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Time. Time was like the lazy path of a bee looking for sweet flowers. Time, seemed to slow down. Time, seemed to speed up. Sometimes it stopped all together. Samsa had introduced a simple program into the mainframe that slowly and methodically flooded the station with irradiated mist. But that was then, ages ago, seconds ago, perhaps never. All he had a concept of was the now. He was sitting on the floor with his back to the console. The heat in the room was in most cases unbearable for a long period of time, but time was not a concept Samsa was a aware of anymore. His head was tilted forward and rocked back an forth like a broken marionette as if the puppeteer had cast it aside.
Even in the intense heat Samsa shivered. Not because he was cold, his clothes were drenched in sweat, but because for the first time in his life he felt alone, abandoned. The One with the plan, the One that sweet talked and gave confidence was now the One that left. That deeper darker side of Virmin Samsa had left. That side had utterly consumed Samsa, and in it's departure it took with it what was left of Samsa's soul. The One was the puppeteer and Samsa had become the marionette. This was fine when the One had a purpose, but now that purpose was fulfilled. The One was no longer needed. And Samsa had cast him aside. The true irony is that by doing so, he cast himself aside, leaving nothing behind.
The methodical 'thump, thump, thump' seemed to speed up and slow down, as if it was attached to some large unbalanced wheel. Samsa's heart began to mach the beat. Speeding up and slowing down, but mainly it was just slowing down. Virmin Samsa's own clock was winding down. And why shouldn't it? He had been tortured, laughed at, forced to wear painful reminders of his hate. He had set the score even. Now he was used up. He only held one more piece of will, one more anchor to reality. He held, in his shallow and near empty mind, the commands to shut down the mist. He held on to that one rock, that one warm spark glowing in the darkness. For when the Puppeteer cast him aside, he had cut the strings as well. Samsa was no longer a slave to the Puppeteer, even if he returned he would have no control over Samsa. Virmin Samsa was free, all he needed now was to be reborn. Set anew. He had lived too long hanging beneath those stings, feeling their pull, their weight. He had almost forgotten how to live himself, be free of himself, be free with in himself.
He looked into his soul and saw the spark grow dimmer and it made him shudder. A single tear formed in the corner of his eye and fell to the floor.
Even in the intense heat Samsa shivered. Not because he was cold, his clothes were drenched in sweat, but because for the first time in his life he felt alone, abandoned. The One with the plan, the One that sweet talked and gave confidence was now the One that left. That deeper darker side of Virmin Samsa had left. That side had utterly consumed Samsa, and in it's departure it took with it what was left of Samsa's soul. The One was the puppeteer and Samsa had become the marionette. This was fine when the One had a purpose, but now that purpose was fulfilled. The One was no longer needed. And Samsa had cast him aside. The true irony is that by doing so, he cast himself aside, leaving nothing behind.
The methodical 'thump, thump, thump' seemed to speed up and slow down, as if it was attached to some large unbalanced wheel. Samsa's heart began to mach the beat. Speeding up and slowing down, but mainly it was just slowing down. Virmin Samsa's own clock was winding down. And why shouldn't it? He had been tortured, laughed at, forced to wear painful reminders of his hate. He had set the score even. Now he was used up. He only held one more piece of will, one more anchor to reality. He held, in his shallow and near empty mind, the commands to shut down the mist. He held on to that one rock, that one warm spark glowing in the darkness. For when the Puppeteer cast him aside, he had cut the strings as well. Samsa was no longer a slave to the Puppeteer, even if he returned he would have no control over Samsa. Virmin Samsa was free, all he needed now was to be reborn. Set anew. He had lived too long hanging beneath those stings, feeling their pull, their weight. He had almost forgotten how to live himself, be free of himself, be free with in himself.
He looked into his soul and saw the spark grow dimmer and it made him shudder. A single tear formed in the corner of his eye and fell to the floor.
Before Mac could even react to it, he was through the wormhole. The Vulture slammed violently to the side, as the gyro slewed to its new orientation a fraction of a second too late - a consequence of the gravitational and energy disruption of the unexpected incoming wormhole. Across his board, emergency status indicators lit up, and the master caution added its klaxon to the cacophony in the cockpit as parts of the ship either sheared off, or never completed the trip through the wormhole. Mac struggled against the G-forces and failing systems to regain control, the safety harness barely keeping him in his seat.
"Proximity alert! Asteroid! Change course!" Mac glanced out of the canopy, at the wheeling starscape. Intermittently, a station and an asteroid flashed past, each time a bit closer. "Proximity alert! Asteroid! Change course!" Mac fought the controls, "I'm trying, damnit!" It was a losing battle, and Mac reached for the ejection handles. "Proximity alert! Asteroid! Change course!" The asteroid now filled much of the view when it flashed past, and he waited until he had clear sky before punching out.
The violence of the ejection was almost a welcome relief from the chaos of the cockpit. He tumbled out of the ship, the canopy spinning off into open space. Angular momentum imparted by the tumbling Vulture slowly turned him about, in time to see the impact. That ship - his ship, the ship he had fought so long against, only to finally claim as his own - was gone, its wreckage embedded in the surface ice of the 'roid.
"Oh, crap." The asteroid was still getting bigger. He tried firing the small, emergency thrusters built into the pilot's chair he was still strapped to, but it was no good. He closed his eyes. "This - is gonna hurt."
He blacked out.
--
Waffles was on the comm, monitoring Mac's runup to the jump, when suddenly the transmission from Peaches was cut off with a burst of static so loud that he yanked the headset off in pain. His exclamation of pain and surprise coincided with the intense flash of Mac's wormhole re-entry. That they saw the flash at all meant that something was wrong, the entry was horribly out of position. It took but a moment for everyone in the command center to realize that the Vulture was tumbling out of control, on a direct course for the asteroid. Five pairs of eyes watched as Mac ejected; watched as the ship crashed into the 'roid; watched as Mac made a valiant effort to alter his trajectory and speed with the emergency thrusters, only to impact the 'roid himself.
For long moments, the room was silent, as they stood in stunned silence. Minutes crept by, until finally, a weak transmission crackled to life on the comm. The voice was instantly recognizable, and the message told them all they needed to know.
"Ow."
--
Mac swam back towards consciousness, aware of the pain in his bruised body. He was floating about a half meter off the surface of the asteroid, the crumpled remains of the pilot's chair just below him and to his left, the sparking remains of the Vulture just visible over the limb of the asteroid's horizon. He keyed his comm, "Ow."
Instantly, Waffles was on the line. "Mac? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Thank Eo for Newton's first law."
"What?"
"'An object in motion will tend to remain in motion'," Mac replied, "'unless acted upon by an outside force.' At the last moment I realized that, and I used the mass of the pilot chair to alter my velocity by pushing it away from me and towards the asteroid."
"So, basically, you jumped," Waffles said.
"That about sums it up," Mac replied. He worked his way across the surface of the asteroid, until the station came into view. "Any reaction from our friend?"
"Hang on. Paz? Situation change?" "Negative," came the reply. "None that we can see," Waffles relayed to Mac. "Can you make it to the station?"
Mac found a handhold among the ice, and gathered his legs underneath him. "I'll let you know in a few minutes." He pushed off, aiming for the station by dead reckoning. "I'm on my way, now."
Tense minutes later, Mac crossed the distance to the station. He grasped a handhold, and oriented himself. The reactor core would be that way. "On board, moving for the reactor," he reported. Slowly, hand over hand, he made his way along the outside of the station, startling those gathered near the viewports with his sudden pressure-suited appearance, until at last he found himself on the outside of the reactor.
The reactor was one of the oldest parts of the station, the rest of the structure having grown up around it over the decades it had been in service. As one of the oldest parts of the station, it had the oldest equipment. It was this fact that the plan hinged upon now. Unknown to the vast majority of the station residents, and almost overlooked on the schematics, was a manually operated service airlock. This particular airlock hadn't been used in at least 25 years, not since the station structure had grown to allow internal access to that particular area.
Mac worked the handle. "It's jammed." Mac braced himself, and wrenched it again. Gears, long disused, reluctantly went into motion, retracting the bolts that held the hatch closed. Mac leveraged it open, crawled inside, and shouldered it closed again, spinning the handle to latch the bolts in place. He turned the valves to begin pressurization, and was rewarded moments later with the sound of atmosphere hissing into the small chamber. He keyed his comm again, "I'm in."
"Good luck, Mac." It was Iry. Mac struggled out of the bulky pressure suit.
"Thanks." Mac worked the handle for the inner hatch, and winced at the grinding, screeching noise made by the retracting lock mechanism. Slowly, he forced the hatch open on protesting hinges. Any possible element of surprise was probably lost.
Not that it would have helped him, anyway.
"Proximity alert! Asteroid! Change course!" Mac glanced out of the canopy, at the wheeling starscape. Intermittently, a station and an asteroid flashed past, each time a bit closer. "Proximity alert! Asteroid! Change course!" Mac fought the controls, "I'm trying, damnit!" It was a losing battle, and Mac reached for the ejection handles. "Proximity alert! Asteroid! Change course!" The asteroid now filled much of the view when it flashed past, and he waited until he had clear sky before punching out.
The violence of the ejection was almost a welcome relief from the chaos of the cockpit. He tumbled out of the ship, the canopy spinning off into open space. Angular momentum imparted by the tumbling Vulture slowly turned him about, in time to see the impact. That ship - his ship, the ship he had fought so long against, only to finally claim as his own - was gone, its wreckage embedded in the surface ice of the 'roid.
"Oh, crap." The asteroid was still getting bigger. He tried firing the small, emergency thrusters built into the pilot's chair he was still strapped to, but it was no good. He closed his eyes. "This - is gonna hurt."
He blacked out.
--
Waffles was on the comm, monitoring Mac's runup to the jump, when suddenly the transmission from Peaches was cut off with a burst of static so loud that he yanked the headset off in pain. His exclamation of pain and surprise coincided with the intense flash of Mac's wormhole re-entry. That they saw the flash at all meant that something was wrong, the entry was horribly out of position. It took but a moment for everyone in the command center to realize that the Vulture was tumbling out of control, on a direct course for the asteroid. Five pairs of eyes watched as Mac ejected; watched as the ship crashed into the 'roid; watched as Mac made a valiant effort to alter his trajectory and speed with the emergency thrusters, only to impact the 'roid himself.
For long moments, the room was silent, as they stood in stunned silence. Minutes crept by, until finally, a weak transmission crackled to life on the comm. The voice was instantly recognizable, and the message told them all they needed to know.
"Ow."
--
Mac swam back towards consciousness, aware of the pain in his bruised body. He was floating about a half meter off the surface of the asteroid, the crumpled remains of the pilot's chair just below him and to his left, the sparking remains of the Vulture just visible over the limb of the asteroid's horizon. He keyed his comm, "Ow."
Instantly, Waffles was on the line. "Mac? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Thank Eo for Newton's first law."
"What?"
"'An object in motion will tend to remain in motion'," Mac replied, "'unless acted upon by an outside force.' At the last moment I realized that, and I used the mass of the pilot chair to alter my velocity by pushing it away from me and towards the asteroid."
"So, basically, you jumped," Waffles said.
"That about sums it up," Mac replied. He worked his way across the surface of the asteroid, until the station came into view. "Any reaction from our friend?"
"Hang on. Paz? Situation change?" "Negative," came the reply. "None that we can see," Waffles relayed to Mac. "Can you make it to the station?"
Mac found a handhold among the ice, and gathered his legs underneath him. "I'll let you know in a few minutes." He pushed off, aiming for the station by dead reckoning. "I'm on my way, now."
Tense minutes later, Mac crossed the distance to the station. He grasped a handhold, and oriented himself. The reactor core would be that way. "On board, moving for the reactor," he reported. Slowly, hand over hand, he made his way along the outside of the station, startling those gathered near the viewports with his sudden pressure-suited appearance, until at last he found himself on the outside of the reactor.
The reactor was one of the oldest parts of the station, the rest of the structure having grown up around it over the decades it had been in service. As one of the oldest parts of the station, it had the oldest equipment. It was this fact that the plan hinged upon now. Unknown to the vast majority of the station residents, and almost overlooked on the schematics, was a manually operated service airlock. This particular airlock hadn't been used in at least 25 years, not since the station structure had grown to allow internal access to that particular area.
Mac worked the handle. "It's jammed." Mac braced himself, and wrenched it again. Gears, long disused, reluctantly went into motion, retracting the bolts that held the hatch closed. Mac leveraged it open, crawled inside, and shouldered it closed again, spinning the handle to latch the bolts in place. He turned the valves to begin pressurization, and was rewarded moments later with the sound of atmosphere hissing into the small chamber. He keyed his comm again, "I'm in."
"Good luck, Mac." It was Iry. Mac struggled out of the bulky pressure suit.
"Thanks." Mac worked the handle for the inner hatch, and winced at the grinding, screeching noise made by the retracting lock mechanism. Slowly, he forced the hatch open on protesting hinges. Any possible element of surprise was probably lost.
Not that it would have helped him, anyway.
"Why is it always air ducts?" Mac wondered aloud to himself. He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with a grimy sleeve. The air ducts in the holovids were never like this. Those air ducts were always roomy, clean, cool and moderately lit. Not like the cramped, dirty, stuffy and dark air duct he found himself in. Not to mention the noise. Every sound seemed amplified, from his breathing to the irregular "thump, thump, thump" of some piece of machinery that sounded like it needed adjustment. He sighed and struggled forward another few meters, and then worked his way around a corner before wiping the sweat from his face again. Just ahead was an outlet grate, and over the cacophony of machinery and moving air sounding through the duct, he thought he heard...sobbing?
He wiggled forward to the grate, and snuck a peek. It was the reactor observation room, and there was only one person in sight. He was on the floor in front of one of the consoles, curled into a ball, rocking himself and sobbing. Quietly, Mac disengaged the clips that held the grate in place, and slid out of the duct.
--
Iry broke his gaze from the wall clock, and looked over at Waffles. Waffles, for his part, was doing his best to look relaxed, leaning against the situation table and appearing to doze. Iry looked closer - he was sleeping. "Waffles."
"Hnnh? What?" Waffles woke with a start. "What's going on?"
"How can you fall asleep at a time like this?" Iry demanded. "Mac knows what he's doing," Waffles replied. "Besides, if anything goes wrong, I'm sure our 'friend' in the reactor will let us know real quick like." Waffles stretched. "How long has Mac been in there?"
"Twenty minutes," Arlina replied. "More than enough time to reach the observation room and disable Samsa." She glanced at the clock, and then looked to Iry. "Unless he got lost in the ducts."
Iry keyed the comm. "Paz."
"Yo," came the reply. "I mean, 'yes, sir'?"
"I want you to set up for Plan Beta. Shaped charges on the outer door, with a rapid set and detonate on the inner door." Iry stared at Waffles until the latter broke his gaze. "Full assault, no prisoners, on my mark only."
"Copy that. All right, you slugs! I need a demo team..." The comm cut out with a loud click.
Iry walked over and laid a hand on Waffles' shoulder. "Sorry," he said. "But we can't wait any longer."
"I know," Waffles replied without looking up. "I just wish we could give him a few minutes longer."
--
Paz moved quickly. Within five minutes, he had charges set, a secondary demo team in position, and his best shooters on the line. He keyed the comm to Iry. "We're ready."
"Thanks Paz. You are authorized to..."
"Wait! The door's opening! Shooters, stand by...HOLD FIRE! HOLD FIRE! Holy crap, it's Mac!" In the background came the sound of Mac's voice. "I need a medic! Get a medic over here!" The comm cut out.
"Iry!" It was Arlina. "Lockout has been released on all systems. The ventilation on the flooded decks has been set to purge into space." She looked up from her console, and broke into a smile. "We have station control again."
Iry stared, dumbfounded. "How..." he trailed off, and looked around the room. "Waffles? Where the hell..." Distantly, down the hall through the open door, came Waffles' voice.
"Make a HOLE! MOVE, people!"
--
Waffles pushed past the ring of troopers gathered outside the reactor observation room, and spotted Mac. "Mac!" Mac looked up from the stretcher carrying Samsa to acknowledge Waffles, and looked back down to speak a few words that were lost in the general noise of the area. He patted Samsa on the shoulder, before walking away and greeting Waffles. "Hey, buddy!"
"We were about ready to blow that door," Waffles said. "No prisoners."
"Yeah, that's what Paz told me. I guess it's a good thing that we came out when we did, isn't it?" Mac watched as the stretcher carrying Samsa moved off down the corridor.
"It sure is." Waffles clapped Mac on the back. "So, what did you say to him, anyway? What got him to back down and surrender?"
"Nothing that would make any sense to you." Mac nodded in the direction of the retreating stretcher. "Stuff that only someone like he or I could understand." Waffles nodded in silent understanding. "Besides, that's not the important part is it?"
"Probably not. You know, they're probably going to give you a medal for this."
Mac grimaced. "Tell 'em to keep it. I got what I needed, out there," he waved towards the bulkheads, "and in there." He pointed towards the reactor observation room. "What I need right now is a good night's sleep."
"We left your quarters just the way you left 'em. Except for the bottles. We cleaned those up."
"Thanks." Mac walked off down the corridor, receiving handshakes and backslaps from the assembled ITAN members, and disappeared around a corner.
--
Mac pressed his thumb into the biometric scanner, and was rewarded with the sound of the door unlocking and sliding open. He stepped into the room as the lights flickered on, and the door sealed behind him. Wearily, he stripped off his dirty flight suit, and entered the shower.
When he returned, the flight suit was gone, and on the table was a small tray with a bottle, some ice, and a glass. Next to the bottle was a note that read, "Hell of a job - Iry". Mac picked up the bottle and whistled in amazement - 40 year old Divinian whiskey. He poured himself a few ounces over the ice, and took the glass over to his bed.
There, on his bedside table, was the "Collected Writings of Eo". It had been a gift from his father, back when he had joined ITAN. Mac set the glass down, and picked up the book, idly flipping it open to a random page. He read the verse written there, laughed out loud, and set the book down. "Ain't that the truth." He picked up his glass, downed the last of the whiskey, and climbed into bed.
That night, for the first time in a long time, he slept a peaceful and dreamless sleep.
--
The pursuit of Hatred, and the prosecution of War, are descended from Ego, speaking with the loud voice of Pride. Pride is a wound of the Ego, and will lead you astray. Only by shutting out the Ego, listening to the whispers of your Soul, and its connections to the Divine, can one achieve True Guidance. - Eo, 2734
The End
He wiggled forward to the grate, and snuck a peek. It was the reactor observation room, and there was only one person in sight. He was on the floor in front of one of the consoles, curled into a ball, rocking himself and sobbing. Quietly, Mac disengaged the clips that held the grate in place, and slid out of the duct.
--
Iry broke his gaze from the wall clock, and looked over at Waffles. Waffles, for his part, was doing his best to look relaxed, leaning against the situation table and appearing to doze. Iry looked closer - he was sleeping. "Waffles."
"Hnnh? What?" Waffles woke with a start. "What's going on?"
"How can you fall asleep at a time like this?" Iry demanded. "Mac knows what he's doing," Waffles replied. "Besides, if anything goes wrong, I'm sure our 'friend' in the reactor will let us know real quick like." Waffles stretched. "How long has Mac been in there?"
"Twenty minutes," Arlina replied. "More than enough time to reach the observation room and disable Samsa." She glanced at the clock, and then looked to Iry. "Unless he got lost in the ducts."
Iry keyed the comm. "Paz."
"Yo," came the reply. "I mean, 'yes, sir'?"
"I want you to set up for Plan Beta. Shaped charges on the outer door, with a rapid set and detonate on the inner door." Iry stared at Waffles until the latter broke his gaze. "Full assault, no prisoners, on my mark only."
"Copy that. All right, you slugs! I need a demo team..." The comm cut out with a loud click.
Iry walked over and laid a hand on Waffles' shoulder. "Sorry," he said. "But we can't wait any longer."
"I know," Waffles replied without looking up. "I just wish we could give him a few minutes longer."
--
Paz moved quickly. Within five minutes, he had charges set, a secondary demo team in position, and his best shooters on the line. He keyed the comm to Iry. "We're ready."
"Thanks Paz. You are authorized to..."
"Wait! The door's opening! Shooters, stand by...HOLD FIRE! HOLD FIRE! Holy crap, it's Mac!" In the background came the sound of Mac's voice. "I need a medic! Get a medic over here!" The comm cut out.
"Iry!" It was Arlina. "Lockout has been released on all systems. The ventilation on the flooded decks has been set to purge into space." She looked up from her console, and broke into a smile. "We have station control again."
Iry stared, dumbfounded. "How..." he trailed off, and looked around the room. "Waffles? Where the hell..." Distantly, down the hall through the open door, came Waffles' voice.
"Make a HOLE! MOVE, people!"
--
Waffles pushed past the ring of troopers gathered outside the reactor observation room, and spotted Mac. "Mac!" Mac looked up from the stretcher carrying Samsa to acknowledge Waffles, and looked back down to speak a few words that were lost in the general noise of the area. He patted Samsa on the shoulder, before walking away and greeting Waffles. "Hey, buddy!"
"We were about ready to blow that door," Waffles said. "No prisoners."
"Yeah, that's what Paz told me. I guess it's a good thing that we came out when we did, isn't it?" Mac watched as the stretcher carrying Samsa moved off down the corridor.
"It sure is." Waffles clapped Mac on the back. "So, what did you say to him, anyway? What got him to back down and surrender?"
"Nothing that would make any sense to you." Mac nodded in the direction of the retreating stretcher. "Stuff that only someone like he or I could understand." Waffles nodded in silent understanding. "Besides, that's not the important part is it?"
"Probably not. You know, they're probably going to give you a medal for this."
Mac grimaced. "Tell 'em to keep it. I got what I needed, out there," he waved towards the bulkheads, "and in there." He pointed towards the reactor observation room. "What I need right now is a good night's sleep."
"We left your quarters just the way you left 'em. Except for the bottles. We cleaned those up."
"Thanks." Mac walked off down the corridor, receiving handshakes and backslaps from the assembled ITAN members, and disappeared around a corner.
--
Mac pressed his thumb into the biometric scanner, and was rewarded with the sound of the door unlocking and sliding open. He stepped into the room as the lights flickered on, and the door sealed behind him. Wearily, he stripped off his dirty flight suit, and entered the shower.
When he returned, the flight suit was gone, and on the table was a small tray with a bottle, some ice, and a glass. Next to the bottle was a note that read, "Hell of a job - Iry". Mac picked up the bottle and whistled in amazement - 40 year old Divinian whiskey. He poured himself a few ounces over the ice, and took the glass over to his bed.
There, on his bedside table, was the "Collected Writings of Eo". It had been a gift from his father, back when he had joined ITAN. Mac set the glass down, and picked up the book, idly flipping it open to a random page. He read the verse written there, laughed out loud, and set the book down. "Ain't that the truth." He picked up his glass, downed the last of the whiskey, and climbed into bed.
That night, for the first time in a long time, he slept a peaceful and dreamless sleep.
--
The pursuit of Hatred, and the prosecution of War, are descended from Ego, speaking with the loud voice of Pride. Pride is a wound of the Ego, and will lead you astray. Only by shutting out the Ego, listening to the whispers of your Soul, and its connections to the Divine, can one achieve True Guidance. - Eo, 2734
The End
Comments and feedback appreciated.
I enjoyed the whole story.. excellent all. :)
Neato indeed.
Although I would have assumed that such a feat at least warranted a bottle of 18 year olde Helio Mists ;)
Thanks for sharing ITAN
Although I would have assumed that such a feat at least warranted a bottle of 18 year olde Helio Mists ;)
Thanks for sharing ITAN
Aye, very nice. :)
And come on Whytee, ye can do better than that... There are still a few bottles of 24 left ;)
And come on Whytee, ye can do better than that... There are still a few bottles of 24 left ;)
I greatly enjoyed working on this project with Mac. I hope ya'll enjoyed it as well, and by the looks of it, ya'll did.
The 24 years olde Mists limited edition is not sold publicly. Only a few bottles have been auctioned off and they went to Ecka for a cool mill a pop.
So, will you share more from the ITAN vaults of RP?
So, will you share more from the ITAN vaults of RP?
It's a distinct possibility.
A few things to clarify about the story, as was posted on the [ITAN] forum: It was the quote from Eo that finishes the story that the the Abbot of the Order of Eo was referring to when he told Mac, "You must lose your Self to find your answer." This is also the quote that Mac randomly flipped to when he picked up the book. The Ego is one's identity of Self. In a sense, Mac was right when he interpreted the Abbot's advice as, "Get lost", although he took it a bit literally.
If you read carefully through the story, you'll find that the self-destructive actions of our two protagonists, Mac and Samsa, were both directed by Ego and Pride. Samsa became so wrapped up in his Pride, in the "wounds" he received as a child (special note to all you school-age bullies out there), that the totality of his existence was based on revenge and hatred. Once those were discharged, once the "One" left him, he had nothing left to be himself with. Mac was a bit of a different case, with a bit of PTSD coupled with his long-standing feelings of being a failure in the eyes of his father, but it still distills down to Ego driven by Pride.
As for what Mac said to Samsa in the unseen scene inside the observation room, I'll point you to a conclusion that Slime (in the story) came to: "...who better to talk someone back from the brink than someone who's just made an all-expenses-paid round-trip...".
Finally, that quote from Eo at the end of the story is in the official VO backstory (go look for yourself), although I took some liberties with transforming it into something that sounded lofty.
A few things to clarify about the story, as was posted on the [ITAN] forum: It was the quote from Eo that finishes the story that the the Abbot of the Order of Eo was referring to when he told Mac, "You must lose your Self to find your answer." This is also the quote that Mac randomly flipped to when he picked up the book. The Ego is one's identity of Self. In a sense, Mac was right when he interpreted the Abbot's advice as, "Get lost", although he took it a bit literally.
If you read carefully through the story, you'll find that the self-destructive actions of our two protagonists, Mac and Samsa, were both directed by Ego and Pride. Samsa became so wrapped up in his Pride, in the "wounds" he received as a child (special note to all you school-age bullies out there), that the totality of his existence was based on revenge and hatred. Once those were discharged, once the "One" left him, he had nothing left to be himself with. Mac was a bit of a different case, with a bit of PTSD coupled with his long-standing feelings of being a failure in the eyes of his father, but it still distills down to Ego driven by Pride.
As for what Mac said to Samsa in the unseen scene inside the observation room, I'll point you to a conclusion that Slime (in the story) came to: "...who better to talk someone back from the brink than someone who's just made an all-expenses-paid round-trip...".
Finally, that quote from Eo at the end of the story is in the official VO backstory (go look for yourself), although I took some liberties with transforming it into something that sounded lofty.
Whytee, I had a look, and either everything is unfinished or umm, well in some cases unpolished. <_< >_>
But I did find this, I had for gotten about it: http://www.vendetta-online.com/x/msgboard/7/21447#265522
But I did find this, I had for gotten about it: http://www.vendetta-online.com/x/msgboard/7/21447#265522