The following is a bit of alternative fiction based on certain characters from the Xenaverse. It is not meant to infringe on anyone else's rights.
It was the heart that was missing.
These grunts who surrounded me didn't care what I knew or didn't know. They didn't care that I was a split personality or that I could slice and dice them with a flick of my wrist. Their eyes were fire and their snarls were fierce, but it was an illusion.
I knew it was.
They were phantoms and I was in the middle of an almost real. All the venom I felt pulse through me, in that split second of adrenaline, leached into the ground where Gaia was not. Did they notice that my hand dropped, that I uncrouched?
Well their faces registered surprise, but whether that was just the miracle of programming or something other, I didn't know. How many hours had we poured over the details? I could spot a few costuming references, the masking of the faces with paint. My subconscious had obviously replayed scenes that Brigid knew, but Bernie only dreamed.
I could feel the weight of the hatchet in my hand and twirled it once more for effect, listening to the wind of the weapon.
Whoosh
Whoosh
Whoosh
For each dull sounding flip I took a breath and tried to gain perspective.
It was like trying to sift sand through my fingers.
I didn't have any.
The only thing I had was the sense of being myself off kilter.
The rest was...occupied by the abrupt attack on my person.
I let them have it, not out of vengeance or anger, but simply because there were so many of them and they were all illusions that I wanted to be rid of. I had to find a space to think.
I felt the ax peirce and pull away from flesh and watched dispassionately as blood poured out from one visions' shoulder. I felt the punch of an object behind me. A palm, but likely a mechanical one, rather than the flesh and blood I was "seeing." I ducked and twirled and grunted and growled and fell into the fighting like a lover too long parted.
I was even smiling by the time I was done, but I wasn't sure why.
It shames me to think that I enjoy the blood and gore so much. After all that guilt, I find that I like it? Or was it just that I was experiencing the child's revel? I was hero in a playground and the vanquished lay at my feet, cut open and dribbling.
I hefted the ax in my hand, looked at how bloodslicked my hand appeared and felt and then dropped the thing onto a gaping chest. It landed with a squishy thud, sharp end first. There was a groan of air releasing and a stench of bodies recently mauled.
I stepped away, feeling a little dizzy from it all. My body ached pleasantly. The sweat and gore covered my brow. The sweat and the aches were the aerobics. The gore was an illusion. I wanted to wash my hands anyway, wash my heart out.
I could hear the sounds of battle. The noise seemed distant, like a tape playing. I felt wind push around me, cooling me in the hard heat. Airconditioning. I tried to pick points of reference, to guess where the walls were shifting around me. I picked up the scent of water and followed. The grass rustled around me. I didn't try to hide my path. My "foes," were busy playing out their war program.
I found a stream, probably really just a wash tub, and rinsed off my upper body, my face. I was glad that my hair was short. I felt better as soon as the sweat was off.
I knelt and looked at the rippling reflection of myself and sighed.
Whatever illusions there might be here, I knew that the program could not change a "real," person. Not fundamentally. That was a safety feature, built into the program to protect the employees and officials of Amazon, Inc. Someone who was registered with the company could not "become," someone else in the program. They could wear costumes, but their faces, features would remain their own, unless modified by makeup..and makeup simply wasn't this good.
So, that brought on the question.
Why was I looking at Brigid?
I didn't have time to answer that question. I was jumped from behind and thrust to the ground. I felt the weight of a humanoid form on top of me, holding me prostrate. Strong hands gripped my wrists from above and I was getting a close up view of tufts of grass. A part of my mind marveled at how detailed this program was. I could trace the path of tiny red ants with my eyes. The other part of my mind was annoyed.
I grunted and bucked and tried to wriggle away. His voice slid through me, warm and fiery. "Much as I'm enjoying this..." there was a wicked, but very slight pause, "and I Am enjoying this," I felt a liquid flame burn through my veins. My body registered the recognition of the owner, the position, and my own instant arousal, but my head was slow in catching up. "You've got to lay still now." I writhed, still not quite understanding what I was percieving and I felt a pressure, pushing me down low into the ground. I could feel a piece of rock press against my breast and made a mental notation about too much realism.
Then there were several ftt ftt sounds, followed by almost inaudible thumps. I lifted turned my head a little, still pinned, and stared at the arrows, the stems of which still wobbled. The grass whithered and ants stopped moving where they hit. "Oh boy." I said.
That wasn't in the program.
I moved, this time to turn around, not to escape, and breathed a sigh of relief. Now the the rock was pushing against my back, not my breast. I looked into dark, luscious eyes and lost myself to a kiss that consumed me.
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