(Pre-Story layout: This is intended to be an action/drama type story with a serious tone. Not to say that we can't have light-hearted moments, but I'd like to keep the main parts somewhat sane. I'm really hoping for good character interaction, like alliances or affection or whathaveyou, as well. I'll put down some base characters and let someone else pick up from there, I think...)

*2003*

Franco's back slammed into the locker. He could feel the impression the combination lock was leaving right next to his spine just as well as he could feel the foot pinning him against the locker. He stared into the deep, black eyes of Tommy Burnstein, who's cronies were behind him with their arms crossed.

Tommy: There we are, Francis. You oughtta know better than to bump into me when I'm walking.

Franco *winded*: *Huff*But... you shoved me...

Tommy: Francis, Francis, Francis... you should have known better than to be in front of me when I'm walking. I mean, my dad practically owns your family. I expect you should get on your knees and bow to me when you see me. You simply lack respect...

Tommy pulled his foot back from Franco's chest and walked off, followed by his buddies. Franco stood up and brushed himself off as Michael walked over to check on his friend.

Mike *putting a hand on Franco's shoulder*: Are you allright, man?

Franco *brushing off his friend's gesture*: I'm fine. Let's just get out of here.

Day after day Franco was "visited" by Tommy. Every time he took more physical and verbal abuse. Yet he never said another word back. Never showed his pain.

His parents often asked about the bruises. He simply feigned clumsiness, claiming to have tripped and hit something hard or missed a step on the way to the door of his school. He didn't dare point the finger at Tommy. He already had a plan forming, and he didn't dare ruin it by getting Tommy punished.

Every time Franco stared into those deep black eyes, he felt he could see Tommy's thoughts. His desires, his dreams, even his worst fears... He could see it all playing out before him. He knew there was something different about himself, and he simply waited for the time when it would manifest itself.

Michael saw something changing in his friend. He could feel that something was coming, a wave of darkness. But as much as he tried, he kept being pushed away by Franco.

--

Tommy walked up to Franco.

Tommy: Hey, dirtwipe. I'm gonna need you to spit-shine my shoes with your tongue. Can't have scuffed shoes for the spring formal, you know.

Franco: No.

Tommy pushed Franco a bit. Franco simply stared back.

Tommy: What was that? I don't think you understood me. How's this: Shine my shoes or I'll beat you to a pulp.

Franco: Sorry, but I think I'll be the only one walking away from this one.

Enraged, Tommy threw a punch straight at Franco's face. Franco didn't so much as wince, he simply grinned, continuing to stare into Tommy's deep black eyes.

Many of the other students watched in awe. Michael was horrified. The girl simply took in what she saw.

Tommy fell to the floor and crabwalked to a corner where he started looking around in paranoia. He mumbled about the insects and the conspiracy. His cronies, seeing the state he was in, ran as fast as they could out of the building.

Franco was pleased.

Other students were awed.

The girl simply pondered over the fact that she had heard the snapping of Tommy's psyche.

--

*2010*

3 short years after being introduced to the public, the IGRAT system has revolutionized the world.

Debuting in arcades around the US, it was hyped as the latest in "virtual reality" entertainment. Using specialized waves, the device directly stimulated the brain, immersing the user in the most realistic world imaginable. This was just the beginning of the profitable device.

Variations on the technology were soon seen outside arcades. Retirement homes put residents into constant immersion units, giving them the feeling of youth again while feeding them intravenously. Police began using "stasis caps" to put violent criminals into a state of non-thinking in order to more easily capture and transport them. Interpersonal communication units allowed people to converse and even interact from across the world as though they were sitting next to each other. And finally, the True Fantasy unit was introduced, allowing the user to create whatever it was they desired for their immersive world.

As a result of this amazing technology, crime has been reduced to nearly nothing, drug abuse is at an all-time low, and political disputes have all but disappeared.

--

*2011*

Michael and John sat in the student recreation building on their campus. Michael stared at John as he sat with the type 1 IGRAT unit, simulating a trip to a beach full of women and ninjas.

Mike: Hey, man, can't we play pool or something? I'm bored and I really don't want to go out in the rain.

John: I suppose. I think this thing has multiplayer support as well as a bar simulation that has a pool table...

Mike: No, I meant on the pool table right here. You know, using your arms and actually planning a shot instead of creating miracles and then bashing your pool cue over a biker's head.

John: Hey, man, I don't see why you have a problem with these things. I mean, they don't bite.

Mike: Like heck they don't. Every time I use one I get the worst headache... almost like something terrible has afflicted me. Besides, where's the enjoyment if you can just win...

As the two continued their debate, a figure trudged through the rain. Wearing a hooded raincoat, the figure made its way towards the student recreation building.

(NSP: OK, here's where I'll end it for now. Feel free to introduce a character or two. All I ask is that the figure in the raincoat be brought in by me.)

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"Ken wa kyouki. Kenjutsu wa satsujinjutsu. Donna kireigoto ya o-daimoku o kuchi ni shite mo sore ga shinjitsu."
-Seijuro Hiko

(NSP: Hopefully this will spark some more stuff to happen. Might get mavispoo to write anyway )

In Twycross, England, in a dark room lit by computer lights and small lamps, a figure sits slumped in a chair. Upon a closer look, the figure can be seen as a woman in her twenties, an IGRAT headset on the desk by her. She is looking over some notes when a guy from the hallway calls.

Guy: Hey Maeve!

The woman turns her head to respond.

Maeve: Yeah?

Guy: I'm going out to eat. Want me to get you something?

Maeve: Just get me the usual.

Guy: Alright then.

Maeve: Thanks.

After looking at her notes a final time, she puts on the IGRAT headset. A light blue surrounds her vision, and white text loads up in front of her.



A list of other text floats down, then a few boxes pop up, most filled with text. A space resembling a stage loads with an outlined box on it, a post-apocalyptic fortress setting, and a villianous man holding a pistol standing nearby the box. The view of the stage zooms into the box.

Maeve: Ah, Malfonte, looking as good as ever.

Within the IGRAT system, Maeve brushes the Malfonte charcter's shoulder. The man eyes her hand, but nothing more.

Maeve: Alright, I'm going to need to have...

The Malfonte character lifts his gun towards Maeve's face and smiles.

Maeve: ...good good.

Maeve wallks around the chamber setting, the Malfonte character keeping his gun pointed at her. As she walks around, some pillars slowly form, detail work etched into the pillars.

Maeve: And... action!

Malfonte fires his gun, and Maeve dodges. She runs around, rather systematically. She tries to charge and attack at the Malfonte character when the setting glitches, turning mostly light blue. An error message appears.

Maeve: Bloody P.O.S...

Maeve walks out of the "stage" area, the Malfonte character's eyes still following her.

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[This message has been edited by Gebohq (edited July 08, 2003).]

Terry came back through the door just as Maeve threw off the helmet in frustration.

Terry: No luck, eh?

Maeve: None at all. it seems that no matter what I do, everytime I go in for a hit, the entire system crashes. The code is perfect. i've gone over it time and time again. *Maeve runs a hand trough her hair, exasperated* maybe I just need some sleep.

Terry: I'll say. I think you've gotten maybe 3 hours this week, and thats including the Dreamer's Addiction runthrough last monday. Take a few days off, get a fresh look on things.

Maeve: I know you're right, but you know I cant do that. You know Karen when she sets a deadline, if its not met, heads will roll. I dont understand why they let people so ignorant of the process that goes into this stuff run everything.

Terry: I hear that. Listen, you take the night off, maybe watch a relaxing movie, get some good rest, and come in whenever you wake up in the morning. I'll take care of things here. No worries. I'll iron what bugs I can, and what I can't we'll go over together when you get here.

Maeve: *sighs* I suppose. but if you muck things up worse than they were, I'll make sure its your head that rolls, not mine.

Maeve slipped on her mack, and grabbed her late dinner. As she steped out the door, she turned back to Terry, who was going over the most recent changes to the coding.

Maeve: Ter?

Terry: Mmmh?*he saiad, not looking up*

Maeve: Try not to get hurt, okay? *she tipped him a wink*

Terry: *he looked up grinning* But whats the fun in that?

Maeve: Goodbye, terry.

Terry: 'Night, Maeve. Get some sleep.

Maeve shut the door behind her. Terry continued to go over the code, making a slight change here and there; invalid syntax, bad format, erroneus entries.

Terry thought to himself, man...maeve must really be tired. its not like her to miss stuff like this.

Finally satisfied, he sighed and put on the helmet. The blue screen loaded up, and after the scroll of text, Terry found himself to be on the stage, Malfonte already standing in front of him.

Malfonte: Well good evening, Terry. So good of you to drop by at this hour.

Terry: whats going on he..

He was cut off by a loud gunshot. Back in the lab, Terry went limp.

[This message has been edited by Ford (edited July 09, 2003).]