Psycher Chronicles

A Death Trap

(Misha Tulley)

At its simplest form, a trap is a structure designed to catch or cling to a sentient creature capable of being lured into, or willingly going into the structure.

Similarly, the definition of karma is a universal principle that justice will ultimately be achieved. The idea that a balance is set and that eventually if someone acts recklessly enough, they will eventually be hurled off the balancing scales by an act of force so profound that it will rebalance the scales to an acceptable measure.

Now one thing to point out about both of these definitions is that they deal with mechanical objects, everything from the trap itself, to the idea of balancing scales are mechanical in nature. Meaning that by their very definition, they could be manipulated by an adept technomancer. Said technomancer would still need to follow certain restraints and definitions. For instance, the trap couldn't suddenly sprout acid if there were no intentions for acid in the initial design. Nor could a karmic scale become its own executioner, as that is not the role of a scale. The scale is meant to show the level of imbalance, and it is an external force that is meant to provide the compensating weights to even out the scale of balance.

This is why Misha felt that her act of balancing the scales of karma by setting an otherwise innocuous trap was the perfect solution. For in her hands she held a bakshee weapon that both seemed both practical and seemed to defy commonsense at the same time.

Logically her mind told her that there would need to be an balancing act to the classes. That Rulers would likely have powers available to them at higher tiers that would be otherwise undeniable. For a war centric society such acts were to be considered the norm. Which was why the idea that such a weapon existed in the first place was not unconscionable. It was obvious that if evolution was left to random chance, that there would inevitably be members of each class that were both powerful and completely unfit for their roles.

Thus, the need for a weapon that targets Rulers was not out of the question, and seemed like a safeguard. Also, the weapon had different safeguards in place, as it was semi-sentient. At least it was sentient enough to be able to take commands, along with having a few basic functions that anyone could understand.

The weapon could only be used by a person who was not themselves a Ruler, or mage class as people of this planet referred to the designation. Similarly, the weapon would highlight anyone that was a ruler class, at which time they could be targeted by the wielder of the weapon, which would temporarily nullify the magic in the area, reducing a Ruler's chance of retaliating. There was also an added benefit that part of the energy stolen in such a way would be siphoned back to the attacker. Thus almost encouraging people to take out weak or ineffective rulers.

From a forced evolutionary perspective, the weapon forced rulers to get powerful quickly, while also weeding out Rulers who were otherwise too weak to protect themselves. Again, from an evolutionary standpoint, the entire process was both diabolical and seemed to address a few of the issues one might have with a world forced into one of three categories.

The only problem was, that the weapon by being so basic meant that anyone with a modicum of technical experience could easily gain full control over the item, and give it more complex rules, like the following.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do have an important command that you must follow. I need you to slowly kill anyone who attempts to use you to kill without my permissions."

Acknowledged. The machine replies mentally, letting me know it understands my commands.

Then thinking about the weapon and its processes, Misha went one level deeper.

"Do you have a safe list?"

Safe list?

"A list of targets who you will not kill?"

All are capable of being culled, even you.

At that not so subtle reminder, Misha realized she was dealing with an object whose purpose was meant to weed out the weak. Meaning that if her mind ever faltered, or if she ever got too complacent with her own standings, then she would be subjected to the same judgement as the unsuspecting Ruler classes would.

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In a way, the marking made sense, as it forced even someone who controlled the weapon and was recognized as the sole root user to maintain their competitive edge. Meaning that at the very least she had to make sure she didn't lose her technomantic edge anytime soon.

With the idea of a safe list nullified, Misha went onto the next part, namely seeing if the weapon had a memory.

"Can you tell me who you have been used to kill?"

At that open ended command, the weapon did as instructed. Unfortunately for Misha, she was not prepared for the deluge of information that flooded into her mind.

The weapon had been in use since the beginning of recorded human history. Showing how even at the first stages of evolution, men slew the gods who had risen up with unspeakable powers. Powers that corrupted absolutely.

Seeing the history of the item, Misha could almost feel the rationale and intent of each murder made real, filled with purpose. As if the intention for wielding such a device was just as important as the act committed by those very intentions.

Misha saw these acts raging across time. Acts of defiance, the stabbing of Ceasar, Caligula and others. The death of tyrants and kings alike, all done with the want to improve the world, to change its fate.

Now that same blade, one with an obvious shortcoming responded to and accepted Misha as its master. Now its most recent owner had been deemed to be unworthy, but unable to voice its discontent until Misha.

The blade was meant to bear the records of how the planet grew and thrived with the changes presented. Recording each owner and noted use of the blade to help when the end times would come. When the planet was ready to join the Bakshee empire as a contributing planet.

However, there was one issue that came with having so much data and residual memories posed, and that was that the mind of the one receiving the memories was temporarily overwhelmed, as more and more data forced its way into her mind. Until finally the flood of data was too great, leading to a temporary override of her body and mind.

The last thing Misha was able to contemplate was that her body was slowly sliding down to the floor, as her body lost all form of control. She saw a blur and flash of lights dancing across wooden décor walling, before her mind went blank.

Darkness.

***

(Hasty)

Ms. Delaney had been off as of late, there was something about her that seemed to unsettle Hasty. Normally the woman's poise and confidence was a boon and had a calming effect on Hasty.

Yet, for the past few days, Hasty couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise each time she was in the same room as her right-hand woman. Still, Hasty was a professional if nothing else and was therefore able to hide her discomfort, at least partially.

"Are you sure you wish to stop touring?" Ms. Delaney asked, her words cut through Hasty's labored thoughts, as Hasty focused on the woman before her.

Once again, she found herself looking at the normally composed orchestrator of her life's future. This time though, Hasty saw subtle shifts in her body language and posture. Rather than her normal posture, of arms up holding devices and her phone, she now held her hands in front of her stomach in a seemingly guarded gesture.

"Yes, for now I don't think I can put my heart into it," Hasty responded, watching how Ms. Delaney's hands never moved from in front of her stomach.

Ms. Delaney seemed to notice the stare, then looked down at herself to see what would cause Hasty to stare so intently, that's when she noticed her own posture and body language. It was with that glance that she nodded to herself and decided to speak before addressing the pop icon's glance.

"Well, this is probably for the best for me, as I will be needing to take my leave in a few month's time anyways," Ms. Delaney began.

Hearing that, Hasty rose to her feet, her eyes staring in concern at the comment.

"Wait, you?" Hasty began, wondering why someone like Ms. Delaney, someone who had been with her from the very start would now try to ask for time away.

"Yes, I'm pregnant," Ms. Delaney said, as a giant smile filled her face. "Finally, the treatments worked and Herbert and I were able to conceive."

At that comment, Hasty couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. That there was clearly something wrong with the child, as Ms. Delaney had tried and failed for years to have a child, only to be denied at each try. Yet, suddenly it worked? Then realizing how that might seem, she stopped herself.

"Are you sure?" Hasty began, trying to hide her own feelings from this rather intimate exchange. This was a huge deal, but one that would clearly change the course of not just her career, but that of Ms. Delaney as well.

"Yes."

At that, Hasty put on her best fake smile. The one she used to dazzle audiences around the world, then moving quickly went around to hug her long time friend and coordinator.

"Congratulations!" Hasty declared, trying to mask the internal pains she felt at losing a friend even for a moment, while trying to accept the new reality.

Nausea.

Of course, the moment she hugged Ms. Delaney, that was the moment Hasty felt something. An attack?

There was a pulse of vile energy that seemed to radiate from Ms. Delaney's stomach, one that instantly caused a wave of dizziness to hit Hasty.

"Are you okay?" Ms. Delaney asked, feeling and seeing Hasty's sudden and violent reaction to the attack. There was no other word for it, it was an attack. Worse, she could tell that it came from the child.

No, this was crazy. There is no way a child could do anything like that, Hasty chided herself. Then proceeded to feel even worse about doubting the child within Ms. Delaney. Apparently, this news was hitting her harder than she expected. Then seeing that Ms. Delaney was awaiting her response, Hasty shook herself and slipped back into her role.

"Yes, gosh, I'm sorry. It just caught me by such a surprise. I mean you two have been trying for this for so long, and now it has finally happened. I just… wow…" Hasty stammered out, her words rolling out of her in surprise and admiration.

Then darker thoughts came, like what she would do to replace Ms. Delaney, how she could get by without her help. Almost as if reading her mind, Ms. Delaney responded.

"Don't worry, I plan on working as long as possible. With you taking time from touring, I should be able to continue my work by your side. That is, assuming you still want me to be here." Ms. Delaney stated, a note of nervousness in her voice.

"Yes, of course. You know I would be lost without you." Hasty declared as she hugged Ms. Delaney.

Vertigo.

Once again there was an immediate attack on her mind that seemed to begin from the womb. This time Hasty knew she was not mistaken, that there clearly was some form of mental attack with this touch.

Almost as if some ancient being of evil had possessed the child.

"You sure you are okay?" Ms. Delaney asked, once again seeing that Hasty was clearly dealing with something.

"Yeah, I'm just so glad that you finally get to start the family you've always waned…" Hasty continued to speak, but as she did, she felt her mind wondering about whether the child was possessed in some way. Maybe a demon had somehow taken root in the womb of a child that would otherwise not make it.

Then just as quickly as she had that thought, she tapped it down, and dismissed it, as it was clearly her own mind being jealous that she hadn't started a family of her own. Yes, that was it, maybe this was the sign that she too needed to settle down and try to find someone of her own.

Yet, even after dismissing the thought, Hasty felt her eyes being drawn to stare at the unborn child cautiously. As if waiting to see if it would try to attack her again.