Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Meeting ❯ Meeting ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Farfarello, Crawford or Esszet, but Surrey and the woman are allllllllll mine, woohoo!!!

 

A/N: Here's something I tossed off this evening for an RPG application… yes, I have no life and I've never played one online before, so what the hell. To those of you who are reading TSC, chapter 14 will be up soon. In the meantime, here's a delightful little flight of fancy.

 

 

Meeting

 

 

"So he's an attack dog," said the new female scientist, peering through the bars at him.

 

"Essentially. We've improved his speed, his hearing and sense of smell--couldn't do much with the eyesight, because he's only got the one and the structure is...odd." Surrey, his usual keeper, was trying to sound casual, but couldn't hide the tremors of excitement in his voice.

 

"And 241Z will follow your commands?"

 

"Absolutely. It's just a matter of showing him who has the upper hand in any given situation. He's more animal than man, really."

 

241Z laughed silently, knocking his head against the wall again and again. He didn't hit it hard enough to jar anything, just enough to keep him present, so he could hear what the scientists were saying to each other.

 

"Hm," said the new scientist, whom 241Z was beginning to think might not be a scientist at all. And there was someone watching from the darkness of the hallway. Interesting...

 

He couldn't remember the last time he had seen someone who was not a scientist. And Surrey was deferential to this new woman--a higher-up? This changed the rules of the game a little.

 

"Show me what he can do," said the woman.

 

"Yes, of course," said Surrey, pushing him against the wall with his telekinesis and entering the cell. "You behave yourself, you little shit," Surrey whispered feverishly as he undid the straitjacket, "and maybe I will only give you an hour on The Table today." The Table was Surrey's favorite 'punishment' for 241Z, though usually he hadn't done anything to earn it. It was designed to deliver shocks to different parts of the body, and was capable of simulating a lightning strike. 241Z didn't mind the feeling, but he did mind the way he sometimes couldn't control his muscles or his bodily functions for hours afterward. He minded it a lot less than he'd made out to Surrey, though.

 

He saw a reflective flash from the person in the hallway--glasses? As the straitjacket was pulled off of him he decided that he wanted to see this stranger in the hallway. 241Z made his decision.

 

Surrey was a weak telekinetic. Not the weakest, but not strong enough to hold 241Z. It was like being held down by a bunch of old rubber bands, easily broken. He'd long since tested his strength against it, without the scientist noticing. None so blind, he thought, grinning.

 

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face and--"

 

Surrey never finished the sentence, because 241Z had his mouth between his teeth, grinding, chewing, tearing. He felt the telekinesis beating against him like an infirm old man--if Surrey had been able to focus, he might have found the strength to save himself, but 241Z knew the pain and fear was tearing his mind apart. He tore away from Surrey, taking the man's lips with him as he went, and spat them on the ground. Then he bashed Surrey's head against the wall hard enough to crack open the skull, and ran for the door.

 

The woman had pushed the button that automatically slid the cell door shut, but 241Z was out of the cell long before it would have left too small a gap for him. The woman only had time to yell out, "Crawford!" before he broke her neck. He wondered what her Talent had been. Obviously nothing powerful enough to save her.

 

Behind him, he heard the person--a man, from the smell of him and the sound of his gait--step into the room from the hallway.

 

241Z knew two things instantly as soon as he turned to face this man--Crawford, he was guessing--in the white suit and glasses. The man was extremely powerful, physically, mentally and Talent-wise, and the man was not afraid of him. The man was also not surprised--a precognitive? 241Z had never met one before.

 

"What kind of prophet are you?" he asked, his voice harsh with disuse.

 

The man smirked. "An oracle. My name is Brad Crawford."

 

"A pagan prophet," 241Z said, grinning. "Good."

 

"What kind of demon are you?" Crawford asked, folding his arms.

 

This got better by the second. "A ghost demon.”

 

Crawford tilted his head, as if expecting him to expand on that.

 

"Like the demon in Dante," 241Z continued, treading carefully.

 

Crawford grinned. "Evil ghost."

 

"Yes, Farfarello."

 

"I had to look it up. It's been years since I read the Inferno."

 

Honesty. How refreshing. "My name is--"

 

"Your name," Crawford cut him off, "is the name you chose. Farfarello."

 

"What are you here for?" Drying flakes of Surrey's blood crumbled to the floor as he spoke.

 

"What else? I came to get you." Farfarello admired his confidence, but didn't like his arrogance. He seemed to assume that the future he saw was the future that would be. Farfarello knew a few things about unpredictability and possibility, enough to know that the best a precog could do was make an informed guess.

 

"Why would I go with you?"

 

Crawford gestured around him. "How far have you gotten in your quest for God's destruction in here?"

 

This man had apparently been studying him a while. It was true; he was finding it frustrating to only be able to wage a war of the spirit. It would be nice to bring a more corporeal element to his journey. "What do you get out of it? An attack dog?"

 

"I get the third member of my field team."

 

Field team? Freedom? "I won't be your pet," he said, suspicious.

 

"I'm aware of that. You'll be useful to me as you are, a dangerously intelligent and unstable berserker." Crawford pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I need the members of my team to be difficult for other precogs to predict."

 

Farfarello mulled that over. The implications, he realized quickly, were staggering. If Crawford didn't want precogs predicting his moves through his team members, that meant... "We'll be fighting Esszet?

 

"Not at first, not directly, but yes, we will be. I won't divulge any more than that to you until you are officially on my team."

 

"I could give you up to the Elders," Farfarello said.

 

"You could."

 

"You'll have trouble predicting me also."

 

"Believe me," Crawford sighed, "I'm well aware of the headaches I'm letting myself in for. My telepath is the embodiment of chaos."

 

"Really." Farfarello was definitely intrigued now.

 

"If you cooperate to a reasonable degree, I think you'll find the rewards of being in Schwarz will outweigh the pleasures of disobedience for its own sake."

 

Farfarello realized that he was being spoken to like a human, like an equal, being given a choice--or at least the illusion of one. It counted for a lot, in his little concrete world. "I'll go with you," he said. Even if the precog was lying about everything, it would be more interesting than sitting with the cooling corpses until a new keeper was sent to him.

 

Crawford's glasses gleamed. "Excellent."