Had D.J. (or any of her base personalities) been much of a gamer, she might have had at least some clue about the situation she had ended up in. Unfortunately, that aspect of her education had been somewhat neglected. Pong and Pac-Man were about her speed (witness the table-top versions Deja Voodoo had in his suite). She had little knowledge of anything more recent.
All of which is a short way of saying none of this rang any bells for her. Too bad....
There was nothing wrong with her legs, though. Harry had said run, and plainly with good reason. She ran....
But even in deadly peril her mind didn't stop working. She may have known squat about the situation, but she knew people, and there was something odd about her companions. Well, about Zorlond, anyway; she didn't exactly know Harry Mason, so for all she knew he was always like this. The Red Magician, though, seemed ... simplified? That was the only way she had of putting it. He seemed less living than rendered, somehow, and Harry was much the same. There were other differences, too, less physical. The Zorlond she knew was very controlled, with a half-mad light dancing behind his eyes, as if he was supressing aspects of his personality no sane person would want to know about. (Which was true, when she thought about it, and in light of recent developments perhaps truer than even Zorlond himself had ever realized.) This Zorlond seemed much more straightforward, a man more of action than reflection. The inner complexity was absent.
Insight: could this be how Zorlond was in one of those other realities his Original had spoken of, where the rules were different and their personnas joined?
You've got it, D.J. You appear to have fallen into one of my memories, in fact. But while you puzzle things out, you might want to run a little faster, if you aim to survive.
Zorlond? D.J. thought, breaking stride.
"Move it, girl!" Harry snarled, seizing her hand and dragging her forward. "I didn't save your butt just to see it become puppy chow!"
"Though running is something of a short term solution," Zorlond huffed at their sides. "Those creatures are built for endurance -- and speed. We, being merely human, aren't."
"This from the ghost," Harry shot back. "Hey, I'm open to suggestions. Till we have some, I suggest we save our breath."
Zorlond? D.J. thought again. Is that you?
His Original, again, or a reasonable facsimilie thereof. Actually sort of a download, to help you negotiate the intricacies of my counterpart's psyche. Were I here for real, he'd be going fruitloops right now.
D.J. stole a glance to her right. I don't know, she responded. He seems pretty well adjusted right now; more than he's ever been, while I've known him.
Thanks a lot. But that's not really him, you know; the real Zorlond's all around you -- the mind whose madness powers his dream. Or your dream, as the case may be. That Zorlond is merely an aspect; the aspect that was able to exist in the world you find replicated around you.
Great. And this world is--?
LOOK OUT!
The dream-whorl appeared out of nowhere, and D.J. found herself spun away from the others. In a heartbeat they and the skinless dogs were gone, while she...
She was picking her way cautiously down the half-flooded corridor of some forgotten tomb. She was adult again, but not, apparently, herself; she would never have been caught dead in these black hot-pants and pale green shirt. Her hair felt long and heavy, woven into a long braid at her back like that sported by Roja Russell. In each hand she bore a large, wicked-looking gun.
Shit, she thought. Where am I now, and who the hell am I supposed to be?
At a guess, noted the virtual Zorlond-Original, who was still with her, or in her mind, or wherever he was, I would say Lara Croft. Oops, there's another whorl--
"...things have been getting more and more frequent lately," Harry was growsing as he ran.
"Which is odd," Zorlond agreed, "because they aren't really part of this world's setup--whoa, here comes another!"
And D.J. was back, looking confused--and different. She was a teenager again, but her hair, gear and attire still wore their new aspect.
Harry took no apparent note of the situation, aside from a slight raising of his eyebrows. Instead he just grabbed her arm and got her running again.
"Hey, look who's back," Zorlond laughed. "Love the shirt and the guns, babe, they good against dogs?"
"I have no idea," D.J. answered, feeling off-balance in more ways than one. But just for good measure, she turned and snapped off a shot from each pistol, taking down a hound with each.
At least, she thought she had. As the animals went tumbling they crashed into each other and -- merged? A moment later, a new hound, twice as big as its predecessors, arose, bayed, and launched itself after the three.
There was also the little matter of the rest of the creatures, who had streamed about their two packmates as they fell and were also still on the hunt.
"Don't do that again," Harry suggested.
D.J. nodded, her throat dry, and wondered if one of those patented Jaeger fireballs, which for some instinctive reason she had nearly resorted to on first "awakening" in this aspect of the dream, might meet with more success.
That was assuming she was even capable of launching one, given her undoubtedly diminished powers.
Go back - Go to the parent episode.
Wed Sep 15 12:36:25 2004
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