Red Angel

[Iviera]

I posted this story on the old forums two years ago or more, and with everything that will be happening, I figured it was the right time to put it up again! I also gave it a spit-shine and cleaned up a few spots where the grammar wasn't so good. Enjoy!

Red Angel
Iviera’s Awakening

Part one

My name, or at least what I used to be called, was Anne Enders. That was during my life of slavery, before I had been awakened to the truth of our world. To think of it all… twenty six years of my life, wasted. So much time that could have been spent pursuing my ultimate goal, coming closer to discovering absolute truth! But I’m jumping ahead of myself now.

My life was fairly normal, as things go. My parents divorced when I was very young, and I wound up living with my mother in the Megacity. High school had it’s good and bad times, with boyfriends here and there, but nothing terribly serious. I had problems with depression for a while, and I was always exhausted from working odd jobs to help pay the rent. I had to be there for Mom – she was all I had in the world.

I guess I’ll never know how she convinced me to leave her and go to College after I graduated, or how she ever managed to save up enough to send me, but I went nonetheless. It turned out to be the best thing I had done in my life, even though it was strange at times. I set down my goals and went after them.

In my first year I’d already made a group of diverse friends. I couldn’t stand the popular clicks, so I made my own out of the quiet, smart students. That group is what originally got me into drugs.

We never did anything hard, and I made sure school always came first. The worst was when I tried LSD one night, and after that I decided to stay away from hallucinogens. Some people may enjoy that effect, but for me it was like a waking nightmare. No longer having control of my mind was terrifying! The colors bending and swirling, shadows creeping out of every corner… I loved the idea of expanding my mind, but that wasn’t what I was looking for.

I guess you might say things went downhill from there. I avoided immersing myself in drugs, worried that I’d lose my frame of mind, and concentrated on other, darker things. I told myself it was part of expanding my mind and experiencing everything in life I could, but in retrospect, maybe I was just frail from never having a father figure. Either way, I turned into your typical “bad girl”. I won’t go into details – I regret a lot of the things I did, and I’m not proud to remember them. By my fourth year of school it had gotten so bad that I was falling apart. I was on the verge of getting kicked out of school because of my grades, and every night was filthier than the last.

I went to counseling and got my private affairs in order, and then I did much better. I earned two degrees, in business practices and finances, with a minor in applied physics. I was sure I’d have a great career as a manager or even better in a major accounting firm. That’s what I thought, anyway.

A year later I was still unemployed. For whatever reason, I just couldn’t get hired. I finally broke down and answered an ad for a receptionist job. The employer was a paralegal in Downtown, and apparently was well-respected. He was nothing like I expected.

His name was John Doe, and he was the most unpleasant human being I’ve ever met. I remember the interview exactly, and how horribly uncomfortable it was.

I dressed well, hair braided with a white blouse, knee skirt, and dressy clogs. There wasn’t anyone at the outside office, so I went to the door with his name and knocked.

“Come,” was the stern reply. Opening it to admit myself, I stopped, blood running cold. He was something unsettling to look at; muscles visible even beneath the starched vest and tie. His hair was an inordinate shade of deep red that couldn’t be natural, and a fiery cross was tattooed down the whole of his face. Perhaps the most disturbing part of the image was his eyes, a glinting yellow that were drawn down on a paper he was signing. I don’t know what I was thinking exactly; I was either awed or shocked. I didn’t like him at all.

“Put your resume on my desk and wait,” he commanded, taking another form. His voice was flat and cold. He might as well have been talking to a dog. I’d never considered myself a weak-willed person, put I was compelled to do what he said, placing the paper in front of him and then standing in the middle of the office.

He took a cursory look over my life’s work without a word, and then lifted his face to meet my eyes. “I see you have excellent typing skills. Do you often make mistakes?”

“Yes, but not many,” I replied, trying to be as honest as possible.

He pushed back from the desk, rising to his feet. “I do not use computers here, so everything must be done by hand or typewriter. Is that a problem?”

I hesitated, as it struck me as peculiar. Even for those few seconds I could see his brow tightening. “Uh… no,” I finally managed to say.

He walked around the desk, coming to stand in front of me. Still without words, expression flat, he put a hand under my chin and lifted my face slightly. He was starting to frighten me, eyes probing down, then finally pulled away and started a slow circle around me.

“You are overqualified for this job. Why do you want to work here?”

I stared at his empty chair and answered to the air in front of me. “It’s been hard to find financial work, so I thought I’d put my organizational skills to use.” I could feel his eyes on me as he moved. It was like he was sizing up a cut of meat before buying.

“To work for me you must dress respectable. Stockings and heels, and a shirt that is less transparent. And your hair should be professional – you look like a school girl.” He finished circling and stopped in front of me once more. “But you meet the requirements if you can start Monday.”

“Yes, sir,” I responded with a smile. It faded quickly as his expression remained rock-like.

“8-o-clock sharp,” he droned, returning to his chair, “and you may call me ‘Mister Doe’.”

That is how I first started working for him. Four months passed, and his countenance never changed. He left me to my work for the most part, reprimanding me on occasion for my attire or a grammar error, but the pay was as good as I needed, so I stuck with the job. After that long, however, I started to feel stale, like I would be trapped there my whole life. As it turns out, things were about to change for the better.

One evening in September, I got a message from one, “Iradel”. I didn’t recognize the name, but it was the only email I’d gotten the entire week. I checked it.

“Iviera,” it read, “Mobilus told me about you. Give me a call sometime. He said you might be perfect for our little group. Take your time and think about it. He said you were the best scratcher he’d ever met.” It was followed by a cell phone number.

I pondered it for a bit. A lot had been said in those few words, but it would have been lost on anyone but me. ‘Iviera’ was the handle I used in High School, the name of a red-haired angel from my favorite fantasy novel. Mobilus was a college boyfriend named Christopher Drake who had moved out of state suddenly. And he was also the first person I had tried drugs with. I had been heart-broken when he left, and never managed to contact him again despite many attempts.

‘Scratcher’ was a phrase he had coined. The exact meaning was hard to explain, but he used it to describe all of his closest friends. I still remember the first time he had brought it up.

“Oh, so why I call you guys ‘scratcher’?” He had been fairly stoned at the time. “You see, we’ve all got this itch, right? It’s way back in our minds where it’s hard to reach. We all keep saying to each other, “Don’t bother, it’ll go away. Now get back to flipping that burger!” so we just ignore it. But some people – like you and me – can’t stand the itch anymore. We want to know what’s causing it, so we scratch.”

It was a bit off-the-wall, but the fact that Iradel had used the term in his message was proof enough to me that he was legitimate. No one would know what that word meant unless they were a close friend of Christopher’s. I called the number the next day.

[Iviera]

Part two

Iradel, it turned out, was a 30-year old advertising executive named Paul. “I’m glad you decided to join us!” He said over the phone. “Mo spoke very highly of you. Take the subway to Gracy Heights and I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow.”

I headed down that way after work and found him waiting by the stairs to the surface. He was tall and clean-cut, with just a little bit of stubble forming on his cheeks. He held his jacket over one arm, and the top button of his shirt was undone, tie hanging around his shoulders like a scarf. He gave me a warm smile as he saw me walk up and I liked him immediately.

“You look much more mature than your picture,” he said after introducing himself. “A regular businesswoman!”

“Receptionist,” I corrected, feeling a familiar pang of guilt and inadequacy. It would have saddened me if I wasn’t so excited about this new venture in my life.

We took the bus a half-dozen blocks while he told me about the group. “Yeah, Mo’s the one that got us all together. Real mysterious guy, you know. Works some government job that keeps him out of town for most of the year. There are three others besides me and you. Mo would be a fourth, but I can never promise he’ll be there. I think you’ll like meeting them. We’re all scratchers, just like you.”

We walked from our stop to a run-down out-of-business hotel. The long-dead neon sign outside proclaimed it the ‘Continental Royale’, which was wonderful in its irony. I had never seen such a pathetic shell of a building.

After climbing the stairs to the third of seven floors, I was disappointed to discover that Christopher wasn’t there. Paul was right though, the other three were fantastic! Neal was the oldest, an army vet in his forties. Kathene was a 23-year old actress I remembered from a Phantom of the Opera presentation, and there was Allen, who had just started college.

None of them were junkies, but it was clear we were all here for the same purpose. Neal had connections that allowed him to procure a variety of substances, and once every few weeks he would call the group, tell them to get together, and they would indulge. I was glad to join them – it made me feel like a kid again.

Things were much better of the next three months. Paul and I talked often outside the group, and started going out to a downtown diner once per week. In time I realized how much I really liked him. I resisted the idea at first because I wasn’t sure what things might be like when Christopher finally showed up. I finally gave in when Paul surprised me with a picnic in Central Park, and the two of us started dating officially.

We saw each other every day for the next few months. Not only was the group fine with it, they actually encouraged us to do things in front of them! We were both shy at first, so we did little more than kiss while they were watching, but once or twice, as the sun was going down outside and a tingling haze floated through the room, we went much farther.

It was after one of these encounters, sometime around midnight, I awoke wearing nothing but my skin, covered by Paul’s jacket. The others had already left and Paul was still sleeping, but I could feel that something was wrong. Seeing the door to the next room ajar, I wrapped the jacket around myself and quietly padded over.

The moon streamed in through a cracked window pane, falling on a tall, thin male figure. I caught the distinct odor of burning cloves from the cigarette in his hand, and knew immediately who it was.

Christopher was wearing a long flowing black coat that was buttoned tightly around his waist and flared out as it brushed against the ground, making him seem taller and more intimidating that I remembered. I was so excited to see him; I let the coat drop to the floor and ran over, grabbing him in an embrace.

“I’m glad Paul found you,” he spoke, voice dispassionate and jaded compared to when I knew him in school. It occurred to me then that he must have changed over the years, but I could tell he had missed me.

I was suddenly struck by the situation. I started falling over myself, apologizing for me and Paul, trying to explain that I was waiting for him, but that I couldn’t help myself, and in response he started laughing. It wasn’t bitter, like I might have expected, but mirthful, like I had told him a great joke.

“First of all,” he said to my bemused look, “He got there before me, so you don’t have anything to apologize for. Secondly, I’m seeing someone too! And she’d be awfully upset if I hooked up with my college sweetie. Third… could you put some clothes on, Annie? You’re considerably nude, you know.”

After turning several shades of red, I made my way to the other room and re-robed. Paul was still asleep, so I decided to let him rest, and closed the door quietly when I went back. Christopher was standing near the window, tight-lipped and watching the street. He looked anxious.

“What, are you afraid your girl is going to find you here?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, I couldn’t hide from her if I tried,” he replied with a warm smile, “She’s always nearby.” The frown returned then, and he shifted to watch a passerby. “But things have been heating up for me. I don’t have much time to talk, and I need to make you aware of some things.”

“Such as?” I stood with my back to the wall, the half-curtained glimmer of the window between us.

“I’ve figured out what causes the itch, that perpetual tingle we all feel in the back of our mind. I can show you too, but you’ll need to trust me and wait until the time is right. That’s why I’ve got this group. I’m going to wake you all up and show you what the itch really is, if you’re willing to let me.

“Next is that man you’re working for. He’s not aware of it yet, but he’s a pawn of the enemy. And while you’re there, the enemy’s eye is watching you too. I don’t want you to quit your job – lest it raise suspicions. Just know you’re exposed there.”

Not a lot of what he said made sense, but he told me he hadn’t the time to say more, and was gone after that. The last thing he said, before closing the door behind him, was that as long as I was a member of this group, I would be safe. I believed him.

He made random appearances over the next few months, visiting the group as a whole. He never indulged with us, save for a little here and there, and I noticed that everyone called him Mobilus or just Mo. When I questioned him in private, he said that Christopher was the name of a slave, while Mobilus was a free man. I didn’t pry farther.

[Iviera]

Part three

It was about that time, when everything seemed at its best, that it all went horribly wrong. It started on a dreary, storm-laden day while I was working. Things had been quiet until the intercom chirped to life

“Miss Enders, a representative of the Kalt Corporation will be coming in. Let him through.”

I didn’t even have the chance to respond before the door opened and in walked a very professional-looking man in a black suit. He was wearing black sunglasses and the spiraling cord of an ear piece protruded from the side of his head. Honestly, he struck me as FBI or CIA, not a businessman.

“I’m here to see Mister Doe,” he said, upon reaching my desk, in a voice that reminded me a great deal of my employer. When I asked him if he was with Kalt, he flatly answered “Yes.” I sent him in.

This is one time when I let my curiosity get the best of me. I had the feeling that this had something to do with Mobilus’s ‘enemy’ and the warning he had given me. Against my better judgment, I grabbed the empty water sprinkler beside my desk and went to the fern beside Doe’s office door. When I was sure neither was about to come out I pressed the side of my head against it and listened.

Most of it seemed like jargon to me, but I picked up on what I thought were the important points. This man was called Agent Brown. He wanted my boss to help him find something that had been developed by one of their engineers called “Open Eyes”, which had recently been stolen by a rival company. Apparently, ‘Mister Doe’ had a network of contacts that might be able to track it down in the far corners of the city. Considering the clients he worked with, this didn’t seem impossible. Agent Brown then said something that stunned me.

“Our current trail leads us to a Christopher Drake. He has recently been seen in the Westview district, and if encountered, you are to contact us. He is too dangerous for you to approach.”

The conversation ended there, and I had to fight to keep my composure as Brown exited and walked past me. It gave me chills. He ignored me and exited the building, and only then did I realize I was still pretending to water the plant.

Remembering what Mobilus had told me, about being watched by the enemy, I waited until I was on the subway to call Paul. I must have sounded frantic, because he kept trying to calm me down.

“No… Mo said he was going to be overseas this week… yes, we’re getting together tonight with the group, but… what do you mean, ‘FBI’? I thought you said he was with Kalt? Honey, why don’t you come meet me early at the station? I’m already there. I promise everything is going to be fine. I love you, sweetie.”

Sure enough, he was already waiting for me there. By the time we had gotten to the Royale, he had completely calmed me down. I’d ask Mobilus about it when I saw him, but until then I knew I would be safe. Neal was there early too, and it turns out he had something special for us.

“Go ahead, take one,” he said, holding out a pair of gold capsules. “I couldn’t wait, so I took one for a test-drive, and they’re amazing! Direct from that chick we met at Jacob’s Ladder, Raini.”

I felt funny not waiting for the others, but our policy on specials was that when they’re gone, they’re gone. Paul reached out, so I mimicked him. The effect built up gradually after I took it, like a tingling feeling all over my body. Then I could see and feel what I can only describe as golden specks of light, rising up from the floor, the chairs, my friends – everything! It was amazing!

My head swam… my thoughts rolled like oil out of a broken bottle… and I twitched. It was only for a half-second, and all my good sense told me it was a hallucination. I know what I saw then… The red, the goop… and I could feel the jack in my head. I awoke.

The room… I was back then, and everything throbbed in a sickening mix of gold and green. Neal was grinning, and Paul… he was crying.

“Some trip, huh?” Neal said, eyes bright and crazed. “Like nothing you’ve ever seen before. And watch… I’m going to show you more! He pointed to the floor, where a cockroach was scurrying. But it was moving as if in slow-motion… and backwards! Paul trembled. I gaped. And Neal… he just laughed like a madman.

It was hard to tell time while it was all happening… I imagine it was perhaps a half-hour, but time had lost all meaning, had become an abstract concept lost in the falsities of the world around us. The door melted away, replaced with glorious white sunlight. Then the ceiling – along with the rest of the building above us vanished, and rain drummed in from a clear sky. Neal laughed and ranted.

“You see through the lies now! We all do! This is what it means to be a scratcher… to break through the false!”

Then Mobilus arrived.

[Iviera]

Part four

He crashed down from above, landing on the balls of his feet and standing up to adjust his sunglasses as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him. He looked around the rapidly devolving room and sighed.

“We need to leave immediately. The enemy is tracking us here,” he informed us, calm concern lacing his voice.

Neal started laughing again, bitter and angry. “Leave? To where?! We might as well run from our own shadows for all the good it would do.”

“My friend,” Mobilus spoke in a quiet, comforting voice, “I’m sorry you had to see this before you were ready. I can get you out – free you… but you must come with me now!”

Before Neal could answer, the door to the stairs opened, revealing Kathene and Allen. She gaped at the room, speechless, while he stuttered for a few seconds, then finally got out, “What the hell?!”

Mobilus held up his hand for silence. “I don’t have time to explain! We need to… no, Kath!!” he clenched his teeth in agony, reaching inside his coat as Kathene’s form twisted and distorted with a silent scream.

Mobilus held the pistol at what used to be our friend. Standing in that place was the black-suited form I knew as Agent Brown. Allen, standing behind the intruder, slowly backed away, gone horribly pale.

“I advise you to leave, Mister Drake,” the Agent said, ignoring the weapon aimed at him, “We must contain this glitch before it spreads farther.”

“You’re not containing anything!” Mobilus yelled, and then started firing. But he missed again and again. Or rather, he should have hit, but Agent Brown somehow dodged every single bullet, moving so fast that his body blurred and left phantoms behind. But as this was happening, two more people dropped in from above, as Mobilus had done. They were also dressed in black, wearing sunglasses. Both were women.

Things got hazy. Mobilus kept yelling to get us out while he and the Agent exchanged blows. Neal laughed and the room shook. I felt hands around me, and I was falling. Everything went black. When I finally awoke, I was in an old apartment I didn’t recognize.

From the bed where I lay, I could see the two women that had entered the hotel. One was leaning against the door, wiping her eyes. The other was watching me while standing beside the window, mouth closed tightly. I could tell something terrible had happened.

“Iviera?” said the one watching me, “My name is Aerless, and this is Meryl. We are… were… friends of Mobilus. Let me help you up.”

She continued once I was seated at the table with her. “He… didn’t make it out. The Agent killed him.”

I could feel my lips trembling. I didn’t want to ask the next question. “And the others? Kathene? Neal? …Paul? Are they dead too?

She sighed, lowering her head. “We don’t know. The building disappeared with them inside… They may yet be alive, but they won’t remember what happened today, and in all likelihood they wouldn’t remember each other either. I… I’m sorry.”

I wiped the forming tears out of my eyes, feeling the gravity of the situation descend on me. Paul was dead. Or worse, he was alive and didn’t remember who I was or what we had shared. I wanted to let loose, cry until I had no more tears but my stomach was cramping into a ball of ice. My despair was replaced with anger.

“It’s all that… Agent’s fault!! I swear… I’m going to make him pay for this.” Even as I said the words I was surprised by how cold and certain they sounded.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” she responded, “because it will make what I’m about to ask much easier. I know you’re strong, and Mobilus, if he were with us, would want this. We can help you pull that itch out of your mind. We can show you the edge of the precipice. And the only things I can promise you are that you’re not going to like the truth, but you’ll have the chance to get back at him.”

She slid her hands forward on the table, opening her palms to reveal the red and blue capsules. “Take the red pill and scratch that itch one last time, or take the blue pill and wake up safe in your bed, turning all of this into a bad dream. The choice is yours.”

It was clear to me then, more than anything in my life had ever been. I took the red. And I’ve never regretted it.

[QuiDormit]

I'm glad you shared that. I imagine it feels really good to get that out there.

I think you've inspired me to tell my tale as well.

Thanks, Ivy.