together sure of it after all.


Gets lonesome from time to time. Like I’m allowed to talk to these folks whenever I want, flit between groups, but do they accept me in as one of their own? Nah. Just sitting on the sidelines, feeding pigeons while they toss about and do their things. Pick up bits and pieces here and there. So and so said this, so and so did that, but I don’t really pay it much thought. Can’t afford to, got my own business to attend to.


Still though, lonesome thing, being on the outer edges of all these things. Not really being let in, or pushed out. Folks just kinda pass the time with me from time to time. Guess that’s better’n nothing.


05/08/2019 01:31 PM 

My Insanity 2

Up and down kind of day today to be honest. Weird dreams, or other realities? Never quite sure on that to be honest. Like being asleep and another personality taking the front, it all just kind of feels the same ya know? I mean depending at least. Sometimes its easy to tell.


Like certain things trigger it you know? I’ve come to recongize this a little more over the years. Like If I listen to too much sh*tty punk music Cyndi just has to jump out.


I don’t mind like I used to. Me an Cyndi get along better now. Think she’s come to terms with the fact that I made her. Definitely my preferred protector alter.


Oh protectors? Just what they sound like. They keep me from getting damaged either physically or psychologically. Or at least more damaged psychologically. I know what I am ya know?


So back to what I was saying, had these dreams. I was crying in them over something, f*** knows what… You can say f*** on these things right? Ok so f*** knows what I was crying about in the dream, that wasn’t the focus. The focus was this mystery lady that was sitting next to me, just like, not aware, or ignoring what I was going through. That made me angry. Angry dream. No one likes feeling like they are being ignored.


Gotta be careful with anger, lot of bad alters tied to anger, fear, you know the negative stuff. Cept sadness. Alters triggered by that are just kind of well, sad and mopey, not dangerous. But the ones that are angry or scared? Most of them aren’t to be taken lightly. Cept Max Kelvin, crotchy old man Max. Shoots burning plasma. Not angry so much as disgruntled though…


Aaaanywho, so that was going on, woke up angry, so I had to cool off, you know? Don’t want a bad dream to have me turning into a werewolf or Hulk again. Not that I was the hulk exactly, that’s Sally, big girl with pent up rage, super strength, ergo ‘Hulk’ but you know, angry fat lady.


So I went with music, that usually gets me in a good spot. Lots of chill out 60’s stuff. Sometime in conjunction with drugs, sometimes not, all depends on the mood. Can’t get too messed up or then I lose control too. All about finding the right balance and that. Peaceful, serene, still water on a pond sort of stuff.


So that got me there, and I realized I was hungry. Not much food around the place so the store was the place to go, but on days like today? Where the mood is all over the place? That’s a no go. Gotta isolate. Only thing that’s safe. Hide away and put up the walls to protect the core.


Thank god Waitr is a thing. Minimal human contact, and food delivered to your door. Then I realized, I have no idea where I’ve been getting money from. Like I have a credit card in my name, who the f*** gave me a credit card? When did I go to the bank and fill out boring paperwork? It sounds like a Jemail thing, but still why is there still money on it? So that confused the beejeezus out of me for an hour or so, then I said f*** it and just ate the damned tacos and moved on.


05/06/2019 04:32 PM 

My Insanity 1

So, uh, yeah, Not sure how to start this thing out really. Guess the beginning, makes sense.


My named is David Haller, and I’m uh, not well.


Been meaning to do this sort of thing for a while honestly. Doc Nemesis suggested I start writing things down. Keeping a journal and stuff. Blog. That’s the thing people are calling it today, public journal. Seems weird to me. Who’d want to read it? Who’d want all their private thoughts public? But hey why not give it a go and see how it turns out. Maybe it’ll help me a little? Maybe it’ll help whoever reads it? Regardless, this is me.. I guess.


And it is just me. Should probably point that out. God so many things to intro to people that don’t get it, just reminds me of how messed up I am.. But ok beginnings, beginnings. Terminology maybe? Seems the place to go.


See I have what they used to call Multiple Personalities. Now they call it Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID. What DID you do today David? Oh I don’t know, I’m f***ing mental. Anyway.  Basically it means I got people in my head. A lot of them. Not the case with everyone, but with me it is. New ones all the time. So there’s a lot of terms with that. Guess I’ll hit the basics, if I miss anything I’ll try to address it on the way.


See I am what they call the ‘core’ personality. It means I’m me basically. The self. It means I’m what we call ‘front’ most often. Holding the steering wheel of the body, taking care of all its basic day to day things, like showering, eating etc. My other personalities are called alters. Though even I call them different things. Aspects, personas, those terms mean things to me, but I get that they don’t to others. See I got so much crazy in my head that they kinda indicate degrees of development I guess? Kinda mixed with how much they are in control. Like to me an alter is someone I slip into a lot. Someone that frequently gets control, has a fully developed personality etc. An aspect, again to me, is me but not me. Like David, but maybe with slightly different opinions and attitudes towards things. Most don’t have names, only some have different powers.


Oh yeah, powers. I’m a mutant, that’s a whole other bag things. Mutant powers by the boat load. Most of my alters have them too. But most only have access to one or two in particular. I can touch them all a little bit, but they are weaker. So like the Oragamist is a persona I have that can bend and shape space around him to his liking. Like just fold it up into something new and bam now Venus is by Neptune, but me? I can use his powers, but it just lets me teleport around. That Kind of thing. Its weird and I can’t wrap my head around it too much most times, so best not to get too far into it.


Anyways, now that’s out the way best to get into the thing properly I guess.


So I woke up with this pain in my stomach. Some kind of indigestion. Part of bouncing between manic and depression episodes seems to mean that you don’t always take the best care of yourself, go figure. So the old food factory woke me up and I just couldn’t get back to sleep. Happens.


Its the thoughts that keep me up most of the time, conflicting random nonsense things that just ping around refusing to be quiet. Sometimes its full on voices, othertimes its feelings, always annoying as all hell.


So I start off with the usual crap. Thinking about my place in this world of ours. I talk to Jemail a lot in these times. He’s what we call my ‘internal self helper’ meaning he keeps a lot of the other alters in check and is basically my Jiminy Cricket. Rational guy, sweetheart, tends not to take the front too much because he feels I need to handle things myself. Need to keep control.


So I think stuff like nobody really cares about me. And he tells me they do. I point out that no one really reaches out to me on their own, I always have to be the first one to touch base, he says that doesn’t matter.


Then Jack chimes in, another alter he’s a protector so its kinda his job to be a cynic. He says there’s not point in having friends that don’t reach out to check on you. That they aren’t really friends.


And I mean he’s kinda right? Like I have my bad times, and my really bad times you know? Like when it is at its worse I just kind of shut everything down. The whole system (which is what we call us as a whole) just shuts off. Even if we want to reach out we won’t. I always say I will, but when its at its lowest of the lows and I feel worthless? It takes a lot to reach out. And if that person doesn’t respond in just the right way? The crazy way I have it in my head that they should? It hurts. Like bad hurts. And part of me knows its my crazy that’s to blame. That logically I can’t expect anyone else on this planet to know what’s going on in this crazy brain of mine, but it still. I dunno, stings.


And it makes me play stupid games. I mean not really ‘games’ but little weird pseudo tests I guess? Like ‘oh if I don’t reach out to so and so how long will it take them to say something to me?’ The answer is always ‘longer than I like’ but I do it sometimes anyway. Definition of insanity I guess.


Oh, and then the times you do reach out, but you get nothing. That sucks too. Like you’re secretly feeling like poo and reach out to say hey to someone and they just give you like nothing back. One word answers to questions, or like stupid emoji things you barely understand because you’re not a f***ing millenial. Then you google milennial to make sure you’re not one, only to find out you are and it just makes you madder and GAH.


So you deal with that nonsense knocking around in your noggin for a while. Aruging with yourself. Sometimes metaphyiscally, sometimes directly arguing with alters jumping into the frey. You shift personalities a few times, then you remember what doc said. “Write it out, it’ll help” and that idea takes to bouncing around in your brain. You know you should really sleep. That is only a few hours to sunrise, so best to just get to bed. But nooo ‘write write write’ just bouncing around the brain. Then you get some ideas, and some alters start getting hyped on it. Till eventually you give up. You realize ya gotta do the thing or else its gonna just keep bouncing around in there keeping you up. So now I’m here, writing this thing into the wee hours of the morning like it’ll affect anything.


Oh well, at least it’ll give me something to talk about in group tomorrow.


04/25/2019 12:28 PM 

Sinister ft Ironheart

The room was dirty, drafty, and devoid of any light save a single light bulb swinging from the ceiling and that of a few stray computer screens on the opposite side of the room. His shoulders ached, but when he went to try and stretch them he found that he couldn't. His wrists bound in chains. Looking up, he couldn’t see their end. They disappeared into the darkness of the ceiling and attached themselves somewhere beyond. His headache, and his veins burned. Clearly he’d been sedated at some point, heavily. His mind lulled struggling to keep focus, to gather in what his surroundings were. What was going on? How had he come here? He could taste the iron tang of blood on his lips, feel the same warm liquid dripping from where his wrists were shackled.



He soon found that the more he tried to focus his mind, the more feedback he seemed to receive. Closing his eyes and focusing, searching for the source of the resonance, he could feel it. On the back of his head, small, circular, a blind spot in his mind. Some sort of inhibitor no doubt. Quentin had worked his way past these before, but it would take time, time he might not have given the situation. And could he even get it done? The other times had been simplistic, but he had been far from himself the past… well the past however long it been since his mind got turned into scrambled eggs. He’d regained some of himself, sure, but the power was wild, disconnected, like a psychic fire lashing out when he tried to do anything beyond the simplest of tasks. And this? This wasn’t simple.


While he was working on that in the back of his mind, he took in his surroundings. At this second glance, Quentin couldn’t help but roll his eyes at just how cliche the thing was. An empty operating table dominated the center of the room. Above it? All sorts of evil sciencey looking machinery. Blood extractors, dna analyzers, genetic sifters, that helped narrow it down. There were only a few crazy science types that would use this sort of set up. The give away was the wall opposite him. Giant pods filled with green liquid, humanoid creatures in various stages of formation within them, all seemingly the same configuration. Someone was genetically engineering an army.



His fingers casually gripped the chains around his wrists, and muscles flexed slightly to lift him up a little. Relieving the pressure on his wrists ever so slightly as he continued to scan the room around him. Near as he could tell there was just one other person their with him, still unconscious. He puzzled over her for a moment. He vaguely recognized her from.. Somewhere. One of Stark’s pet projects or something like that? Even before his memory got turned into hash browns, he probably wouldn’t have recalled just who she was. Normie’s were never that important to remember. Hell he’d probably not know Stark’s name if he didn’t plaster it all over everything he owned in some show of Trumpian ego. God what was her name? Rebecca? Roselyn?... it was an R name right? Something like that…


His thoughts on the matter were interrupted by the door to the lab sliding open with a robotic his. A figure entered in silhouette but the fins made him hard not to recognize. Quentin’s eyes widened just a little. This was bad. He was only casually aware of the man that entered the room, but from everything he had learned about him at Xavier’s he was trouble. It all made sense as the man stepped into the light. Pale and menacing, the mad scientist type, dealing with genetic mutations and cloning? How could it not be him. How could it not be… Sinister.



The impossibly pale faced Sinister sneered in Quentin’s face, his breath smelling like mustard and sardines, disgusting. It made Q’s face scrunch up in disgust.


“Ah you’re awake,” he spoke as he walked to one of his terminals and began pressing on the keys “I must say, boy, your genetic code was… more interesting than I would have expected. Not at all what you seem are you? Or do you even know? I imagine not…”


He said not at all looking towards Q as he typed away. A large laser of some kind slowly descending from the darkness of the ceiling, aiming itself at the girls face.


“The girl however? A mistake. I assumed her intelligence to be genetically motivated, but alas, she is… well nothing really. A waste of effort, better dealt with”


And with that he pressed another key on his keyboard. The laser before… god what was her name?’s… face as she seemingly started to stir herself. Quentin’s arms now tugging at his chains as his brain rushed to try to untangle itself from the inhibitor on the back of his head. He had to do something. Something fast. Normie or not, he wasn’t going to let some half rent vincent price wannabe just murder someone outright in front of him.


04/25/2019 04:38 PM 

Personality Deconstruction Part 5

//The following events, and all going forward, take place after the completion of the Sinister storyline with Ironheart -Q’s writer ;)


Quentin Quire, for what seemed the thousandth time recently, was at a loss for what to do with himself. His mind was scattered at best even before Sinister had force him to blow them out. He was recovering now sure, but where to go from here? It wasn’t a position he was used to finding himself in. He was used to being, not just outwardly, but also inwardly sure of himself. Sure of where he was going. Sure of what he was doing, sure of what the plan was. Yet here he was, more confused than ever, with no idea which way to go.


His mind seemed in conflict with itself constantly now. The weakening had allowed the others to creep in more deeply into his psyche. Shadow King. He knew its name name. Shadow King. The bulbous bastard was constantly prodding at the edges of his awareness, trying, clawing, pulling at him. He wanted Quentin’s body as his own. Wanted his power… just Wanted. A creature of pure, malevolent desire. What powers he had regained seemed to be mostly preoccupied with pulling the creature back, attempting to expel him entirely. He needed… He needed some air.



Fortunately there was a park not too far from him. A place he’d been a few times, or had he? He seemed to remember it well enough, so he supposed he had at some point or another. It was vibrant, green, lush, sitting near the banks of a river tributary. A river that had once been important to trade in the area, back when riverboats were still a thing. Now just some tourist trap for yokels to ride on to kill an afternoon. It seemed just the kind of mundane nonsense to take Quentin’s mind off of his mind, so he bought a ticket, and climbed aboard.



He made his way to the back upper deck of the overly garish vessel and leaned on the railings. His arms folded over the shiny bannister as he started to lose himself in the paddles as they churned. Splunk… Splunk…. Splunk.. The rhythmic churning not unlike some wet metronome, easing his mind ever so slightly. He caught more than a few odd looks from the people around him. His hair, long faded from its usual pink back to its dull brown, still had the faintest tints of the color at the routes. Shaved on the sides, though stubble was beginning to grow back into place. He idly wondered if he should take the time to find a shop, to redo the coloring, but there seemed little point to it at the moment. He still sported his usual shorts, and irreverent ‘Ivan Drago was Robbed’ t-shirt underneath a dress coat. The burned out device on his wrist, which he still had no clue on, shining in the spring sun.


“Not from around here huh, Kid?” came a voice that, though it seemed familiar for an instant, didn’t belong to anyone he remembered.


Upon turning to see who had spoken to him, Quentin couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. The girl, who appeared to be of a similar age to himself, was something straight out of the late 80’s. Her hair trimmed short on the sides, was spiked high. Held together by a single red ribbon tied in a carless not. Like a bundle of black wheat sticking off the top of her head. She wore a plane black shirt, matching black and matching black pants. Over this she wore a torn denim vest, left arm bandaged for what appeared to be style more than injury, and a black choker.


“Jesus, did you fall out of a Whitesnake music video or what?” he said turning to face the girl, his elbows behind him as he leaned on the railing, a smirk on the corners of his mouth.


“Yeah you should talk sporting that ‘Kiss me Deadly’ bullsh*t look of yours” she said before taking a bite out of a bright red apple she was carrying with her. She walked to the railing next to her and perched her backside on it with ease. Seemingly unconcerned with the height that they were at. “So we gonna spit bullsh*t insults at one another, or you going to tell me what you’re doing out here looking like some sad sack that lost his puppy?”


“Well I usually like to spout bullsh*t for at least a while before I start getting chummy with anyone. Kinda let’s you know what kind of person your dealing with”


His response, though not really thought out at all, rang true. Quentin’s prodding at people was usually two fold in purpose. It kept people at a distance that he was more comfortable with. A place where they couldn’t do anything to really do any damage to him, and it worked to sort out the dimwitted from the quick. His kind of people were much the latter, and he would rather not waste any time with the former if he could avoid it. Still, he had a gut feeling that this girl wasn’t the kind to be easily outwitted. His kind of people.


“Besides, you probably don’t want to give a guy like me the time of day, despite the look I promise you I don’t own a bitchin camaro..” he said, another smirk on his lips. The kind of causal test he liked to give, letting his not-so-subtle reference hang there as it were.


“Guess we won’t be heading down to the shore anytime soon then” the girl responded with a laugh casually tossing the apple over her shoulder. It hit one of the paddle beams with a loud thunk, before hitting the water with a soft sploosh, lost amid the wake of the ship. “All I know is you look lost, kid. But you don’t want to talk feelings, that’s fine by me.”


“Quentin,” he said, grin at her recognizing both his reference, and reading his feelings working to warm him to her a little. Least enough to pass his name along. “Quentin Quire, that’s my name”


“Is it?” she said with an odd sort of smirk of her own as she slid down from the railing next to him. She leaned towards him and placed a kiss to his forehead. A kiss that felt warm, unnaturally warm… almost burning. Was he blushing? Couldn’t remember the last time that he’d done something like that. The girl was definitely a rare breed. Different, but somehow familiar, and cute in her own way.


She didn’t say anything else. She simply walked away. Walked into the crowd of people milling about the ship. Disappearing into them, seemingly vanishing before his eyes as quickly as she had arrived. The oddly dressed rebel girl. It was funny how small moments like that could work to warm the spirit.


For his part Quentin smiled, and went back to looking over the edge of the bannister. Never really was the chasing type, and he couldn’t help feeling that he’d run into the girl again, somewhere down the line. The world had a weird way like that. If something was going to happen, it tended to happen no matter what you did. It was something that Quentin had been fighting against for quite sometime indeed. But this? Maybe this he wouldn’t fight against so hard.


And then, as that thought crossed his mind, something twanged inside of him. Something deep down. Something dark. Deep within his mind, still fighting him, still struggling to get free. The Shadow King laughed…



04/24/2019 12:16 PM 

Personality Deconstruction part 4


He stood stone still at the entrance of what was once the Xavier Institute for higher learning. What was once a proud structure, now laying before him in ruins. Left to its destruction after what seemed the thousandth time that it had been destroyed. Tired of rebuilding, the students and faculty had simply decided to move on. Move elsewhere. Deals were brokered with governments to give mutants their own diplomatic status. A nation without a nation. The new school living in Central Park, a school that Quentin paid for in fact. Few new that, but this place… it had a special significance to him that he’d never outwardly admit. His mind swirled as he tried to gain a grasp of it all. Memories filling him, building and collapsing just as fast. Conflicting memories colliding at supersonic speeds within his mind, destroying one another, muddling the past.


He had come here when he was young. He remembered a long car ride with his family. His mom and dad? Just his mother? No he’d flown from across the sea.. .home was elsewhere… no they had driven. No he was a visitor from the stars, lost and drawn here by the one he was meant for. His eyes shut tight, he stamped his foot on the rubble beneath his feet, shattering pebbles into dust. Frustration, confusion, expanding and contracting thoughts, he needed a center. Then he remembered it. His first center. He remembered her.














He remembered a kiss. Shared in the adrenaline fueled by survival. Shared in the blood and dust, and heat of destruction. He remembered the feel of her body against his own, the calming sensation of wanting someone in the midst of all the chaos. Finding someone worth it. Finding someone worth being better for.


“Idie..”


The name fell from his lips as a hushed whisper and it tore at his mind. Something in him screamed, something in him laughed, something in him wept with loss, and something in him seethed with jealousy. Conflict in memory, conflict in resolution.


No not ours, someone else's…”


You’re Mine! Never anyone else, always mine!”


Hahahahahaha!”


His mind swirled with the conflicting monologue of self as he felt the swirling dizziness of discovery. Idie. Focus, she’s the starting point…


They were broken when they met. He using his arrogance to keep that distance he maintained with everyone. It had started out as a lark. A challenge. Could he? He bet he could, so he sought out to. To capture one of the ‘Five Lights’ as they were called. One of the new mutants. A lark was all it was, but then their first encounter changed all of that.



Rebuked him. No one rebuked him. Not so elegantly. Not a rebuke, but a challenge. A push to see if he would push back. Broken things. She saw herself a monster. Vile disgusting, not worthy of living, but not willing to end it herself. He saw himself as untouchable. The best there was of his kind. Mutant and proud. Both broken halves of the same piece. Slowly they fell together. Slowly they had fallen for one another.


He walked forward in a daze of memories. Broken brick and glass crunched beneath his boot heels as he saw memories. Saw they building process in the rubble. Saw how she pushed him to be more, how he showed her that she was more. Change. Theirs had been a story of change. Learning the most important lessons at this school. Learning that they didn’t have to do the same things repeatedly. Learning that they were the masters of their own destinies.



Destiny. It was what drove them apart ultimately. He remembered now. The future had come knocking. He’d seen it when no one else did. A pull into the future. His future self. A**hole. His future self had shown him the damage that would be done to the world on his current path. X-Man Quentin would fail. Die. Kill the world in the process. The future that he led would be one of devastation. Not by his hand, but by his failures.
















It was after this he had a new focus. Changed again. More determined. Determined not to fail. Determined not to fail her. Not to let his friends die. Determined to change the future by whatever means necessary. But how? The only way was avoidance. To avoid anything that brought them closer to that future. That brought them closer to the end. To protect them.


He remembered the heart wrenching realization. He was the common factor. He was the only variable that he could fully control. If it was his leadership that failed them, well the only choice was to avoid becoming that leader. To avoid that future at any cost. They wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t understand. She would try to talk him out of it. Of course she would, that is what she did. Talked him into doing the right thing, but that was the burden of his mind. He was right. He was always right, even if it involved ripping the heart out of his chest. He’d seen it. Seen the future, the death, the destruction of the coming age. The only way to avoid it was that separation. To separate himself from the future. To separate himself from the X-Men. Not entirely no, but enough. Separate himself enough that none would consider him to lead. None would even consider him to join. So Quentin Quire did the one thing he was always good at. He coldly, calculatedly, and harshly distanced himself from the others. He rebelled.


He fell on the sword of his own emotions and philosophically ripped the heart from his chest to save them. To protect them from him. From his failures he hadn’t even made yet. It was the only logical way. The only way that made sense. Easier to simply end the future before it began than to fight it. Then to fight for them. To fight for her.




His fingers ran over the ragged fabric of the broken couch they had once spent so much time on. He remembered. Remembered why he left. Remembered what he was saving them from. Everything he’d done since then. It all connected to this one flash point. He saw that now. Remembered that now. And he remembered where he had gone next..

He was about to leave the grounds. His business of remembering, or remembering as much as he cared to, at the Xavier School for the Gifted rubble site done. Or so he thought. He was walking towards the road, mind focused on what he was going to do next, when he caught it out of the corner of his eye. The statue of Xavier. Built one or another of the times that he had ‘died’. Hell it happened so often at this point that Quentin couldn’t tell for sure if the man was alive now or not. You almost needed a scorecard to keep up with that sort of thing. He turned to walk towards the statue, drawn to it. When he attended the school it had been something of a place for contemplation for him. A place to think on what, and who he was going to be. What path to take. So it was more out of habit than anything that he approached it now. One last goodbye to the school and what it had meant for his life. But then something odd happened.


As he approached the statue, he felt an… anger, that he couldn’t rightly explain. Turning his thoughts more inward, it was an anger that came from pain. Some kind of deep clawing anger that burned at his insides, and tore at his chest. Every muscle in his body felt tight, as if ready to strike, to lash out.. But why?


Quentin and the professor had never quite seen eye to eye for sure. There was no questioning that in the least. Often he had harassed the teacher about how his power was less, how he was less than Quentin, but it had all been an intellectual exercise more than anything. A thing to help his own mind grow by mentally sparring with one of the best skilled telepaths on the planet. So why anger? Why did he feel like he wanted to rip the statue down and toss it into the see.


“You should have never left” he growled out, unintentionally. The words were not his own, the thought that spawned them was not his own. Or was it? Quentin’s eyes closed as he tried to steady his mind, tried to gather his thoughts, but it was like holding onto a fist full of sand. Stray grains of thought and emotions slipping through his mental fingertips and spilling to the floor. And then? Another shift. Anger now. Raw pure, unadulterated hatred. This Quentin could trace though. This was the creature he had met in the psychic plane. This was the Shadow King trying to dip into his mindspace. It seemed the creature had a hold on his emotions to some degree or another, but his thoughts? No. There were no thoughts, just raw nerves. Anger and hatred blending with the sadness and anger of whatever else was going on within him. Maybe something he couldn’t remember? An island? Had Quentin been there? As his thoughts raced, he could feel his wrists begin to burn. He idly ran his hand over his left wrist, and was surprised when he felt metal there.


Looking down he saw a device of some kind. A wrist band. Silver with an L.E.D. display that was long burnt out… where had that come from? How long had it been there? It seemed the further he tried to push his memories, the less things made sense.






He puzzled over the device for a second. Analyzing it as best he could, but to no avail. Near as he could tell it was just some sort of fitness tracker or smart watch, but he saw no latch. No way to remove it from his arm. Another mystery for another time, he supposed. Looking it over one last time, seeing the numbers 4 and 8 burned into the display, the middle number obscured, or missing. 3 digit sequence… odd. Regardless he knew, or rather felt where he needed to go next. He needed to find this island.



The room was dirty, drafty, and devoid of any light save a single light bulb swinging from the ceiling and that of a few stray computer screens on the opposite side of the room. His shoulders ached, but when he went to try and stretch them he found that he couldn't. His wrists bound in chains. Looking up, he couldn’t see their end. They disappeared into the darkness of the ceiling and attached themselves somewhere beyond. His headache, and his veins burned. Clearly he’d been sedated at some point, heavily. His mind lulled struggling to keep focus, to gather in what his surroundings were. What was going on? How had he come here? He could taste the iron tang of blood on his lips, feel the same warm liquid dripping from where his wrists were shackled.



He soon found that the more he tried to focus his mind, the more feedback he seemed to receive. Closing his eyes and focusing, searching for the source of the resonance, he could feel it. On the back of his head, small, circular, a blind spot in his mind. Some sort of inhibitor no doubt. Quentin had worked his way past these before, but it would take time, time he might not have given the situation. And could he even get it done? The other times had been simplistic, but he had been far from himself the past… well the past however long it been since his mind got turned into scrambled eggs. He’d regained some of himself, sure, but the power was wild, disconnected, like a psychic fire lashing out when he tried to do anything beyond the simplest of tasks. And this? This wasn’t simple.


While he was working on that in the back of his mind, he took in his surroundings. At this second glance, Quentin couldn’t help but roll his eyes at just how cliche the thing was. An empty operating table dominated the center of the room. Above it? All sorts of evil sciencey looking machinery. Blood extractors, dna analyzers, genetic sifters, that helped narrow it down. There were only a few crazy science types that would use this sort of set up. The give away was the wall opposite him. Giant pods filled with green liquid, humanoid creatures in various stages of formation within them, all seemingly the same configuration. Someone was genetically engineering an army.



His fingers casually gripped the chains around his wrists, and muscles flexed slightly to lift him up a little. Relieving the pressure on his wrists ever so slightly as he continued to scan the room around him. Near as he could tell there was just one other person their with him, still unconscious. He puzzled over her for a moment. He vaguely recognized her from.. Somewhere. One of Stark’s pet projects or something like that? Even before his memory got turned into hash browns, he probably wouldn’t have recalled just who she was. Normie’s were never that important to remember. Hell he’d probably not know Stark’s name if he didn’t plaster it all over everything he owned in some show of Trumpian ego. God what was her name? Rebecca? Roselyn?... it was an R name right? Something like that…


His thoughts on the matter were interrupted by the door to the lab sliding open with a robotic his. A figure entered in silhouette but the fins made him hard not to recognize. Quentin’s eyes widened just a little. This was bad. He was only casually aware of the man that entered the room, but from everything he had learned about him at Xavier’s he was trouble. It all made sense as the man stepped into the light. Pale and menacing, the mad scientist type, dealing with genetic mutations and cloning? How could it not be him. How could it not be… Sinister.



The impossibly pale faced Sinister sneered in Quentin’s face, his breath smelling like mustard and sardines, disgusting. It made Q’s face scrunch up in disgust.


“Ah you’re awake,” he spoke as he walked to one of his terminals and began pressing on the keys “I must say, boy, your genetic code was… more interesting than I would have expected. Not at all what you seem are you? Or do you even know? I imagine not…”


He said not at all looking towards Q as he typed away. A large laser of some kind slowly descending from the darkness of the ceiling, aiming itself at the girls face.


“The girl however? A mistake. I assumed her intelligence to be genetically motivated, but alas, she is… well nothing really. A waste of effort, better dealt with”


And with that he pressed another key on his keyboard. The laser before… god what was her name?’s… face as she seemingly started to stir herself. Quentin’s arms now tugging at his chains as his brain rushed to try to untangle itself from the inhibitor on the back of his head. He had to do something. Something fast. Normie or not, he wasn’t going to let some half rent vincent price wannabe just murder someone outright in front of him.


04/13/2019 10:52 PM 

Personality Deconstruction Part 3

Personality shift 8… Interlude


He awoke an indeterminable time later. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking down at his broken, battered body on the ground at his feet. Didn’t really look all that bad from the outside…


Outside..


F***..


He looked down at himself, and sure enough he was blue, not like sad, down in the dumps, but like translucent and blue shaded. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d been here before, but if remembering things when you were in contact with your mind was hard. Remembering things when you were disembodied energy of some kind was impossible.


He stooped down and looked over his body, it didn’t seem in that bad of shape at all, and upon closer inspection… yes he was even still breathing, so his brain was functioning in there to some extent. When he tried to place a hand on his own shoulder, he found that his fingers passed right through. So, following what seemed like the next most logical course of action, he attempted to lay on the ground in the same position as his unconscious body, hoping it just.. Line back up somehow. Strangely enough… no dice.


“Well sh*t, now what do I do?” he had started the day thinking he’d learn something about his past to set things right. Or at least give him a hint as to what to do, but now? Now he was a psychic ghost boy halfway up a mountain with no idea how to get back to being… well a being… or at least one that someone could see. So he sat.


He sat and he thought…


… and thought…


He then got bored of the whole damned thing and decided he should at least figure out what he looked like in this form. So he walk/hovered around the mountain, and was delighted to find out that he could move fast. Like real fast.


“No sh*t, energy moves fast, you are energy a**hole,” he said to himself… or thought out loud… or however that worked in this state.  He eventually came upon a pond, and looked into it to see a reflection of himself.




“Well that’s f***ing gross… I look like Tron f***ed a mannequin or something. Definitely need to get back to being me.”


But what to do? Where to go? It wasn’t like he was just going to find another body somewhere… could he? Could he just pop in to someone and borrow a body for a minute? No.. too risky. Best case scenario he resigned someone to the same state he was in now, and probably someone much less capable of dealing with it, worse case scenario he’d get stuck himself and be some random normie for the rest of his life.


Normie… he remembered the term.. Had to bookmark that one for later.


Ok, logically it was statistically highly unlikely that he was the first person this ever happened to in the history of the universe. So logically, out there, somewhere, there could at least, theoretically be someone else out there with whom he could communicate. Hell if not someone in the same state, maybe another psychic out there someone he could talk to that could, help or something? It wasn’t the best of plans, but hey you had to play it by ear sometimes.


So, with no real aim, or direction in mind, he decided to fly up. Get a birds eye view of the world and see where seemed like the most logical place to go. It was odd, flying around with no body, there was no sound of the wind rushing past his ears, or feeling it on his face. It was just cold, soundless flight. In fact, he came to realize, there was no real sound at all. He just sort of, sensed things. When he opened his eyes, like really opened them, he could see little pin pricks of light all over the world beneath him. Some dimmer, some brighter, some smaller, some larger, and what he slowly came to realize was, these were all minds.


It was a common misconception amongst normies, as well as lesser telepaths, that it was only the human mind that was intelligent enough to be read. That, since ‘lesser’ creatures had less developed brains, the thoughts of animals and such could not be read. This was both true and false to different degrees. Sure you wouldn’t find a squirrel contemplating its place in the world, but it still had basic thought. Food, get food, find food, there's food, noise? Is nose bad? Hide. Hide food, etc etc. These were the tiny lights. The lights that skittered through the forest eating and being eaten at regular intervals. There was a beauty to the patterns of them. Regular colored, shining with the same brightness from conception to death, all their knowledge gained and remained through existence. Then there were the ‘bigger’ brains.


The minds of humans, and some apes actually, that could conceive of more complicated things. True only man and mutant could truly recognize their own existence, but the apes could at least recognize more of the world around them. They could fashion tools, work out problems, they could feel. It was while Quentin was both admiring and analyzing this spectrum of colors and thoughts that a thought found him. A voice in the voicelessness calling out to him.


“Well now, who are you?.. Come to me little mutant…” The voice spoke, seemingly all around him. Yet somehow Quentin knew, instinctually knew, where to find its source.


Ominous as it was, it wasn’t as though he had many other options at the moment. He couldn’t very well spend the rest of his existence looking at squirrel brains, or else he’d go nutty. So he followed without responding. Up into the air. Beyond the air, to the space where both air and space ceased to exist. The psychic plane. He recognized it without remembering it. A vast flat area of thought. A place that could be whatever, whenever, wherever its occupant wished it to, if only in their own minds eye. It was here that he was surprised to find a small house.


“Who’s in there?” he called out, making his way to one of the windows “I kinda need to just get back in my body so I can figure out some other stuff, been a hell of a month…”


“Oh I can help you, I can definitely help you, but first,” the voice called with a rumbling tone as a figure came to the window..



“I’m going to need you to let me out of here”




Peering inside the window at the disgusting, disheveled man within, Quentin winced. In his astral form, it was more than just a simple physical tick. It was a shudder that rattled through his body. A deep down disgust at the creature, reaching deeper than physical revulsion. He could feel a churning grossness pulsating in the core of his very being. This was only made worse by the fact that the creature couldn’t seem to stay still. It was constantly in motion. Like some crazed beast. Clearly he’d been trapped here for quite some time.


“I said let me out of here!” it cried with an otherworldly desperate desire.


“What even, are you?”


That statement seemed to give the creature pause, its tone returning to that of a more normal voice, although it still echoed hollowly against itself. Like some sick feedback loop.


You do not recognize me? I would feel hurt if that were possible”


Recognize it? It seemed like the kind of thing that would be hard for Quentin to forget, even given his recent trauma. The creature was hardly the kind of thing to just go unnoticed. He found himself searching. Digging into his memories for some recognition of the creature. Deep within him something screamed. Here in the psychic plane thoughts and words were more or less a formality he came to realize. That thing locked in its little cottage, knew. It seemed to recognize the mutants thoughts with ease.


“You do not, here let me help you” it said with a disgusting sneer as it changed its form.



“There,” it said taking on not only the form of, but also the voice of this new older woman. Seeing her made Quentin’s mind reel even more. A mental nausea mixed with a cold icy spear in his heart. Confusion, anger, pain, all mixed within his body, yet still he was more confused than ever. He didn’t recognize the woman. Yet he felt he should, or felt he did. Something deep and past tugging at the chains that seemed to lock his memories away.


“No? You really don’t remember me do you?” the woman creature said, its lips curling into a smile. Taking some kind of sick pleasure from this realization “Oh you really have lost yourself haven’t you? I wondered why I didn’t sense you coming, thought it was this place. This horrible room wearing me down, weakening me… but it isn’t that at all is it? It’s that you weren’t the one really coming. At least not entirely…delicious…”


Quentin felt himself grow hot at this. He had enough confusion, enough pain, enough trauma without this creature adding riddles to the equation. There was enough of this. It ultimately didn’t matter what the creature was playing at, ultimately he just needed to get back… well to  himself. Back to the physical plane. Back to figuring out who and what he was in its entirety. Almost as a show that he wasn’t completely lost he started out with one of the few things he was sure about.


“I know who I am, I’m Quentin Quire, and I also know I don’t need or care about your bullsh*t riddles. You’re going to help me get out of here and back to my body”


“Quire? Well that does make more sense. You should have known better… no one’s managed to leave before, but if anyone can of course the Quire boy could…” the woman guise of the creature seemed to say more to itself than anything. Contemplating. Its thoughtful look lasting only a few moments before the sneer returned. Her hand pressing to the window “Yes, Quentin Quire, I believe we can help each other, in so many ways. You see I’ve been trapped away in here for so very very long. I too would like a body, but first I’d have to get out of here…”


“A body?” Quentin said in almost a whisper. That something in his guts wrenching at him slightly. Screaming words of caution from deep within him. A voice he didn’t recognize. Still, what choice did he have really? Options were pretty thin on the nonexistent ground here. He wasn’t likely to find anyone else in this plane. This could be his only choice. He wasn’t, however, a fool. “You are not taking my body”


“Your body?” he creature said, seemingly scoffing at this with a snide little laugh. “Oh you have my utmost of assurances that I have no interest in your body, Quentin Quire. I have unfinished business with another that I must attend to. Your body would only slow me down..I merely need to get out of here, and back to the physical realm. You let me out, I’ll put you back in your body. Simple.”


More confusion. More riddles. The way the creature said things… it was clearly trying to get him to be part of some game of which Quentin was unawares. Nor did he care, if he was honest. This place seemed to have a way of, weakening him. Tugging him down. He felt as though the energy around him hated him. Hated that he was somehow separate from the ‘great unconscious mind’ of the world. It wanted him to simply forget himself and join it. The longer he stayed, the weaker he felt himself becoming. He needed his body if he was going to remain himself at all. Let alone find out just who himself really was. He thought on this for another moment and sighed. What choice did he really have?


“Alright… but no bullsh*t. I just want to get… home” he said with uncertainty. Not only at the deal itself, but at the word ‘home’ as his journey so far had made him doubt whether or not such a place existed for him.


As his astral form approached the door, the sick smile on the creatures face grew. It disgustingly shifting back into that of the blob of the man it originally was. It stepped back from the door as Quentin approached it, seemingly brimming with energy. As fingers touched the doorknob, pushed the door open, Quentin’s eyes went wide.


The creature was in a full on sprint towards him. With a speed that belied its rotund shape, the creature plowed into Quentin’s chest. A full on tackle as it sent him tumbling. First backwards, then downwards. Like some great psionic meteor of green energy the two fell from the heavens. Tumbling, burning through the sky, towards the mountain. Towards the Earth. Towards Quentin’s prone and battered body.


They impacted it with the psychic force of a megaton bomb, or at least that’s what the sensation was like. His body springing to life, every hair standing on end. The feeling of every synapse, every nerve ending lighting on fire as it sprang back to being, back to consciousness. Not just for himself, but for the dark passenger he had brought with him. The creature wriggling into his very core of being. Quentin screamed as he could ‘feel’ his mind being split into Quarters. Shared between himself, the shadowy figure, and the two unknowns he’d hadn’t known were there.


It was an eternal, internal fight that lasted millenia in a matter of moments. Four entities vying for control of one form. And then, the stars. Quentin could see the pin pricks of the light of the countless. Stars that were minds, beings, consciousness itself. He could only assume that it was from those nearby, his own mind drawing power from countless others to drive these other entities back. These pins of light gathering, collecting in his mind as one solid force. His saber to push the others back. Then, finally, body wracked with pain, his eyes opened.


He immediately rolled onto all fours and emptied his stomach onto the ground beneath him. Felt the ache of his cuts and bruises, even as they faded. Seemingly healing themselves even as he stood. The mind healing the body. Or minds in this case.


“Oh you really are a strong one, I see why you gave so much trouble. Silly boy, should have known better”


The voice of his new passenger spoke as he rose. He had arguments. Plenty of them, and anger for the creature at this new situation, but for now? He was too weak. He needed to recover, needed to remember, and needed his strength. There was one place that called to him. The next step on his journey to where he was trying to get to, his journey back to himself. It was time for him to learn who he was. A higher learning indeed.


04/10/2019 11:39 PM 

Personality Deconstruction Part 2

Personality shift 5…


Searching… building… memories at 24.7329%


Basic functions 100%


Mental powers: 72.6%


Phoenix Status: Unknown


Cathunk…


Cathunk..


Cathunk…



He awoke to the sound of a unbalanced ceiling fan squeakily wobbling over his head, vision blurred, and not just from the lack of his glasses. Eyes barely bleery bloodshot slits as he watched the dangling chains of the fans pull chord do its  little dance with each little shake of the blades above him. Entranced for a moment, not sure of how he got there, or where, in fact, there even was. He wasn’t exactly eager to find out either, his attention taken from him by the fact that with each noise the fan made, he felt an equal and opposite sized pulse of pain in his head. Newton’s law of partying perhaps? Memories of the night might not have set in yet, but that full body ache of dehydration and alcohol was definitely building.


With a groan he reached for the nightstand to eyelessly search for his glasses. His hands falling instead on a something soft and square. He picked this up and expanded and squinted his eye lids for a moment in some odd attempt to manually focus his eyes.


‘Huh, cigarettes… do I smoke?’ as the thought entered his mind so too seemed to be the urge to light one up. And the taste of stale tobacco on his lips. He shrugged his shoulders and flicked a finger to the bottom of the soft pack, simultaneously packing one of the smokes, and jutting its filter out from the box. He caught this in his teeth and tugged the rest of it out. He patted his hands idly on the sides of his thighs, to find that he had at least managed to take his pants off before getting into bed. He rolled onto his right side and peered down at the floor.


Fingers walked themselves along the matted, so dirty I don’t want to think about it, carpeting of..wherever he was needed to work that out… as they made their way to the waistband of his tattered jeans he didn’t remember wearing. Digits curled into a spiked belt he didn’t remember owning, as he tugged the set towards him. He stuck his hand into the right side pocket and grabbed the contents therein. The jeans lifted with his curled and and he shook it a moment to shake them free and admire his treasures. There wasn’t much, a cellphone, a lighter, and a guitar pick with a marbled pattern.


He set the phone and the pick down in tangled sheets next to him as he flicked The lighter to life with his thumb and set flame to the end of the cigarette between his lips. He kissed the cancer as he breathed in a mouth full of smoke. His lefthands index and middle fingers pulled it from his lips. His right grabbed his cellphone and pressed the button to light the screen while smoke filled the room. A lightheaded surge of nicotine fueled energy running through his body as he finally sat up, and slide his feet out from under the covers, as he looked at the screen.


37 missed calls. He couldn’t be bothered to see how many text messages or voicemails. The idea of sorting through that many missed contact points in an attempt to piece together the night was too much at the moment. He simply clicked the screen off and tossed the phone to the bed as he took another drag. He looked at the night stand and finally found his glasses. He set these on his face as he looked around the room. It was then that he saw his love, and he smiled.


Blue and curvaceous in all the right places. An instrument of beauty so keen that it could make a man rage, or cry. He strode over to where she leaned against the desk, and placed a hand her smooth bottom. Fingers lightly tracing the curves of her body , up unto her slender neck, fingers wrapping softly around and lifting her from her perch. He sat in a chair as he slung her strap over his shoulder and began to pluck her strings.



It was as if he could see the notes, time seemingly slowing down around him as he played. He could feel the vibrations of each plucked note running through his fingers. He felt as though he could see the ripple in the air with each wave of sound that came echoing through the belly of the instrument as though it were an extension of himself. In this moment, there was nothing else in the world. Just him and his music, a soft blue glow forming on his fingertips as he played, instinctually keeping them from callousing, he watched this for a moment. Memories built in his mind, the pieces falling back into place.


“Quentin,” he said outloud as if hearing it would confirm the thoughts for him. His name was Quentin.


Personality shift 6… The Road Home


Searching… building… memories at 24.7329%


Basic functions 100%


Mental powers: 72.6%


Phoenix Status: Unknown


It was an odd feeling, remembering one’s self.


It was all still so … broken.


He had no real idea as to how he got where he was now. Looking around like a bleary-eyed drunkard. He was at the counter of a diner. He remembered diners, remembered what they were, how they functioned. That was a start. He looked down and saw that he had apparently ordered a coffee already. He took a sip of this, the warm bitter liquid flowing past his lips and into his stomach, which grumbled in response. Apparently nearing empty. He had just began to think about what to order, when a plate was set before him. Warm texas toast, omelette with bits of bacon and jalapeno peppers poking out from the yellow of the eggs. When had he ordered this? Is this what he normally would eat? His stomach’s grumbling was enough answer for that question for now. The fork dinking softly to the plate as he lifted a mouth full of the spicy egg/meat combination into his mouth.


That was all the thought he needed for a few moments,sustenance. He ate with the hunger of the starved. When was the last time he’d had a proper meal? He couldn’t remember, but judging by his bodies reaction, it had been quite some time indeed. He could almost feel his stomach’s joy at the introduction of food, its grumbling slowly subsiding as he finished the last of his omelette and grabbed his coffee for another sip. It was then that he caught a glimpse of his reflection out of the corner of his eye. A ghostly wisp of a reflection in the diner’s window. He studied it as he watched the people on the sidewalk outside walk through this ghost of Quentin.


Quentin, he name was Quentin.



He saw himself and was confused. Something seemed… off. He couldn’t quite place it. He seemed average looking enough. Brown hair, medium length, glasses. Likewise he wore a simple blue polo shirt and jeans. A hand lifted to his hair, fingers running through it. A memory prodding at the edges of his mind that he just couldn’t seem to focus.


He had flashes of many different things, most of which seemed completely nonsensical. Teenagers with antlers, made out of crystal, covered in eyeballs. Slightly older people with yellow raincoats? A face that was exploding? Baby sharks with legs? Had he been in space at one point? He saw rivers of blood, shredding claws, man beasts, Greek gods, the oceans depths, a giant hawk woman?


BAM


His fist pounded onto the counter with enough force that the plate, and the fork on it clinked together. He let out a ragged breath as his eyes and mind regained their focus in the present. He slowly became keenly aware of other patrons, and cook staff, of the diner staring at him. He was making a scene. Soft pink rose to his cheeks as he realized this mumbling some incoherent word sounds of an apology. His fingers slid into the pocket of his jeans, finding his wallet there, he pulled it out and tossed some bills on the counter. He was about to put it back in when a glimmer of white plastic caught his eye. His eyebrow lifted in curiosity as he pulled it out.  


He found as many questions as he did answers really as he looked over the hard plastic card. A learner’s permit? Why just a learner’s permit? He looked more than old enough to actually drive… and finding his date of birth on the card confirmed it.. But the picture… He looked like he couldn’t have been older than 15 when it was taken. Soft faced boy, baby cheeks. But he did get two pieces of information from it.


“Quire” he said out loud. Quintavius Quirinius Quire right at the top in big bold letters. … god what a name. He would stick to Quentin, less of a mouthful, and it was what he had remembered. The second piece of information seemed more interesting, however. An address. Mountaineer Drive, Riverton, West Virginia… He looked out the window and could see the mountain ridges poking out from along the citiscape.


He shoved his wallet into his pocket, and fiddled in his other, pulling out his cellphone.


Cellphone…


Why hadn’t he thought to check his cellphone?


In a fervor, he pressed his finger to the print scanner on the back to unlock it. A weird symbol covering the background…



But he had no time to ponder that at the moment. As fast as fingers would allow he pressed the button for contacts, and his face dropped…


Nothing…


No contacts..


No call history…


Not even text messages…


New phone? No, scratches on the corners from the wear of being dropped carelessly into his pocket evidenced differently.


Who wiped his phone?


Did he?


He took a deep breath to recollect himself. Feeling the air fill his lungs, the same escaping past his lips in a soft sigh. Aimless questions would get him nowhere. He had to follow the only lead he had. So he opened the maps app, and typed in the address that was on his identification. The spot pinged on his map with a little red marker. He rose from his barstool, and headed outside. The warm morning air caressing his face as he started to walk. 20 minutes on foot. That’s all it would take, to bring him.. home?


Personality Shift 7… Homecoming



It was all he had at this point.


His only lead to, well, himself. The address he’d seen on his I.D. card. It was the only lead he had, he knew this, but it scared the hell out of him. It wasn’t something he could rightly explain. It was as if something inside him, something deep in the pit of his stomach was telling him not to go there. Some chained up part of his memories that he just couldn’t get to, that was screaming from the depths of his soul to do literally anything else. But heavily his footsteps lead him forward. His legs like lead, still he moved.  Despite the clawing, screaming, tearing feeling of dread in the depths of him, he moved forward. There was no other choice if he wanted to fix it. Wanted to make himself complete again.


The day mocked him in its stark contrast to the conflict going on inside of him. The sun shone brightly, it was cool, but not cold, birds sang. As he found himself drawing nearer his destination, he saw the dull beauty of suburbia. Simple middle class families simply enjoying their lives. Children playing on lawns as they ran and jumped. Pet dogs roaming the neighborhood with jaunty bouncing steps. People chatting over barbeques. It was like a postcard of the ‘American Dream’. But all Quentin felt was a cold, hollow, pang of dread in his chest.



He stopped as he reached an intersection, and looked up at the sign. Mountaineer drive. This was it, the street listed on his I.D. The only clue he had to who he was. Hopefully a beginning of figuring out all that he had come to forget. He needed those answers, what choice did he have? It was either this, or spending his life just not knowing. He pondered this for a second. Pondered the opportunity he was really presented here for the first time. Would that be so bad?


He was sure to have things about himself, about his life, about his experiences that he didn’t like. Things that hurt him. Here he had a unique opportunity to truly, just let any of that go. A legitimate reason to just forget the past and move on, by simply choosing not to remember it. To not allow himself to, well, be himself anymore. Reinvention. New beginnings. A spark of that was tempting. Tempting to the core of him, but no. Whoever he was, whoever he was going to be, he didn’t want to be someone that shied away. Someone that took the coward’s path. Still, he could be smart about it at least. No reason to jump in blind.


So Quentin Quire, crept. He moved behind the fences of the neighborhood. He circled around the cul de sac on which the address he was destined for lay. As he got to the back of the house, he drew in a deep breath. The uncertainty and panic circling his heart like a codly burning serpent. His chest felt like it was caving in, his body felt like it had the weight of a dying star, yet still, even in this moment, he forced himself onward. His head poked over the fence, and he saw little. There was an old oak tree, a hose left untethered across the back yard, some lawn chairs, a barbeque pit, and not much else to speak of. Boldly, in spite of himself, he reached up and grasped one of the lower hanging branches of the tree. Muscles tightened as he lifted himself into the branche, and that’s when the first of it hit him.


As fingers clasped the rough bark, and he inched himself forward, it hit him. A flash of something. A memory. He had done this before. He closed his eyes, breathed the earthy scent of the tree in, and focused on the memory. It had been more difficult the last time. The tree had been so much bigger… no, he was… smaller. Smaller body, smaller hands, less developed muscles and coordination… a child…


This brightened him a little. Almost excited him. Home.


This was Home.


This was where he had been raised. This was where he had played.  The memories flooded him now. His grip on the tree tightening as his head spun. He saw summers amidst the green grass. Running through the yard. He remembered waterwings and kiddy pools. He remembered toy cars on the wooden deck playing race car with his parents….









His parents.


He remembered his parents.


Surely they would be concerned about him. Who knew how long he had been missing. They were probably distraught, worried about their little boy. Worried where their child had gone, and what he was up to. He could remember so much now it would be like the time hadn’t passed, however long it was. They could recconnect. They could help him remember more. Family. That’s what family’s were for. To protect, and help one another. They would help him, they would be a family again.


Excited now, hopeful for the first time since his memories left, he dropped from the tree into the yard. A light heart and a racing mind, he strode across the freshly cut grass, enjoying the scent. He approached the back door, his eyes glancing towards the bay window. Eager to see if he could see them before they saw him. Eager to see how they would react to him. How happy they would be to see that their baby boy had made his way back home. Their only child come home after such a long time away, it would be like the joy of a thousand christmases.. But then, his heart sank.


He did see them. There they were sat at the dinner table, eating lunch, but they were not alone. A baby. Another baby. Not Quentin. Someone else. Someone new… they had moved on.. But… They seemed happy… how? How could they be happy without him? How could a parent be happy not knowing where their child was? Then it hit him.



THE memory. The worst memory. Something dark and wicked laughed out an ‘i told you so’ deep in the pit in his stomach.


Abandoned.


They had abandoned him. As soon as they knew what he was, they had left him. Dropped him off… somewhere… an orphanage? No. He remembered he had been happy to be there at first. Everything seemed like it was going to be fine. He had only been sent there to learn… something. But then?


His birthday. The day struck him, and sent a chill through his heart. They had called him. Called him on his birthday. Called him to tell him he was unwanted. To tell him he was adopted. To tell him not to contact them any more. It had been… cold. That’s what had hurt about it. He remembered. They had called and told him not to contact them. Cold as you would say it to a telemarketer. Robotic. No emotion. No sense of regret, or joy, or anything. Just cold, thought out, rejection. Then they had simply… replaced him. Replaced him with this new child. And they were laughing. They were laughing, and happy, and a family, and he was… what?


He felt… too much. There was no solid thoughts or descriptions he could give to it. His insides swirled, and ached, and churned. He felt like he was going to cry, and vomit, and murder someone all at once. A knife his his core of his being making the world go black at the corners of his eyes. So he did the only thing that he could do.


He flew.


It wasn’t even something he was consciously aware of, or knew he could do. He wasn’t running on memory, or knowledge, or logic. It was instinctual. No direction or thought, or plan, he just knew he suddenly found himself moving through the air. The mountains. He moved towards them for whatever reason. Perhaps it was because they were the clearest marker. Perhaps it was because they seemed secluded. He wanted to be secluded. To be away from it. To escape it. To run from it.


No Aim


No control


He soon fell. Body and heart exhausted from the strain. He tumbled through the trees, cuts, bruises, it seemed nothing. Everything was nothing. His body digging a trench of dirt as it crashed to a halt in the forest. And there he lay as he slipped into a tormented unconsciousness.


Searching… building… memories at 48.97%


Basic functions 0%


Mental powers: 0%



04/06/2019 09:58 PM 

Personality Deconstruction Part 1

Personality shift 2…


Searching… building… memories at 3.7%


Basic functions 100%


Mental powers: 72.6%


Phoenix Status: Unknown


Booting...


He sat in the study of his gallery with no light, save the single gas lamp on his writing desk. The shadows dancing about the shelves filled with racks upon racks of dusty books. It was little known that Quentin was a purveyor of finer things. Things that he kept for himself, to keep them safe from the lesser hands of those that would abuse them. He had gathered quite a collection of first editions over time, the benefit of wealth. Especially Wilde, he had a fondness for his works.


He sat at his writing desk, mostly in shadow, the shades of the evening bringing him comfort. He felt more comfortable in the dark places, stronger somehow. He thumbed through the final pages of ‘The Harlot’s House’ and shut his poetry book with a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He had dressed for the occasion as well. A dapper victorian style suit, complete with cravat, and accompanying pin. He rose from his chair, grasped a silver topped cane leaning against the desk and strode to a full length mirror next to it. He looked himself over, and gave his pink hair a quick once through with his hand.


He walked, lackadaisical to the balcony. A man with dignity to be sure, but few cares in the world. Boredom was his rival, and he would seek to defeat it yet again tonight. His footsteps echoing in a strange concerto with his canes idly prodding at the ground as he reached the rails of the balcony, and looked out upon the city.


Ah the city, that strange, glorious, swamp of humanity, and mutankind intermingling in a volatile cocktail of life. His smile grew as he peered down on it. The twinkling gravestones of progress looming beneath him in the night. How many of them could even suspect? Suspect that the closest thing to a ‘god’ or a ‘devil’ loomed above them in a suit and tie? He playfully considered how easy it would be to end any one of them. A glimmer of a thought across his mind, and theirs would simply cease to function. Simplicity. And that is what ultimately saved many people from such whims of his. Always the same conclusion. It would be so dreadfully boring. To simply snuff someone out without effort. No, Quentin Quire had no lust for death, his was a lust for life. And it was with this thought that he climbed onto, and stepped off of the railing.


The wind raised the edges of his dress coat as he fell, pink tuft of hair wafting in the upcurrent. He smiled at the sensation for a moment, enjoying the lack of control in the free fall. Slowly he reached out with his mind, silent waves of telekinetic energy surrounding, and ultimately slowing, his body as he descended. The people below him none the wiser. A black figure against a black night tended not to draw too much attention, even with a dab of pink. Slowly his feet touched the sidewalk, followed shortly thereafter by his cane.


‘West’ he thought to himself as he started to walk in the cardinal direction. ‘Let’s see what’s happening in the West tonight’



Personality shift 3…


Searching… building… memories at 4.7329%


Basic functions 100%


Mental powers: 72.6%


Phoenix Status: Unknown


He awoke with the predawn dew of the morning’s approach.


Slick and moist, and slightly chilled from the moisture in the air. Feeling partially dead and alive at the same time.


Cool and clammy but heart beating like a barrel rolling down the assembly line. Hat tipped low, ragged and bent from sleeping with his back against the mountain stones. He took it off and beat it against his dust covered jeans as he stood to his feet. Placing it back over the pink tuft of hair on his head, he stooped to check what was left of the nights fire.


Fingers grasped the nearest bit of kindling he had. Slipping a single stick from the bundle he poked at the base of the smoking embers. He watched closely, carefully as he shifted the remnants of logs around. Finding a few strong embers, he dug in the pocket of his worn out flannel shirt, finding some loose leaves and paper he’d tucked away in there to keep them nice and dry. He watched as the embers coiled and sparked around these before bursting into flame once more. He tossed a small pile of sticks onto this and slowly got the fire roaring nice and steady again.


He glanced around the clearing and realized that he wasn’t rightly sure how he’d gotten to this point.  He figured there was somethin he was forgetting along the way but just couldn’t quite set a finger to it. For the time being there wasn’t nothing for it, so he shrugged his shoulders and rummaged through his rucksack.


Different pots, cans, odds and ends clinked together as he found what he was after. His coffee kettle, and a can of grounds. A little more diggin and he found a canteen as well, just enough in it to improve upon the water by getting that caffeine into it. He rattled the can of grounds for a moment to loosen em up before pouring them into the pot alongside the water. He set this over the campfire to give it the time and heat it would need to percolate properly. It was then he was hit by the powerful urge to take a morning piss.


His boots crunched in the underbrush as he made his way through the trees, hands pushing away the smaller branches as he looked for a good spot away from his campsite to take care of business. He found a nice ledge and took a deep breath, breathing in the cool mountain air. He looked about and enjoyed the scenery as a yellow arch of his own fluids entered into the serenity of nature. Couldn’t say that it added anything to it but some interesting scents, but hey he was part of that nature too, and moments like this made him feel that connection. Or maybe it was the hangover who knew?



Either way the combination of taking in the natural glory of this part of the country, combined with evacuating the last of the nights fire water brought a smiling energy to his heart, mind, and body. He could only hope the sh*t that the rot gut coffee he was about to drink was sure to instill would be as scenic and inspirational. Though he somehow doubted it.


Personality shift 4…


Searching… building… memories at 7.95876%


Basic functions 100%


Mental powers: 74.8%



The sounds of soft waves rolling against the shores hit his ears yet he didn’t open his eyes. Not yet, no he took a moment to feel the scenery around him, to take it all in. He started with the expansive. Hearing the waves crash against the shore, the gull and other morning birds calling to the sunrise of the day. The soft rustle of the wind moving through the palm trees and light underbrush of the woods. The feeling of clammy cold in his body slowly getting replaced by the warmth of the sun cresting over the seas horizons. He then turned his senses to the micro.


He could sense it, the sound of bubbling flows of fluid slipping through grains of sand as they washed to shore. The microscopic avalanche of sand and silt being pulled forcefully from the shore, back into the depths of the ocean. Smaller animals, sea snails and hermit crabs being tousled and disjointed in the tide. He could hear, or was it feel, the wind rustling through the fine threads of the feathers of each birds wing. Feel their defiance of gravity as hollow bones drifted in the sky above him. It was as he was pondering over this that he realized he was one with the ground itself.


He could feel it, all around him for what seemed like miles. He could feel it as budded flowers started to open and wake to great the day. Feel the slow movement of sunflowers as they followed their life source through the skies. He could feel the soft sway of each leaf of the trees as they moved easily, kissed by the soft touch of the warm sea air. He felt as though he was swimming through the ground itself. He was part of the unseen universe beneath the surface. The earthworms, slowly plowing the dirt, breaking it down, chiseling the larger parts into smaller pieces. Could feel the fungus at the end of the tree roots, as it symbiotically fed off the trees sugar in exchange for breaking down the soil itself into useable nutrients for the greater organism. For a blissful few moments he felt at one with the world and all was well, but, as such things often do, it only lasted those few moments.


Sentience, he often thought, was a bane to many things. Not in a ‘sentient life is destroying the planet’ kind of way. No it was more personal, something more internal. Sentience lead to desire. Desires that birds, and plants, and the sea didn’t have to consider. He felt… alone. On this island, out in the sea, all by himself, though surrounded by life. Surrounded by life, but with no equivalent life. No one that understood. No one that could even begin to comprehend what understanding meant. No one and nothing around him had that capability. The worm did not question why the bird was devouring him, and likewise the bird did not question the devouring. It was all instinctual. Every motion taken by those around him was fueled by some baser instinct that betrayed their simplistic nature. It was so easily observed, and for a few moments fascinating, but ultimately futile. Because in the end they were all slaves to simple base desires.No sense of their place in the universe. Hell, in most cases no sense that such a universe even existed. All content within whichever tiny little chain of life they were born into. All in chains they had no desire, or concept of how, to break.


Quentin Quire opened his eyes, and rose to his feet. Callously dusting the sand from his body, and walking aimlessly down the shore. Feeling it, feeling it so deeply and keenly. Feeling how alone he truly was.



Personality shift … Error


Searching… building… memories at -12.2746%


Basic functions 10000%


Zzzz


Kzzzt


Mental powers: 175%


ERROR


Stability: Fluctuating



The landscape was bleak.


Bleak, hopeless, the cries of the weak floating through the air like a symphony of pain. Genetically flavorized death chickens soaring through the air. The sky scorched red by unknown and countless tragedies in blandness. Buildings toppling and crumbling from misuse. The knowledge on how to properly maintain them long lost to a bygone era. This city was not a place for the weak. Not a place for the infirmed or the elderly. This town was only for those who could manage to live life the correct way. The way that all life was meant to be led.


Life, at full throttle.



Yes, this city was harsh, unforgiving, and deadly to all who did not have the boldness and layers to survive its perils. It was often that the streets would run wet. Colored by the lesser donkey sauce of the uninitiated. But none could be allowed to leave. For this was his world, his country, his city, his town, and it was held tightly in the grasp of his many ringed fingers. So it was with great distress when he learned that a group of conformists had sought to dullen his rebellious bold town, by organizing a party to leave his commune, and worse, they were vegans.


“DISPATCH THE MIND FREAKS!” came his bold proclamation and with that, the chasm was opened. Large metal gates, in the shape of New Jersey, opened and unleashed a slew of discolored, airbrushed, pretentious scavengers of humanity.




Many a mind had been freaked by these demons in the past, so the ruler of this realm of triple D’s would not let them leave on their own accord. They needed a strong leader at the helm. A bold leader, one that could rein in their freaking and help capture their quarry. Someone of no power, but bold leadership and inspirational speech. He needed the Dog Man..



The team collected they boarded their 1971 El Dorado and pursued their quarry with the focus, and freaking befitting the Empire that he had created. They moved with the swift decisiveness, and bold flavor combinations that were demanded by their Overlord. The flames on their garments giving them the power of his blessing. The jangle of their necklaces and rings a call of terror to all who had not the sauce to survive. All the while they were serenaded by the minstrel, Kid Rock, and the national anthem of their city, they sang it with pride, in unison as they hunted the would be vegans.


Bawitdaba da bang da bang diggy diggy diggy

Shake the boogie said up jump the boogie!”


They had just transitioned pasted the Diners, into the realm of Drive-ins when they lost the trail. Somehow the non-meat eaters had hidden their scents from the dog man with the bland flavorless ness of tofu weiners. Lost and confused, they had but one hope. They must consult the oracles of the swamps. So southward they went, the plunge into the moist depths of the city. Into the darkest of the Drive-in district, to find the swamp oracle. The mind freakers tugging at their leashes as the Dog held firm. Leading them into the darkness, where they met the oracle man.


He tethered the Freakers of Jersey to a pole covered in pinto beans, and a nice weird sauce of ginger and cloves, before the dog man dropped to his discolored wrinkly knees before the oracle.


“Oh great Oracle, I seek your wisdom in the Bounty Hunting of these non-meaters that do offend our lord so greatly!”


The oracle spoke in tongues at first, racist and indecipherable to the human brain as he accessed the wisdom of his age. His hands stroking his gnarled and louse ridden beard. Finally he spoke.



“Of course!” Cried out the Dog, the big bad dog, as he bolted from the scene, dragging the freakers along the ground by their leashes as they attempted to do some basic card trick but couldn’t do it as they had not their camera crew.


They proceeded to the one place that was most difficult for them to travel. A part of the kingdom that was most risky to their kind. The local co-op grocery store. Here in a land where bean curd was traded freely, and the Cage Cows roamed free from being milked as they desired, here they found the would-be vegans. As he lashed them to the hood of his car, the Dog man thanked his god, Bret Michaels, for the bounty properly captured, and also requested that his wifes odd boob situation be satisfactorily fixed before he was crushed in his sleep.


He traveled back to the palace of their leader, slapping feed bags of cloves and airbrushed abs onto the faces of the freakers before delivering his quarry to his lord. He lay them at the foot of the throne, and kneeled before their leader, their full throttle god.


The man looked down on them in all his splendor and regarded them coldly.


 


Continued in second blog

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