-
-


"Protect Infinity With Your Life"



After losing all my mail in a desperate attempt to
save my computer realm from a belayed seige deadly 
virus's by reformatting with a slighty moldy boot disk, I am
somehow back. I have a boat load of late C&C to retype
and send out, so those few who may be expecting it from
me, hang on. Other than that, please remember that
stress is the number one non-violent killer of males 
ages 20 - 28, and must be treated with utmost caution.
Which is of course highly stressful.

This chapter came out sort of as an apology for the last;
I was highly disatisfied with how that conversation played
out without hinting much at the battle between
desperation and apathy. You have to give this text a little
of yourself to make it work right, which is a big part of why
it is written so loosely and non descriptive. I hope all the 
Screw's out there notice I said this.
www.geocities.com/aescension



"Dont take life too seriously!"
       -Paul Oakenfold









    7




The cow says: `moo.'
The pig says: `oink.'
The sheep says: 
`X + Y = the XXY loop.
 Y + Z = the YZ halo.
X + Z = the ZXZ ray band.
X + Y + Z = the magnetronic spectrum.'




-----------------





When 12:00 finally flashed at the bottom of every screen in Diago's house he 
came out of his garage, wiped the grease off his hands with a towel, and 
announced to me that he was going to bed. He said he didn't want to hear 
anymore whining about my messed up head. Something had told me he would 
be the one who wouldn't care. Diago refused to be in anyway associated with 
what Zig and I had planned for tonight, but demanded that it had better not 
involve him having to wake up with cops at the door. I couldn't blame the man. 
I thanked him for letting us stay at his place and put up with our problems, but 
he waved it off. `Look under your bed,' was all he replied.

Downstairs in the foyer, Zig was negotiating with two of his boys who had 
dropped by in a van. The conversation didn't look like it was going to escalate, 
so I left them alone and went into the living room where Karen was. She was 
laid out on an arm chair watching Conan O'Brien on the big-screen, and did not 
look up when I came in. I sort of sat down on the arm of the couch.
"We're leaving soon, so I gotta change."

She tapped a button on the remote and Conan laughed a little louder.


"Karen, I need the clothes you washed for me earlier. Where are they?"
Her head nodded toward the back hallway which lead to the guest room. I 
watched her for a second afterward before muttering thanks and turning away. It 
never gets any easier to tell a secret. I wanted to shake her by the shoulders and 
ask if she could possibly think that it was harder for her to bear than for it was 
for me. I have to live this god damn wet dream every day which makes me the 
last person who needs to hear about how bizarre it is. I was the one who had to 
accept its supposed benefits and pretend that I had planned on everything that 
had happened so far to appease my merciless ego. I didn't expect her to just 
accept my story and take it in stride like I had so many lifetimes before. But then 
even since before birth I always knew there was a little more to life then what 
the screens would have us believe.

I pushed open the door to the darkened room and crossed to the small half-bath. 
There was an itchy burning in my in my throat. I shut the door behind me and 
turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face. There I was in the mirror 
again. Younger, wider, and my jet black hair had thickened. Another week and a 
half and not even Zig would recognize me at a distance. 

While I had no memory of ever watching the process from rebirth and actually 
knowing what was happening, the changes in my body were very familiar. It 
was memory of the muscle rather than that of the conscious thought. I adapted to 
my surroundings not like a chameleon, but like a balloon, taking the shape of 
whatever forces were present. Age and shape were just reflections on the 
surface. The ability to be changed was the ability to survive and live again. 
Something only Rufius and I have ever been able to achieve. I was rewarded for 
it with every self conscious thought, and it tore me apart.

As I stared at my dilated eyes, raw bile rose in my throat and my stomach 
suddenly heaved in nausea. I coughed hard and for a solid half minute before I 
felt something pointy in my esophagus. Afraid, I grabbed my neck and tried to 
force it out before I choked. It was small and bitter, and when I finally gasped 
and spat it into my fist, I was not surprised to see a streak of blood. It was a little 
silicon chip that had been partially dissolved. Obviously the bug that used to be 
in my skull. Jules hadn't lied to me.

Incinerating it without a thought, I took a swig of Listerine which turned out to 
be a mistake. The alcohol burned like mad and I spewed it across the mirror. 
Better stick to cold water. After rinsing and brushing for the first time in two 
days, I left the bathroom and walked over to the double bed. There were my 
racing clothes, folded amateurishly over the head board. I took off the sport coat 
and slacks I had borrowed from Diago and tossed them down the shoot. My 
jeans were still warm when I put them on which was a nice change. Being 
careful of the fresh bandage on my neck, I donned the red and black jacket and 
dropped a .357 in the holster. Boots, gloves, crash helmet under my arm, and I 
was now ready.

The small cluttered guest room reminded me of what Diago had told me earlier, 
and I sat back down on the bed. Reaching under it with my right hand I felt 
around until I touched a smooth box. It turned out to be nicely gift-wrapped and 
about the size of a carburetor. Curiosity tugged at me and I began to tear off the 
paper.

A voice interrupted me. "So were you ever famous?"

I looked up quickly and saw Karen standing in the doorway with the light at her 
back. She had changed into slick black pants and a fairly tight sweater I 
immediately liked. But her long hair hung down past her shoulders and blocked 
the light from her face, so I couldn't see her expression. 

Putting down the box down I said, "Famous?"

"Yeah, famous. Did you ever come back as somebody famous?"

I scratched my stubble. "Once or twice I guess. A long time ago I was a 
philosopher who wrote under the name Malte. And a little later I was Carl Jung 
and then Jansenius. Though that last one didn't last long."

"Is that it?"

"Not really. I ran with the mob for almost twenty years back before the turn of 
the century. I started a gang in my own name. We weren't big back then but I 
don't think anyone has failed to take us seriously lately."

"My loser older brother is a gang boy. What was the name?"

"Das Uberdog, the `one animal.'"

She raised her eyebrows. "You were Das Uberdog? They're the biggest gang in 
the city. Every child able to read knows that."

"Thanks."

"I wasn't." She shrugged. "Why did they call you that?"

"I'm told that's what I appeared to be. Scraped down to an animal. It was 
actually chronic meta-schizophrenia but no doctor had ever made it far enough 
through an encounter with me to give the diagnosis. All my lives as men of the 
people, men of the mind; finally the pressure came to a head and I snapped. 
Insurrectional crime was my obvious choice. Through a phase of extremely 
violent protests against the Mandate, I gathered a group of loyal friends and took 
over the old stadium on the west side. We put up such a stand that a Special 
Forces department was created to handle us and a few other gangs. Still, a year 
later our numbers had grown to three digits and I was completely insane."

Her eyebrows turned upward and she looked mildly shocked. "What was it like? 
It's hard to believe you can remember something like that."

"Insanity gets a bad rap from a lot of people who have never experienced it. But 
I guess the best way to understand it is to imagine that you see everything as it 
truly is to the forces in your mind. People aren't people anymore; they become 
walking piles of matter that sometimes get in your way. Meanwhile your brain, 
attempting to rectify this situation that it has been told is fiercely unnatural, 
flounders like mad between what it thinks might be the best way to interpret 
things. You lose religion, ethics, and just about every other bright idea because 
they have nothing to do with what you see before you. How can shooting a gun, 
a mere feeling of exhilaration in the arms, at a person, another small bundle of 
stimulation for you, actually create another greater feeling? Live or die, it's not 
like there's anyone up there keeping score. Insanity is being forced to realize 
your body's nature for what it is. This is a hard thought to explain, but don't 
worry about it. It isn't important."

"Do you ever worry you're going to get that way again?"

"Not really. It wasn't that bad of a way to live."

"What finally happened?"

"A female friend of mine recommended a doctor who could supposedly work 
miracles with psycho-therapy. It sounded like it was worth a shot and with two 
of my best men I got through the Security Dam around the stadium and looked 
the guy up. But the doc turned out to be eight and a half feet tall and had sutured 
long metal slivers into his fingertips. As calm as I was trying to act, I didn't even 
wait for him to say a word before I started firing. But of course nothing 
happened and he slashed us all to death. I should have expected it, right. You 
know, in retrospect I don't think it's impossible that all Rufius wanted to do was 
talk, but you can't tell that to a man who's ego surpasses all communication."

"And Rufius is the guy you're going after right now." I could see her distaste. 

"What is it, revenge again?"

"No. Rufius reincarnates just like me. Even if I desperately wanted to kill him, 
he would just grow back somewhere else. Fighting is pointless. For a long time 
after I was Das we left each other alone and pursued our own goals. But as I said 
before, I started working for him about eight years ago and I can't remember 
why. That was the last time he ever caught me."

"But I thought you said he's been trying to kill you?"

"Well, not exactly. He wanted me brought to him in chains and when I refused I 
had to kill all his little minions. Strangely, that didn't set him off nearly as bad 
as my rebuttal. He needs me around to help with something, whatever it is, and 
he doesn't care how he gets me to cooperate."

"So he's just a terrorist! I don't see why you have to be the one in charge of 
controlling him!"

"How many times have I heard that before. It's not like there was an election, 
babe. And it's irrelevant because Rufius is not a terrorist. He just doesn't see the 
rest of the city as equals. To him it's pest control. He claims his mind is entirely 
consumed with thoughts and matters far too important to be hindered by the 
bureaucracy the rest of us made up. It may be wrong but he's proven it effective. 
I think Napoleon felt the same way."

"And you don't think they ultimately took pleasure in the game?"

"Just like in anything, capability grows on you. I wouldn't be surprised."

"What about that bomb that went off in Capitol Plaza two weeks ago? How do 
you know that wasn't him?"

I laughed a little before I thought better of it and said, "No, that was my gangsta 
buddy trying to stop Rufius himself. Or at least take out his offices in the city. 
No one handles tall buildings quite like Chris."

"Chris, your friend who you killed ."

I shrugged my shoulders a little and looked up at her face as she stood next to 
the bed. She didn't really look accusing but I could see this was serious to her. "I 
think if you had been there you might have seen it another way. Or at least given 
me self defense. It was him chasing me."

Karen shook her head. "I knew Chris too. Alethea and I hung out with him a lot 
back in the day. He was a little eccentric, but had also earned his place in life 
and did not deserve to die. Do you always take it to the line with your closest 
friends?"

"Depends on the friend. I've had more than a few who ended up turning it 
around on me. Hell, Diago is probably the only one I've known in the last 
twenty years who never sold me out for his own gain."

"And that's why you solve all your problems with violence; because you're 
afraid everyone is going to turn on you first. That's how you `gangsters' are 
taught to see everything."

"Hey, that's not fair," I said, but she wasn't listening to me. I thought I saw the 
glint of a tear on her eye but the lighting was still bad. When I tried to stand up 
she put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down.

"I don't want to hear it, Rick," she said. "I would think that you of all people 
who have had to experience death so many times would understand what a 
waste it is. You can see that the city doesn't have to operate like this! Murder 
only solves your problems because you men like it that way. I don't. Life is not 
a tool to be played with. I've tried to explain it to my brother too but he thinks 
he can justify his every perversion with the word `respect.' Fighting the law is 
just an excuse to shoot his guns."

"You'd better not think that about me! I haven't started anything! The only 
times I have ever killed have been while defending myself from all of them! I'm 
not a gang-boy or a mercenary anymore, Karen. I just want to make it back from 
Lanz Island alive, and after that the rest of the insurrectionists can kiss my ass."

"But then you're still following their precedent. I know you don't really think 
you're just a model innocent bystander, caught up in the plans of people you 
can't touch."

I had to answer that question carefully. "I admit that my past leaves me in the 
middle of it whether I like it or not. I know this. And because of that I've 
decided I owe you and the rest of the city my service in taking care of the few 
problems that only I can take care of. This means violence, yes, but not just for 
the sake of death." I reached out and touched her hand and this time she let me. 

"I want to admit something very deep and even a little foolish to you," I 
continued. "For a long time now I have thought that I was put in this city to 
become the greatest racer ever. Or just the greatest human being ever. It 
consumed my every waking minute. Then two days ago I found out that it was 
all a lie. My fondest memories of racing, the things I thought could describe me 
as a person, turned out to be forged. Every life I have ever lived hasn't meant 
anything because I was always caught up in trying to win the race, regardless of 
what that entailed. And as I continued to die before seeing it to the end, I never 
really accomplished or created anything beautiful. What was it all for?"

She turned her head.

"Even years after my first rebirth I knew that the party had to stop someday. I 
may have been given a better deal in life than others but absolutely no one gets a 
free ride. Rufius once told me about the `final death.' It's what he refers to as the 
death that no one in our little club can come back from. I'm not sure it has to 
work like that since I have died in quite a few ways. But if it's there then the city 
actually has a chance of surviving the two of us. I'm the only one qualified to 
try."

"What a hero you are." She said distastefully.

"Cut it out. This is all guesswork about the future anyway. For now I only want 
to rescue my girlfriend. I'm serious."

Karen sat down next to me on the bed and grabbed a white pillow. Squeezing it 
a little and not looking at my face she said, "I'm sure she never went into great 
detail about her past either."

"What have you got against Alie?"

"Oh, didn't Chris tell you?" she asked in sweet toned sarcasm. "She's one of 
them. Her whole family works for Rufius. If she says she loves you its because 
she's trying to nail you down."

"For gods sake!" I said, standing up. "Why is everyone turning on her all of a 
sudden? I was with her every day, weeks before she ended up with Rufius and I 
swear to god a more perfect soul has never been born in this city! Is it so hard to 
believe that maybe she cares more about me than her freak-show home life?"
"Rick, you don't know what you are talking about."

I rolled my eyes. I hate it when people try to tell me that. 

"Alie and I were in school together until her mother decided she would do more 
good at home building bombs or something. She once tried to strangle me when 
I said she had to go to someone about her coke habit. Christ, if she's the only 
reason you're going to the Island, stay here!"

I raised my hands with the palms facing up. "Who the hell am I supposed to 
believe? I've known you for all of twenty four hours and you're already telling 
me it's all my other friends who are out to get me?!"

"No, it's just her. Hell, your other friends are almost too loyal."

"The why does she want me to rescue her so bad?!"

"Probably so this Rufius can take another shot at you, or at least try to take you 
back. Don't you see? Is it so hard for you to believe that the daughter of two 
criminals is one herself? Why would Chris say that in confidence if it wasn't 
true?"

"Because he doesn't want me to go near Rufius either. He's afraid the blame 
will come down on him."

Karen stood up also, and stepped toward me. "In case you've forgotten, Chris 
wasn't afraid of anything. He really wasn't; not of Rufius or anyone else. He 
was trying to help you just like I am. He didn't want you to go and get yourself 
killed before you had a real chance of winning."

"How would you know this?"

"Chris and I go way back. I've known him ever since he started hanging around 
Alethea's mother. When we first met I developed a little thing for him-" she 
blushed, "I mean anyone could see he was so smart and dedicated. Wasn't 
pulled in by the lies at all. I know his character pretty well and if you're telling 
the truth, then he was too."

I shook my head not knowing what to say. "Then why did he try to kill me 
himself? I thought that me living was a priority?"

"Death must have seemed a lesser evil than failure. I don't really know anything 
about this Rufius so I can't say beyond that."

They always had an answer for everything. She had been right about me trying 
to justify myself, though. "Would you do it?" I asked. "Would you murder your 
brother if you thought he might end up hurting you worse?"

"I don't know that either. I'm glad I've never had to make that choice."

"Well Chris had, and he tried to go through with it. Friend or not, I had to stand 
up to him. I mean, I was even content to let it go on the observatory with a 
simple agreement not to interfere. The whole Turbine thing was his idea."

"How could he not interfere? He had more lives at stake than you did!" She 
frowned. "And now you're off to jump in the arms of the woman he died to 
warn you against. As if none of what happened in the last three days was even 
god damned important enough to make you question yourself. If you could only 
see what you look like from the outside, Rick. You are just like my brother. You 
never stop and think about what's most important." She turned away scowling. I 
could feel her disgust.

Christ, if she only knew. 

"Karen, wait. It doesn't have to end like this. Do you really want what's best for 
me?"

"Do you?" she replied.

"Of course I do."

"I do too."

"Then trust me in this one thing. I have been through too much with that girl to 
give up on her. I love her. I am going to save her."

It was plain that Karen was being sincere to me. She kept looking away from my 
eyes at the bulge in my jacket. "Will you at least think about what I said? I'm 
not the type to judge anyone for the way they see things. I just want you to know 
what else is going on around you. It would be a shame if the only guy in this city 
who could possibly stop Rufius lets himself be dragged under by pretty faces."

"I can handle myself," I said. "But I'm glad someone worried."

She smiled a little and looked back at the bed. I didn't know if what I said had 
hit home at all, but she had given me something to consider at least. Tiny 
suspicions I had previously squashed whined for my attention. You aren't free 
yet, friend. It was a thought I was still not fully ready to handle.

"Aren't you going to open your present?" she asked finally.

"It's not my birthday."

"Still, if it's for you then you should take a look."

"Alright." I reached for the box and pulled off the rest of the glossy paper. 
Cardboard parted easily and Karen and I looked inside. Not what I expected.
A metal hamster wheel, unused and shiny, with the price tag still attached. Four 
dollars. The tacky message wasn't lost on me even though I wouldn't take the 
advice. It meant Diago still recognized that on some old, possibly long-forgotten 
level, but perhaps not a factual one any longer, I knew as well as he which 
trophies I was pledging my life for.




---------------------





Night again. To a single minded civilian it might symbolize the natural element 
of crime. In reality it was just the natural element of a certain type of person. 
Those of us who don't need a crowd to feel secure, who don't need routine to 
feel in control. Personally I felt better than I had in a long time. Sure, my neck 
and hip ached where Chris' derringer had spoken his last words for him. But the 
brisk night air and the silent city refreshed me like nothing else could. My new 
Peygan Super-Sonic X-4 hummed idly as it's 3.9 liter engine coursed with 
electrolytes and raw energy. A new ardor had gripped me tonight and it did not 
take to limitations.

Many lifetimes ago I had looked across this view of the city with not-so-
different eyes. The setting and motivation had been something else completely 
but the scene appeared pretty much the same; those trillions of unrelenting stars 
blotted out by skyscrapers in some places and brilliant in others. I used to think 
emotion affected memory in strange ways until I found that through 
concentration I could find my original feeling whenever I looked at a familiar 
enough place. Emotion is memory; it is remembering how you felt before and 
after the last time something similar happened. When you press through all that 
and force your emotions to take a back seat to fact, you realize just how great 
and simple a machine your mind is.

A textbook will tell you that self-psycho analysis is detrimental because it 
breaks down the bias' that we need to perpetuate self-serving decision making. 
What this says to me is that the past is in fact depressing by nature, and that 
finding out too much about anything degrades your feeling for it. Especially 
when it is your own brain that you put to the scalpel, you wind up not liking 
what you find inside. That's just too cynical for me. By that reasoning love is 
something that only happens in moments, and we are all running around 
collecting them like Pac Man. No. I have had emotions that would not break 
down under scrutiny. They were few and strange to find, but on some level I 
know that in my past I have acted unselfishly. I was once a real man.
I threw my cigarette on the asphalt. 

Reincarnations had cost me many of my goals, and some of those had been the 
important ones, the ones you base your identity on. When you keep starting new 
positions in life with new futures ahead of you, and every time regardless of 
performance you have to die and start over again, the satisfaction of 
accomplishment loses much of its sweet taste.

But I am not disheartened. The loss of goals meant some degree of failure was 
lost as well. I don't have to fight and run away because I know for certain I will 
live to fight again. This has many ramifications which have affected everything I 
think and do. To some better degree I can take pleasure in anything pleasurable 
because context is meaningless for me. This is why I know I will eventually beat 
Rufius. His empiricism forces him to depend on things of the flesh where mine 
lets me simply take what and when I want. Our difference in scene is really 
caused by a difference in view, not the other way around like he thinks. 

It's just sad that we both seem to agree it can only be settled one way.

Zig came walking out of the 7-11 with a malt forty in each hand. His dark 
leather jacket was zipped tightly and his breath was visible in the frigid dry air. 

Winter was going to come down on our city like a ton of bricks, just like it did 
last year. It made me miss my old apartment's small fire place. He tossed me 
one of the bottles and drank from his while lighting a cigarette. 

"You're the one who should be drinking, not me," he said. "This stuff will kill 
me."

"The surgeon general's a communist."

He grinned. "They were all out of Phillies so I grabbed some Native Columbian 
papers, known to cause cancer in less than one out of five lab rats. There's also a 
pair of burritos in the bag and I got you three of those big NRG bars. I don't 
want em. That bran paste tastes like shit if you ask me."

"I didn't."

"Yeah, yeah." He showed me a laminated card from his pocket. "It's a phone 
card. I memorized the numbers so we can access Information anywhere for free 
even if the card gets stolen. Good thinking, huh?"

"I'm impressed."

He dug through the plastic bag a little more and said, "Shit, I picked up a map in 
there too. I don't know the Island that well."

"I think I still do," I said after a second.

"Good. Should we take the parkway or just fly down the Veteran Bridge? I 
mean, that would be faster and probably a lot more dangerous. But I've been 
meaning to try this sucka out on the feds anyway. What do you think?" He 
cocked the slide on his new Desert Eagle and tucked it back in his pants.

I took a large drink and put the bottle down on the street. With an expressionless 
face I said, "It doesn't matter because we'll be coming from the north."

"You mean the turnpike? At this hour? We'll never get out of the Plaza!"

"No, I mean that we have to make a trip to the north side before we do this 
tonight. When that's taken care of we'll cross the turnpike and take the upper 
loop."

"...What trip?"

I spoke lower. "I changed my mind. We're hitting Wells' old house."

"His what?"

"I had forgotten about it. There is still one more merusion chamber left and it's 
in the top floor of Wells' mansion. Alethea and I were there together a while 
back. I can get in there, zap myself one last time, and have the effects kicking in 
by the time we hit the Apothecary."

Zig choked while swallowing and spewed a little liquor on the pavement. 
"What?!" he said when he could talk. "Fuck the god damn effects! We are not 
going near that place! After what you said you and Chris did there the last time, 
it's gonna be a crime scene for weeks. That means just a half shit-load of police 
running around if we're lucky."

"Not tonight. Every man they have is outside City Hall looking for gang boys to 
whack. The mansion will be completely deserted. We just hop the fence and 
walk right in."

"Hey, this wasn't part of the plan. You told me and Karen that it was all about 
getting Alethea out with as little trouble possible. That's it. No more mutant 
powers. No more Rufius. I didn't sign on for anything else."

"But this way it'll be even safer! If all we have is guns when Rufie shows up, we 
have nothing! It's the only way I can even get near the man."

"I don't like this shit at all. It just makes things more complicated! What if 
Rufius is there doing the same thing?"

"He won't be. Lying in wait for days isn't his style. He doesn't even consider us 
a threat worth thinking about."

"How do you know? I thought you said only you can kill him?"

"That's just my assumption. But without psionics, we're impotent. He will count 
on this. Now is one of a very few times when he will be too caught up in other 
business to care who else is merusing themselves. Trust me, it'll work."

"Do you even know how to turn one of those things on?"

"Of course. White and I built all three of the original merusion chambers five 
years ago. I can raise the speed so it won't take a day and a half either. We can 
be in and out an hour from now."

Zig's lips moved but he couldn't think of anything to say. He shook his head and 
took another drink. "In and out?"

"Exactly."

"How are you gonna explain this to Karen?"

"Actually," I said, "She was the one who brought it up."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Well, indirectly. Zig, I'm surprised. I'm usually the paranoid one."

"Paranoia is life on a finer scale."

I pointed at him. "Strange Days?"

He nodded distractedly.








------------------
------------------







Next time: Actual story progression!!






ae



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