Rachel: Longest post ever continued.

That last post was not really all that long, at least not by my standards, but imagine what I am posting now on the end of that one and you will see why I titled that last post what I did. Anyway, in case you need a refresher (I do) I was in the middle of blabbing about Freedom's character and I was about to post this traumatic experience that occurs that reveals how he reacts under stress. That relates to what I will be planning for his future because his whole life rapidly becomes a total mess, so he's ALWAYS under stress. So this is the kind of person he becomes. Again, be kind. I haven't really edited this yet, so there's bound to be lots of long, convoluted sentences. That's usually my main problem.

Things in this section that are out of context:
-"The Violet" is a restaurant that Freedom has been instructed to go to by a notice that was put on the door of his apartment.
-The thing that the cop says refers to an event that took place earlier on with a different one of my characters, Ziv Martell. The Fairfaxes are a very influential family in Paradise City.
-Freedom is not naturally a total bad-ass, just so you guys know. His "implants" make him stronger and faster than a normal human being.
-The "kid in the paint-splattered sweatshirt" is Ziv.

There's probably more, but oh, well. Anyway, here this is.


   "When Freedom arrived at The Violet, he did not quite know what to expect. He had donned another white dress shirt and his usual tie in addition to his other typical attire, feeling that he ought to at least look casually nice in spite of what the notice had claimed. The evening was falling, but the sky was still bright with natural light and the dregs of an orange-yellow sunset. The Violet appeared to be somewhat popular, judging by what Freedom could see from the other side of the sidewalk. He was sitting on a bench outside of an unfamiliar pixel building, which was coated with glittering, flashing ads imploring him to purchase a beverage of some sort that he was currently unable to pay any attention to. He was far too busy being captivated by the loose collections of people drifting in and out of the restaurant that he was supposed to be within in a little under fifteen minutes. He wondered if the people who wanted him there were already inside, or if he would witness them arriving as he lurked here. If he saw them walking through the doors, would he recognize them? He did not know what he expected them to look like, and even if he did have an idea, there was no saying whether or not he would be correct. He wanted to believe that whoever was awaiting him within The Violet--or would be--was rather official-looking, if the notice was any indication as to who they were. Freedom was admittedly very off-put by the fact that his summons had evidently been put through to him by the Department of Gallagherite Affairs, which usually only dealt with things that involved the Death List. Freedom could only hope beyond hope that this rendezvous had nothing to do with either.
   Freedom silently willed his eyes to zoom in as far as they could on one of the windows of the eating place before him in vain hopes that he would see anyone that fit his nonexistent description of the people he thought ought to be waiting for him, but he came away from the endeavor disappointed. All that he had caught sight of was an elder couple seated at a table pushed up against the window who were placing their order with a flustered-looking waitress, and he very much doubted that either one of them had anything to do with him.
   Sighing, Freedom gave up and stood, brushing himself off to ensure that he had no grime from the bench left on his slacks. He only had about five minutes until the time he was meant to be inside, according to the digital clock that was his brain, and he thought that in a circumstance such as this one it was likely better to be early than it was to be late. Hesitating only briefly, he crossed the sidewalk and approached The Violet with as much calm, purposefulness as he could muster, which was considerable. He had become a master of feigning informal importance from all of his years of practice.
   “Can I help you, sir?” a young woman with her dark hair pulled back in a bun asked Freedom from just outside the edifice.
   Freedom blinked, caught off guard.
   “What?”
   “Can I help you, sir?” the young woman repeated. “Do you have a reservation here at The Violet for this evening?”
   Freedom registered her uniform at around the same time that he realized that she was part of the staff at the restaurant.
   “I…kind of,” Freedom said.
   The woman frowned and cocked her head to the side.
   “What I mean to say is that I believe I have a party I’m supposed to be joining tonight,” Freedom clarified, rediscovering his ability to formulate coherent sentences.
   “Oh, I see,” the woman said, drawing a Celph out from her apron. “What is the name of your party?”
   “I’m not sure,” Freedom admitted.
   The woman frowned again, plainly slightly irritated.
   “What is your last name then, sir?”
   “Williams.”
   “One moment, please.” The woman searched around in the databank of her Celph for a few seconds before looking back up at Freedom, smiling thinly.
   “Are you Freedom?” she inquired.
   Freedom faltered before giving her a reply, uncertain as to whether or not he should be giving out his full name to complete strangers.
   “Yes, that’s me,” he said at last.
   “Excellent,” the woman said, replacing her Celph into the depths of the apron tied about her waist. “Your party has been awaiting you for nearly an hour. I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear you’ve arrived. Please, right this way.”
   The woman turned and walked into the restaurant, Freedom at her heels, his mind buzzing. Had they really been waiting for him for that long? Why? The noticed had said six o’clock, hadn’t it? Hadn’t it?
   The woman lead Freedom through a maze of small, ornate tables and quietly-conversing groups of diners towards a larger table at the back of the restaurant. It was occupied by a tribunal of people in suits, chatting softly. They looked up as the hostess brought Freedom towards them, their faces bathed in the gentle, golden light of a chandelier hanging from the ceiling above them. There was a very elderly man with a face like a basset hound, a straight-faced woman whose mousy bun was so tight that it might be keeping her from falling apart, and a relatively young man who was graying prematurely at his temples and looked as though he were crawling in his skin. The hostess smiled and left Freedom alone with the three of them.
   “Have a seat, Mr. Williams,” the woman said expressionlessly.
   Freedom obeyed, sitting in the only chair available, which was positioned on the opposite side of the table of the trio.
   “Hello,” Freedom said cautiously. He was suspicious and nervous, but he thought that it was best if he kept things polite and conversational.
   “Let’s skip the small-talk, Mr. Williams,” the woman decided.
   Or not.
   “Why am I here?” Freedom asked, now that the time for exchanging nonexistent pleasantries had passed.
   Now it was the elder man’s turn to speak. He reached into a briefcase leaning against the leg of the table on the floor beside him and pulled out a thick, manila file filled to the brim with more paper than Freedom had ever seen. He then allowed his long, crooked fingers to probe about in the interior of his breast pocket and withdrew a pair of reading glasses, which he placed delicately on the bridge of his nose.
   “As you can see, Mr. Williams, we have acquired quite a bit of information regarding your case,” he said at last in a quiet, croaking voice.
   “My case?” Freedom’s heart sank and he felt all of the blood draining from his face. He was not supposed to have a case.
   “That’s right,” the woman said, taking over again. She seemed to be the speaker for the group. “You see, Mr. Williams, when you were stabbed last night and brought to the hospital, they conducted a number of tests on you to ensure that your body would not reject the nanocells.” She shrugged. “Standard procedure for stab victims. What those tests found, however, was far from standard.” He eyes grew icy, and she gestured for the manila folder, which the elderly man slid across the table to her. “We are required to ask, though the answer is obvious: are you, Mr. Freedom H. Williams, aware that you have implants of an illegitimate nature?”
   Freedom felt his entire world crumbling about him. He wanted to run, but his veins were so flooded with leaden dread and terror that he could not remove himself from his chair. The clatter of silverware and the gentle conversations surrounding him seemed distant and inconsequential in comparison to the crushing dismay weighing down his very being. How could this have happened? How could an event of such randomness have been his downfall? Whoever had mugged him last night might as well have killed him, because they had robbed him of his life. The authorities had finally found him, and it was all that fugitive’s fault. If only Freedom had given him his money when he had demanded it. If only he had not been blinded by his desire for that marrow lubricant that he didn’t even need that night…
   “Answer the question, Mr. Williams,” the woman said coolly.
   What could Freedom say? Lying was not an option, not when they had all of the evidence they would ever need sitting right beneath their noses.
   “Yes, I am aware,” he said venomously.
   “And you are also aware that having illegal mechanical implants, such as the ones that you possess, is, indeed, against the law?”
   “Is that not the definition of ‘illegal’?”
   “Watch your attitude, Mr. Williams,” the elder man snapped. “You are not in a position to make matters worse for yourself.”
   Freedom shut his mouth, realizing that the last thing that he needed was to anger these three people, who undoubtedly already had something in mind for his not-so-distant future.
   “I apologize,” he said, but the woman shook her head.
   “It’s a little late for apologies,” she said stonily. “You cannot just break the law and expect it to all go away because you’re sorry. You may only be eighteen years old, Mr. Williams, but you are still a legal adult, and you are expected to uphold adult responsibilities.”
   “In case you have not already surmised this,” the elderly man cut in, “we are representatives from the Department of Gallagherite Affairs. Your case has been reviewed by the Department of Criminal Activities and Conducts, and was then referred to us.”
   “Why?” Freedom asked hoarsely.
   “Why? Because technological implants were outlawed during the Techno Age!” the woman exclaimed. A man at a nearby table glanced over his shoulder at her and she lowered her voice to a malevolent hiss. “You have broken the law, Mr. Williams, and not only that, but you have committed a series of what is considered seriously punishable crimes.”
   “Seriously punishable crimes?” Freedom breathed. This could not be happening. This was rapidly becoming a complete and utter nightmare. He had never thought that getting implants would land him in such deep trouble. He had known that they were illegal, of course, and that if he was caught he would be sorry, but he had never feared much more than arrest or possibly a dreaded surgery to have all of them taken out. He had not realized that being a tech-head was a “seriously punishable crime,” and couldn’t imagine how things could possibly get any worse than they were now. He had hit rock bottom, and it hurt.
   “You may not be aware, Mr. Williams,” the woman replied, “but when you had your muscles replaced with…”
   “With what you did,” the uncomfortable-looking third member supplied.
   “…yes, with what you did, your muscles and other tissues were sold to hospitals in need of extra body parts for their patients. Usually these body parts come from The Road to Heaven building and are salvaged from those who have passed through there, and, because those persons are no longer with us, the usual laws do not apply. You, however, are still alive, and having sold your body, you are considered guilty of the act of prostitution.”
   “I’m considered guilty of what?”
   “Prostitution,” the woman repeated.
   “But I didn’t get any money for it! And it wasn’t--”
   “In this day and age, it does not have to be sexual,” the woman interrupted, “and you were, in fact, paid, although instead of receiving money, you received technology. It’s a bit of a stretch for some, but in our books you still sold your body for something in return, and, although it’s a tad more literal than the usual candidates for prostitution, the charges still apply.”
   She paused as though to let this sink in, and Freedom bit back spluttering exclamations of disbelief. Not only was he a criminal, but he was a prostitute? A prostitute? Of all the things in the world that he had predicted he would be in trouble with the law for, prostitution had never even crossed his mind.
   “That isn’t all, son,” the elderly man said, as if to get things rolling once more.
   “Yes, I’m afraid the list does not stop there,” the woman said. “Because you have repeatedly conducted activities that make you a danger to both yourself and others, we were asked to take action.”
   “How am I a danger? What action? I haven’t endangered anybody!” Freedom exclaimed, grasping at straws. If there was any sort of flaw in their replies, he could find it and hang on to it. If he could prove that they had no reason to arrest him other than the fact that he was apparently a prostitute, then everything would be all right. Maybe he would just go to prison. That wouldn’t be so bad.
   Freedom swallowed. Who was he trying to kid? He would be murdered if he were sent to a prison.
   “You are a danger to yourself because you consistently undergo surgeries that were outlawed because they are unsafe and unnatural. You are a danger to others because you associate yourself with groups that are considered to be motivated by similarly illegal means and often have partaken in violent activities to uphold these means. And the action we have decided to take, well…it’s very simple, really.”
   As if he had been cued, the elderly man leaned forward, regarding Freedom with impassive, weary eyes.
   “The Department of Gallagherite Affairs deals with people’s Dates, son. When someone is born, their information is sent to the Department of Newborns and Listings, and then that information is sent to us. A Date is determined for that individual, sent back to the Department of Newborns and Listings, and recorded forever in several different places that you don’t need to worry about. Most of the time, Dates are final. The Date that is chosen for an individual follows them until the day that they were scheduled from birth to die. Sometimes, however, exceptions have to be made.”
   “What?”
   Freedom could not believe his ears. He thought that he must have misheard. Could it be that the popular rumors that twisted through the city could be true? Rumors were never true! They were fabrications!
   “When someone like yourself comes along, Mr. Williams, we find it necessary to move that Date to a little sooner. The police contacts the uppermost governmental employees in the city, and they contact us. Meetings are held. Ideas are tossed around. Decisions are made. And the decision that has been made for you, Mr. Williams, is to end your days a little sooner than they might have ended before.”
   The discomfited man reached into the manila file and withdrew a document.
   “It says here that your Date was in…two years, approximately,” he said uncertainly. “Is that correct?”
   Freedom could not speak.
   “Yes, well, we thought that that was a little too far away,” he went on. Obviously it did not matter if Freedom answered their questions any longer. “You see, two years gives you plenty of time to continue pursuing your criminal conducts. So, to simplify matters for everyone, your new Date was moved to exactly two weeks from now.”
   “TWO WEEKS?!”
   “Please, keep your voice down!” the woman hissed in that poisonous way of hers. “There are other diners in this restaurant besides you.”
   And then Freedom understood. He understood it all. They had left the notice on his door so that he would be forced to come to them, putting them in the seat of power from the start. They had already rehearsed what was going to be said during the course of the meeting and had already prepared for his reactions. They had chosen a public place so that when they told him that his Date had been moved, he couldn’t make a scene and, if he did, he could be arrested for disturbing the peace and taken away despite his efforts, just as it had been planned from the beginning. The Violet was not a restaurant at all, but a trap that was laced with the most potent poison of all: surprise.
   “We know this is all quite the shock for you,” the ill-at-ease man said, “but it’s really for the best.”
   “Yes,” the elderly man agreed. “Paradise City is a fragile organism, son. You and people like you are a virus. If you are allowed to flourish, you will multiply, and if you multiply, the once-thriving livelihood of our city will perish. So we have to keep you at bay, and get rid of you when we can. Consider us Paradise City’s immune system.”
   “You can’t do this,” Freedom said to all three of them. “This is…is…completely immoral!”
   “We can, and we have,” the woman said dispassionately. “And if you are so concerned with morals, perhaps you shouldn’t have broken the law.”
   The three regarded Freedom for a moment before evidently deciding that the conference had drawn itself to a close. The elderly man reached for the manila folder and put it back in the briefcase leaning against the leg of the table, and his partners straightened themselves up as if a huge weight had been lifted from their shoulders, or a bushel of chores that they had waited all day to get done had finally been completed.
   “It’s time for you to go,” the woman said to Freedom. She motioned to someone behind him, and, turning around, he saw a pair of policemen standing up from a table where they must have been waiting all of this time for the woman’s signal. How could Freedom have missed them before?
   “These two fine officers are going to be taking you to jail, where you’ll wait for a few hours while things are sorted out concerning your apartment and belongings,” the elderly man said, folding up his reading glasses and replacing them in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “You’ll then be escorted in a yellow pod to the edge of the city’s limits, where you will be transferred to another mode of transportation that will ultimately get you to Almost Heaven.”
   This could not be happening. How could they do this to him? How did they have this kind of power?
   “Goodbye, Mr. Williams,” the woman said, summoning over a waiter. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”
   “Business?! This is my life! How can you--”
   The pair of policemen heaved Freedom from his seat and, gripping him by the forearms, commenced to escort him towards the doors of the restaurant.
   “You kids,” one of them sighed. “Always getting into trouble nowadays. Just yesterday we had one telling us that he was Vine Fairfax just so he could continue selling crap on the street. Vine Fairfax. Can you imagine?”
“Did you really think you could get away with all of this?” his counterpart inquired. “Did you really think you could hide your crimes forever? Why’d you do it, kid?”
   Freedom could hardly hear what the officer was asking over the blood rushing in his ears. He was panicking. He could see two pale, blue pods loitering just outside, waiting to take him to a place where there would be no escape for him until he was shipped away to the island of death. The worst part of the whole affair was the fact that he had willingly come here, to The Violet, to the tribunal who had so indifferently told him that his life had been shortened dramatically. He had walked directly into a trap, one that he had smelled from the very beginning, but had chosen naively to ignore. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought that he was simply being paranoid? Of course he had been right about there being something fishy about the Department of Gallagherite Affairs being involved! Why had he tried to convince himself otherwise? He had been so brainless, and had allowed this to happen. He was being dragged outside by a pair of policemen because he had gotten himself into this situation.
   This thought gave Freedom a spark of an idea.
   Yes, he had gotten himself into this. But maybe he could also get himself out of it. Thanks to his implants, he was likely stronger than either of the policemen escorting him from the restaurant. If he wanted to, he knew that he could overpower them and escape with his life. How ironic it was that the very implants that had so recently condemned him to death were about to save him from it.
   As soon as the officers brought Freedom to the sidewalk just outside The Violet, he launched into reckless action. He broke the policemen’s grip on his arms, but they seemed prepared for this. Before Freedom could make to sprint away, one of them had drawn his paralyzing gun and pressed its muzzle against Freedom’s shoulder, ready to pull the trigger. Freedom knocked it from his hand with a swift motion of one of his, and, with hardly pausing for thought, bent to retrieve it from the ground just as the second officer attempted to grab his arm again. This caused a moment in which confusion was the dominant emotion, and Freedom, realizing that this was his best chance at escape, darted away from the two of them. He dashed down the sidewalk at the quickest speed that his legs could carry him, which was already considerable, but was even more so because he was running on pure adrenaline. He did not allow himself to look back immediately as he shoved through crowds of innocent and often bemused passersby, convinced that if he did so, he would find that one of the officers had managed to keep stride with him. After perhaps thirty seconds, however, he allowed himself the luxury of a quick glance over his shoulder, and discovered that his worst fears were not being realized; there was seemingly no one directly behind him excepting the middle-aged woman in the lime green sweater he had nearly just sent tumbling. He slowed to a lope, but did not stop. He very much doubted that the pair of policemen had given up. The police did not allow themselves to lose the people they were chasing after, and if they were not directly behind him, that meant that they must have turned to whatever their Plan B was. A moment of intense listening confirmed Freedom’s thoughts. A choir of sirens had begun wailing in the not-so-distant distance, and Freedom was flooded with a fresh wave of terror. Not only had they returned to their pods, but they had called reinforcements. Very soon merely running was not going to be enough. He had to find somewhere to hide, but, as he skidded to a stop and looked frantically around him, he knew that there was nowhere that he could hide where they would not find him. All they would have to do was run to someone who operated the display on the outside of one of the pixel buildings and ask them to put up a “wanted” notice, and, in the blink of an eye, Freedom’s face would be posted all over the city. He had seen it happen countless times, and people were always so eager to help or so terrified of what would happen to them if they didn’t that they criminal in question would be sought out and captured in hours. It would be impossible for Freedom to hide for long with an entire city dedicated to finding him. No, he needed a more permanent solution. But what? What was there to do other than to disappear?
   As the wail of the sirens increased in volume and the pods undoubtedly began to close in, Freedom was overwhelmed with a sense of hopelessness and desperation. He had never thought that this would be him. He had always known that there was a possibility that he might be caught for his illegal conducts one day, but it was never something that he had felt that he had had to prepare for. He had never truly expected it to occur. A part of him had secretly believed that he was above being arrested, that being in trouble with the police was something that could happen to other people, but would never happen to him. Now he knew better. Oh, he knew. And what was going to take place for him was so much worse than what he had thought would if he was finally exposed. He was going to die. His obsession with the Techno Age had killed him in a way that he had never been able to predict. He had always thought that his death would result from a malfunction of some sort, and he had been fine with that. At least he would have died from indulging in something that he had adored. But now he was going to meet his end cowering in the middle of the sidewalk like a feral animal, alone, afraid, and damned, with a gun in his hand that would do nothing to save his life.
   Just as the first of the pods whirred around the corner down the sidewalk, Freedom caught sight of something that may just have changed everything. It was not so much of a something as it was a someone, and it was not just any someone. It was a someone that mattered.
   Vine Fairfax was walking along the other end of the sidewalk with some boy in a red, paint-splattered sweatshirt who did not look as though he should be hanging around a veritable celebrity. The Fairfax’s were involved in the government, were they not? If Freedom had their son and claimed that he was going to shoot him if they did not change his Date back to where it had been before, they would have no choice but to do what he said. He did not think that he had it in him to actually kill anybody, but he wouldn’t have to if they cooperated. In fact, he wouldn’t even be able to. All he had was a paralyzing gun. But paralyzing guns looked so similarly to real, dangerous guns that it wouldn’t matter if he could actually go through with his threats. All that mattered was that the Fairfaxes believe that he would."


I'm going to stop it at that. You get the idea. He ends up letting Vine go, just so you all know, after they forge a weird kind of friendship. So, yeah. He obviously has the potential for craziness, which I will definitely use and bring out more. He's going to end up planning the assassination of the highest government official in the city and pretty soon. The thing about Freedom, though, is that he descends into kind of semi-madness but he comes out of it and "uses his powers for good", if you will. I'm kind of not sure how I want to depict his madness, but as I work on planning out his misadventures and whatnot I'm sure I'll figure it out. I won't blabber on any more, but if you're unlucky I'll be on later. Again, sorry about grammatical errors and unrealistic-ness and God knows what else that was in that excerpt up there.


-Iridian