onepassingnight | A shadow of what once was

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A shadow of what once was

It's the middle of night, and it's dark. There's a chill in the air. Stars, moonlight, articifial lighting, all of it seems to be conspicuously absent.

So where is that patch of even deeper darkness coming from, like a shadow of a shadow? It slips through the air, sensed more by its motion than by sight, creeping closer...

(ooc: for pun theme, a member of shadow galactica as a literal shadow! also, trying out potential for a waking dream; feel free for characters to think they've woken up to find the shadow in their room/wherever they're sleeping - set any scene desired.)

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[He aims at a shadow that moved.

His radar wasn't registering anything. His spectral sight was not working. He knew something was off. And yet he couldn't tell what. He has been in this nightmare before.

An enemy faster than him. Stronger than him. That grew more terrifying with every passing moment.

He remains as a machine as he searches for the shadow. Driving his fear into a will to kill his enemy.]

[Shadows are incorporeal. There's nothing for John to aim at that has substance to be hit.

The shadow finds that it almost prefers this. It pauses, and John may even the chance to aim before it darts to a different corner. It's toying with him.

And it looks just like the silhouette of some hulking, misshapen beast.]

[His crosshairs bolt against the spot -- firing, but the bullets miss.

He turns again, his entire body wrapped around his weapon in a position to aim. The enemy looks too familiar.

He can't show his back. He doesn't walk backwards as he seeks the beast. He has to kill it before it does more damage. He tries running after it.]

[She can do this forever. The shadow darts from one side, one wall, to another, always seemingly just out of reach.

Then it vanishes, and reappears to wait just behind John. Faintly, at the edge of hearing, there's a sound like mocking laughter.]

[His body enters Spartan time. The enemy still moves too fast for him to reach. He needs a chance to hit it--

He bolts to try to dig his knife into the shadow.]

[The shadow writhes as though hit-

but it's a shadow. A second later, it peels itself away from the wall (which now simply sports a hole from the knife), and floats up to the ceiling.

Come on, destroy the room.]

[His fists begin to shatter concrete to find his enemy. And he's still not reaching her.

He looks up -- and leaps to break the roof above him, and to shatter concrete.

His sight is failing. It's getting harder to see in the dark. The shadows are turning bigger.]

[There is definitely the sound of snickering laughter from among the shadows now. As they grow, they darken and deepen, and a pair of hands seems to reach straight for John's throat.]

[His hands dart towards the black hands as he lowers his head in an attempt to escape the lock. He tries kicking the beast -- but nothing impacts. It's not humanoid.

And even then, his arms strains with the contact against them. He turns on his flashlight.]

[The flashlight does nothing to dispel the shadow. On the contrary, it only defines its shape. - vaguely humanoid, but with uncanny long legs and grasping arms.

It lunges towards John. Everywhere it touches creates chills.]

[He feels cold even beneath the armor. The figure is now surrounding him. The figure is taller than the metallic figures he fought in another nightmare.

He brings his arms up between the monster's own to bring his elbows down on them -- and it still resists.

With no other choice, he attempts to strangle it. Before it gets him. Staring down at the best, and choosing to fight even now.]

[It's a grip that should be able to kill easily; but the shadow has no substance to break under that intolerable pressure. Instead, the armor itself starts to feel more and more cold, until it almost feels like it could freeze the skin.]

[His hands find nothing. His HUD begins to disappear.

It begins to feel as cold as what he felt when he returned to his prison in the aft of that ship.

He needed a program. Anything to counter-act the threat. He doesn't have an AI to run similar programs.

He's running out of air. He has to think of something. Someway to fight back...

John bolts awake. His HUD is still active. His suit registers too many heartbeats. He convinces himself to let go of his weapon as soon as he notices the had been readying for a battle that was not even there. He takes a deep breath inside of his armor to recognize his environment.

It was another dream.

He had gotten stronger, but not in enough matters. He remembers the Entropi. Even though the Master Chief had traveled a lot throughout these worlds... all he could do with magic was see it. Even if his world would not find a lot of it, it reminded him that thwere would have to be another way to win his war.

He had also been short of an AI for five years.]

Mnemosyne had been lounging alongside her river, the still of night offering a calm that she longed for. There was a soft tune she was humming as she reached forward with the intent of twirling her fingers in the waters below, when from some unknown source of brightness shone though -- accentuating her shadow. Light was a rare thing to behold in the days she saw, and so, tilting her head, she took a moment to admire the faded form she cast on the sands just off to the side.

The shadow seems to move, just a short distance, to the side. It might be a trick of the light, or the eyes, or an idle mind. It casts itself partly over the river, but Mnemosyne hadn't been bending over to see her reflection at that moment.

Mnemosyne tilted her head, wondering if she had just imagined it or not, and deciding to push it from her mind, continued her song. Her heart wasn't quite in it as it had been just a moment ago, as her mind began to wander now.

A chill suddenly seemed to run through her, as she withdrew slightly within herself. "I wonder where Lethe could be..."

The shadow could still be Mnemosyne's own, or at least its perfect double. Once or twice, it seemed to vanish completely as it perfectly fit her shape.

"Sister." The voice seemed to be coming from somewhere very nearby.

The sound grasped her attention immediately as she spun her head around, fully expecting to see Lethe standing a short distance away. It didn't sound as though it was very far. But when she could see no one, an odd feeling started to overtake her. "L... Lethe? Is that you?"

Why wouldn't she show herself?

A moment later, the shadow hovered in front of Mnemosyne as if it were Mnemosyne's own. Whatever had made it seem to speak, it didn't become any clearer than that. Instead, it seemed to wait almost expectantly.

[Sephiroth is standing outside, high up on top of the HQ building, overlooking Midgar. It's dark, and it's quiet. He came up here, where very few people in the world are allowed to venture, to think. The city glows at night, green light of Mako cutting through the gloom and smog.

Here in this high security area, he shouldn't be disturbed, except by authorized personnel. There should be nothing unexpected here. When he senses motion, then, glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, he's instantly on alert, turning toward it with s swift, smooth motion of his own. He doesn't draw his sword, yet, but he's ready to.]

[The shadows seem thicker in one spot, about the size of a person. The same shape, too - but nothing seems to be casting it. It's just a patch of inky darkness that doesn't seem connected to anything.

And it's moving. It darts from one spot to another, almost as though trying to provoke Sephiroth.]

[He continues to track the shadow with his gaze, monitoring it. He isn't easily provoked. He doesn't expend force unless it's necessary. Not before. Once or twice, he makes to move toward it--then it moves again.

His eyes gleam in the darkness, pupils narrowing. This is undeniably unusual, but he can't say what, precisely, it is.]

[It stays in front of him, always just out of reach except for those times the movement is caught just out of the corner of the eye, or it's somewhere it couldn't have possibly have moved to that fast.

And it doesn't seem to be affected by the light levels, as if it isn't a natural shadow at all.]

What are you?

[He asks quietly, even though he doesn't particularly expect a reply.

He doesn't take his sword out yet, but he has other means of defense. There's no enemy he can't face, as far as he's concerned. He waits. Why move toward the shadow when it moves so quickly, seemingly at will? Sometimes, in a battle, or possible battle, it's best to be patient.]

[It doesn't reply in words. The silence grows even more still, and menacing. The Shadow Galactica's targets are those amazing and exceptional people in their chosen fields and skills - like him.

The shadow approaches Sephiroth, and reaches its arms out straight towards his neck, as if to choke him. It would be very cold and chilled to the touch.]

[Sephiroth leaps back, as quick as a shadow himself. He draws his sword, though he knows it may well do him no good against this opponent. Weapons are not his only defense, however, and his sword glows with the energy he pushes through it.]

[There's an unearthly shriek, but instead of dissipating, the shadow only fades - and reshapes itself at the other side of the room, as though gathering its strength before its next assault.]

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A shadow of what once was

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shadow?? sis?? is that you????

we -are- the shadow galactica, after all.

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