Umbra (T)

[Aleksei Trevelyan]

This was originally written to be supplemental fiction/backstory for another RP site that was very loosely based in the Redwall universe.

Title: Umbra
Summary: The tumultuous history and relationships of the Dol’Arden family.
Author: Chatvert
Genre(s): Mystery, Thriller, Action, Sci-Fi
Rating: T
Warning(s): Violence, language, drug and alcohol usage
Author’s Note: Expect this to be very political and full of scheming and such. I love those kinds of stories. xD If there’s anything that needs correcting, grammar, canon, whatever, please, don’t hesitate to point it out. Thanks muchly! *bows* We’ll also be playing “Spot The Terry Pratchett Reference” probably about once per chapter. xD

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Chapter 1: Chance Meeting (4061)

Dorian Dol’Arden stared into his soup and took a deep breath. The soup was green; split pea with ham, his father’s favorite. Of course it would be: he was having dinner with his father, in the Dol’Arden mansion, after all.

“Something on your mind, son?” Morech Dol’Arden asked from across the table. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”

“Nothing, father,” Dorian said, stirring the soup absently.

“Won any cases recently?” The question was rhetorical. Morech kept up with any news regarding his son.

“Yes, the Koyama case,” Dorian replied.

“Mmm. Spousal abuse. Nasty business, that.”

“Yes.”

“From what I hear, the closing was brilliant.”

“Father.” Dorian blushed. “It was nothing.”

“You’re too modest, my boy,” Morech chuckled.

“It keeps me underestimated.” He continued to toy with the spoon, watching the lazy patterns it made in the thick, opaque liquid. A chunk of ham bobbed to the surface. “Father,” he said at length, “it’s been a year now. Don’t you think you should talk to her?”

Morech put his sthingy down. “Talk to who?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“Can’t imagine,” Morech said in the brittle, polite voice that people use when they want you to change the subject.

Dorian knew he was pushing the envelope, but he couldn’t stop now. “Terias, father. Your daughter, no matter how much you want to deny her.”

Slam. Morech’s heavy paws slammed down upon the table, rattling the spoons in the soup bowls. “I have no daughter!” he roared.

Dorian put his paws together and bowed slightly. “Of course not, father. No disrespect.”

Morech grunted. “None taken.” His voice dropped to a cold whisper. “She is dead, you hear, dead! That very *friendly* person died a long time ago.”

In the long and extensive list of Terias’s many offenses against her father, Dorian didn’t recall hearing prostitution. Unwilling to invoke the wrath of his father again, he nodded and said nothing.

*

The dinner progressed from there, slowly regaining its genial tone. It was late when Dorian left, having politely declined his father’s offer of a nightcap. He was afraid of regressing into his drinking habits again.

Lost in thought, the fox didn’t realize that he had gotten lost in reality until he looked at his surroundings. Oh, bugger, he thought. Section 1? How did I end up here? I’d better get home. He knew his sleek hovercar was a prime target for carjacking and scrapping.

Too late. A rat brandishing a chain came from the shadows, a squirrel and an otter behind him. All three looked pretty fierce, and they didn’t look like they’d take “I was lost” for an answer.

“Well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” the rat asked, twirling the chain. “Nice ‘overcar.”

What could you say to that? “Thank you,” Dorian said awkwardly.

“But, see, ye ‘ave to ‘ave a permit for such a vehicle in this section, innat right, boys?”

The squirrel chuckled. “Sure thing, boss.”

The rat turned back to Dorian. “Well, ye see that we ‘ave a liddle problem ‘ere. Looks like we’ll ‘ave to confiscate that.”

Shit. The car was worth more than most beasts made in a year. Dorian couldn’t just…give it up. His father would never let him hear the end of it. But if he didn’t…well, he wouldn’t be around to hear the start of it, to put it delicately. Cowed and humiliated, Dorian opened the door and exited the hovercar. The otter and squirrel sblack personed.

“Ain’t so tough when yore outta yer home turf, huh, nob?”

The fox merely adjusted his tie, sweating like the thingyens on the inside. The otter jumped back. “Did yew see that? ‘E threatened me!”

“I did not!” Dorian scowled.

“’E looked like ‘e wos reachin’ for a weapon!”

The rat considered this. “Well, if’n ‘e threatened yer, I s’pose we’d be well within our rights t’ teach ‘im a liddle lesson.”

Dorian was onto their game. They had just got a rather sweet ride and some entertainment into the bargain. He started reaching for the taser in his pocket. If they wanted a fight, well…

Almost faster than he could move, the rat had come over and decked him solidly on the nose. Dorian went back and down. He didn’t even have to touch his nose to know that it was probably broken. Blood was dripping down it freely. The squirrel walked over and kicked him in the ribs.

“Get up, nob.” The squirrel kicked him again. Dorian struggled to his feet. No sooner than he had gotten up did the otter punch him in the chest, with brass knuckles, from the feel of it. He collapsed again, wheezing. They weren’t going to use their weapons on him; no, they were just going to beat him to a bloody pulp, and maybe, if they felt merciful, shoot him in the end. If not…they’d dump him off the city into the crater, and that would be the end of Dorian Dol’Arden.

A stab of pain blooming in his ribs was another kick from the squirrel; this time, it had cracked a rib, if not broken it. He had never been beaten up in school. Everyone was afraid to. Whispers had always permeated the halls behind him. “Isn’t that the Dol’Arden kid?” “Yeah, I heard his dad had a couple people killed.” “No way.” “Aw, man, you have to get out more. Anything goes in corporate land!” Dorian couldn’t move in time, and braced himself for yet another kick.

And then, very suddenly, the squirrel wasn’t there anymore. Dorian risked a glance up to see a shadowy figure in a hooded sweatshirt whacking out indiscriminately with a sword, hitting footpaws and arms and what have you. A chain wrapped around it, and the figure yanked the sword back quickly, sending the rat topping forwards. The figure kicked him.

“Get up,” he said gruffly. The rat did, agonizingly getting to his feet.

“Ow, wossat for? We was just ‘avin’ a little fun!”

“I’ll have fun with you if you don’t shut up,” the mysterious stranger snapped. “Now get the hell out of here or I swear on Yamiyo’s name I won’t stop kicking your gods-damned tails from here to Quadrant 4, got it?” Now that Dorian thought about it, the voice was kind of familiar.

The rat nodded and gestured to his fellows to leave. The stranger turned his back, and they rushed him. Expertly he turned and struck out with the sword at the three assailants, and they all collapsed. He went over to the otter, who was out cold, and sighed.

“Bloody idiots,” he muttered, leaning over to help Dorian up. “Here, are you okay?” A shaft of moonlight fell across the black fox’s face, and the stranger winced. “Guess not.”

“Why’d you do that?” Dorian asked when he was able to talk. “Save me from them, I mean.”

The stranger swept his hood back to reveal another black fox with short, choppy headfur. “What, you don’t recognize your own sister, Dorian?” Terias Dol’Arden asked. “I’m hurt.”

“Terias! Gods above, what are you doing here?” Dorian asked.

“Uh, I live here,” Terias said bemusedly.

“And you have a sword! Why do you have a sword, of all things? It’s not safe!”

“It’s a sword. It’s not meant to be safe,” she said, waving it around. “And anyway, I’m pretty good with it, aren’t I?” She held it out to him. “Look. It’s not even sharp. I just use it to hit people.” Terias looked over at the car. “Nice ride.”

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly.

“So. Anything broken?”

“Probably a rib or two,” Dorian said, grimacing. “I should be all right, though.”

“Yeah. Come on back to my place, I’ll get you fixed up.” She glanced at the car. “You might want to take that home first, though.”

[Karia Sto-Helit]

I likey. A LOT. You're such a greatw riter Alex. You could do this for a living XD

[Selena Tiber]

That is wow and fantasmical and it makes me want to die and roll in a puddle! it's AMAZING. please don't do it for a living. i'd ru out of money. don't listen to sara. she's...senile.

[Irina Zhukov (school)]

Oooh, *lovely.* Very dark and futuristic and just all-around good.

[Catherina Trovinsky]

What RP is this?

[Aleksei Trevelyan]

Aw, thanks for all the lovely reviews, you guys. :3 And the site this was for is Metropolis Mossflower, but it's kinda dead...

Chapter 2: Ancient History

The Dol’Ardens are a very old and revered family, dating back to before the empire, originating from somewhere around Italy. They claim to go back to Roman times, though this is mere speculation. First they were warriors; then they were capitalists. The latter was much more profitable.

They are a cornerstone of the empire’s economy, and have been so since the empire’s founding. If you see a flashy car or a nice bike or a pristine building, you can bet the Dol’Ardens are behind it.

That does not mean that they are safe from corruption; no, far from it. Grant Dol’Arden, Morech’s grandfather, was famous for liking the girls and the good wine, while married to another woman. His own father Angus reportedly took sizable bribes from the government – more so than usual, anyway. Morech himself, current patriarch of the Dol’Ardens, is rumored to have had a few beasts killed to settle a business “dispute”.

The old aphorism “Power corrupts” was perhaps based upon the Dol’Arden family. Not a single member of that clan is safe from strife and political power games. It is rumored that Hoshi Dol’Arden, wife of Morech and mother of two children, did not die in any accident. Dorian is a borderline alcoholic. Terias is a vigilante in the seedier areas of Section 1, disowned by her family. Morech is a miserly businessman who has sunk deeper and deeper into depression since the death of his wife.

But we shall come to that in time.

*

Terias sat in the passenger seat of Dorian’s hovercar, drumming her fingers on the door. “Sweet ride,” she said for about the fifth time.

Dorian nodded and said nothing, continuing on to the more affluent parts of the city. He lived in an apartment, though it was considerably better off than his sister’s. In a short time they had arrived at the high-rise where he lived.

“Phew. I smell money,” Terias joked, stepping out of the car. “So this is where you live, huh?”

“You’ve been here before.”

Terias scratched her ear. “Yeah, well, that was on the other side of the coin.”

Dorian shrugged. “I’m going to go park. How are you going to get home?”

“We. I told you, you’re coming to my place tonight,” she said as he got into the car.

Her brother was about to protest, and paused. What did he have at home for tonight? Probably a bottle of bourbon with his name on it with a gift-wrapped hangover for the morning. He shook his head slightly as he pulled into his parking spot. No way. And as far as he knew, she didn’t drink, and if she did, it was infrequent.

But then again, as far as she knew, he didn’t drink either.

Well, whatever. The point was, he had nothing planned. “So,” he said, clapping his paws together when he came back. “How do we get home?”

*

The answer to that was a rather antiquated mode of public transportation known as a “bus”. It was after midnight by the time the uncomfortable vehicle rolled to a stop in Section 1. Terias paid for both of them and got off the bus, Dorian right behind her.

“I can’t believe you live here,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

“Can you believe that all these other people live here, or is it just so unbelievable when it comes to your darling sister?” Terias asked just as quietly.

“Don’t be difficult,” he admonished, taking up the role of older brother once more. “I mean, gods, Teri, you were in college! You were successful!”

“I was rich. Now I’m not.” She smiled. It was brittle. “I like living like this, Dor. Well, I don’t love it, but it’s tolerable. It’s really opened my eyes.”

“Yes…I can see that.” Only now Dorian noticed the black contact she wore in her right eye, and wondered if it had any special purpose. That and the blue-dyed hair made him wonder if this was even his sister anymore. She seemed a completely different person.

“You know, you should try it sometime, living like one of the abased,” she said offhandedly, and he bristled. Gods knew that he had enough problems to deal with without being poor on top of everything.

“Let’s just get to your place,” he said brusquely, trying to control his voice. This was his sister, his little baby sister! He wasn’t going to snap at her, although the idea was tempting.

“As you wish,” she said, bowing deeply and just a touch mockingly, and they went off into the heart of Section 1 as it started to rain.

(Also. MY LIFE'S GOAL IS TO TAKE ALL OF RACHEL'S CASH MONEY NOW.)

[Aleksei Trevelyan]

(Fifty points to anyone who can guess who Deodatus is based off of. x3 It's really obvious if you just analyze his name...)

Chapter 3: Secrets

It had been raining steadily in Quadrant 2 for the last hour, but the jackal crouched in the shadows had not moved one inch. He had been biding his time, staring down at the industrial complex below. This job was going to make him a few Ryo, if he was lucky. And he was generally lucky. He did his best to quell the growing excitement in the pit of his stomach. He loved his work, possibly too much. The jackal sent a silent prayer up to Cher’si, Yamiyo, and Tenkyou, his three patron gods; the first two because he was an assassin, and the third because he was a jackal. Finally he leapt from where he had been hiding from the sentries, landing on his feet easier than a cat. He stretched slightly, taking stock of his surroundings.

The Neodyne Corporation’s research and development headquarters were all sleek, brushed metal and bulletproof glass. Typical corporation, he thought without much emotion. All flash and shiny metal to appease the public, but the real work is done out of their sight. Specifically, here. He didn’t know what they were developing; a virus to release on the public (which, of course, they would have the only cure to, to sell for a “reasonable” fee), or a new form of armored troop carrier, but he knew that it was dangerous. Such things usually were. That was why he had been sent here, of course, he remembered, straightening up. His job was to scope out the area, and try and disable Neodyne’s newest project if it looked like a threat to his employer. His employer was a very discerning man; he had only hired the jackal because he was, quite simply, the best.

Deodatus Brillig adjusted his black cravat fussily and began to walk calmly towards the least-guarded entrance of the building. There was only one guard, a lone stoat, but he more than made up for his lonely state by toting a rather impressive gun. It was a C600 Mk II, with the optional laser scope and grenade-launching capabilities. Neodyne had just released them to the government. Deo wanted to get one of those powerhouses for himself.

The main problem with the C600, though, was that it was only effective at long range, something which Deodatus planned to use to his advantage. He was little more than a shadow flitting across the helipad from cover to cover, until before the guard knew it there was a crazily grinning jackal standing in front of him and looking rather cheerful.

“Hi!” he said. “My name’s Deodatus. What’s yours?” The guard’s only response was to ready his weapon to blast the intruder to kingdom come, but he crumpled suddenly, a knife in his belly. Deodatus leaned over and plucked the dagger out of the dying guard’s abdomen and began to clean it methodically. By the time he was done, the guard’s life had fled. The jackal looked longingly at the C600. He’d grab it as a souvenir on the way back, he decided, and propped it up in a shadowed corner before opening the door with the guard’s keycard and slipping into the facility.

The complex was more sprawling than it was tall. The corporation’s main headquarters were on the other side of the Quadrant, all prim and proper, with even more brushed chrome and marble floors polished to a blinding sheen. Deodatus had been there only that morning, pretending that he was a prospective customer. He hadn’t learned much, nor had he expected to. It was all blather and no meat, he thought as he descended the third flight of stairs into the bowels of the complex. What they valued most would be underground. The stairs were made of metal, and meant to make noise when one walked on them; that way, it would be hard to sneak up on the guards. Deodatus’ peculiar light tread, however, made it easy for him to circumvent this particular low-tech security measure.

Finally he reached the laboratories. As expected, there was not only a keycard check but a retinal scan. There had been no need for him to cut out the guard’s eye, so he had not, but merely leaned over and stared into the viewing area with his cybernetic eye, accessing the records of those who were allowed access into the labs. After a few profiles, he downloaded one into his eye and played it back, staring steadily into the reader. A second later, the door clicked open. Deodatus smiled slightly. Child’s play, really. He was slightly suspicious. He hadn’t encountered much resistance since arriving; anywhere else he would have had to clean the blood from his jacket by now. There was one irritating thing about this profession, and it was that the dry-cleaning bills were phenomenal.

Come to think of it, there didn’t seem to be anybody down here in the labs, not even a few oddball scientists working deep into the night on their latest projects. As Deo padded through the tiled halls, he realized that he was all alone down here. Trap, it’s a trap! his nervous ears sang in the empty corridors, silent except for the slight electronic whine of computer processors. He was beginning to feel that he had finally been betrayed. Oh well, he thought ironically, no-one lives forever. He stepped out into one of the corridors, fully prepared to feel a grenade from a C600 shred him to bits, when a familiar scent assailed his nose.

Blood. So that was why nobody was around. Someone had beaten him here…But who? he asked himself as he started to jog down the hallway, knife at the ready. There was no smell of cordite; guns had not been used. A fellow knifer, then, or someone who preferred blunt trauma. They could have been a little less obvious, but then again, Deodatus wasn’t renowned for his ability to make a clean kill either. He found himself grinning slightly as he moved towards the other who was down here, following the smell of blood and death until he came to a door. It was like any other door down here, except for two things. One, it was obviously reinforced, and two, it was ajar. Deodatus could faintly see the carcass of a scientist in the room, blood spattered on his white labcoat. He could hear someone in the room, breathing heavily, and he knew that it was the killer. Taking a chance, the jackal swung the door open and leapt into the room, knife bared and ready, crouching into a fighting position.

And then he looked at who had done the killing.

She was a wildcat, dressed in white, a sort of long-sleeved jumpsuit with cyan stripes up the sides. Blood was also all over the shirt, matting the fur beneath, which, he realized as his gaze traveled upwards, was green. It wasn’t a trick of the light; it couldn’t be. The fluorescent lighting in the lab revealed everything. She looked quite young, probably about his age, though her hair was long and grey. She had shifted into a defensive position herself, with a sharp shard of blood-soaked glass in her hand, angry silver eyes glaring at him, daring him to try and attack her.

Amateur, he thought as he scrutinized her position, the girl’s a bloody amateur! Anybody who’d been in the profession for any length of time knew how to keep their clothes from getting so dirty. But the fact that she was holding a shard of glass rather than a proper weapon made him revise his opinion of her somewhat. Yes, she looked dangerous, but also frightened, fearful of what she had done and unafraid to kill him to keep the secret, too. And it was then that he realized who, or what, exactly, she was.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “My name is Deodatus, and I’m going to get you out of here.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared at him blankly and lowered the piece of glass slowly. Suddenly she threw it to the floor like it was a poisonous snake, and the glass shattered with the impact. He sheathed his own knife, but was completely prepared to bring it out again if she tried anything on him. The cat looked down at her bloody shirt and made a face.

“Help?” she asked softly.

“Yes, help, I’m here to help you,” he said, holding his hand out. After a second, she took it decisively. He could feel blood still welling in the palm of her hand from the glass she had held earlier. It must have cut into her while she held it.

She stared him straight in the eyes. “Get me out of here,” she said in a flat voice.

Deodatus took a cursory glance around the lab, and it told him everything that he needed to know to tell his employer. “Right, then, let’s go,” he said urgently, shepherding her out the door.

It took all of four minutes for the both of them to get back up to the helipad, mainly because the wildcat was running like hell and Deodatus had to fight to catch up. She was bloody fast! He wondered what they had to be doping her up on to make her move so well. She was even faster than Deo himself, which was quite a feat, which in turn made him suspect that Neodyne was testing out some sort of new combat-boosting drug on her. Nobody else could be that fast naturally. Nobody except for him, of course.

She burst out onto the helipad in a panic, and it was all he could do to scoop up the C600 as he dashed after her out into the still-pouring rain. “Stop!” he hissed. “You’ll fall right off the edge of the bloody building!”

The cat immediately stopped in her tracks, only wobbling slightly from the inertia. Well. “Nice moves,” he said, walking up to her. “Now are you actually prepared to follow directions?”

She stared at him blankly, and nodded once. “Yes,” she said.

“Good,” he replied, relaxing slightly. “Now keep quiet and follow me. Can you jump?”

“Yes,” she said again.

“Good,” he said. Without warning, he leapt up into a cunningly concealed little space, where he had been lurking earlier. “Come on up,” he said. “There’s room enough for two.”

The wildcat eyed the distance warily and jumped in without any effort, leaving Deodatus stunned. That had been a little test of his; not many could have made it. He was impressed. “What’s your name, anyway?” he asked.

“Experiment number eight-nine-one-eight-alpha-hyphen-two-four-six-oh-one,” she said dully.

Well. That explained a lot. “And how old are you, experiment number eight-nine-one…listen, I can’t keep calling you that. It’s far too long to say companionably.”

“Seven months, three days, ten hours, and forty-three minutes.” She paused. “I can go into seconds if you like.” She said it almost anxiously, like she was eager to please or something.

“Um, no, no thank you,” he said nervously, avoiding her silver gaze. “But you definitely need a name.” He scrutinized her again. That number of hers gave him an idea. Valjean, certainly not. That was a man’s name. But with a little softening of a consonant in another…

“How does Chatvert sound?” he asked her.

“Sha…vair?” she said tentatively.

“Yes, something like that. It means ‘green cat’.”

“I like it,” the newly-christened Chatvert said, flicking her tail. “It fits.”

“Good. I don’t suppose that you know how to ride…?” Her blank stare told him everything. “Guess not. Okay, just follow my lead,” he said, bringing a black hoverbike out of the shadows. The jackal mounted it and looked behind himself. “Climb on behind me and grasp around my waist. Here, have this helmet…I don’t need it,” he said, passing her the protective headwear. Chatvert piled up her long silver-grey hair and stuck the helmet on top of it all. Without much fur showing, she looked normal in the shadows. Well, normal aside from the bloodstains on her clothes. The wildcat got on the bike right behind him.

“Secure?” he asked. She didn’t say anything, but he felt her nod. “All right, off we go,” he said, gunning the null-g engine and starting the bike up into the air. Neither of them spoke for the entire ride to Deodatus’ place, but he could tell without even looking that she was staring around the entire Metropolis with intense and obvious wonder and delight. Even the most banal thing – a neon sign, for instance – was a source of amazement for the young cat, something that amused Deodatus to no end. She’s just like a child, he thought, and then realized how true it was. She was a child, a toddler stuck in an adult’s body. She certainly had a more developed vocabulary than the average toddler, though.

They arrived at Deo’s place not too long after that, and he told her where to sleep for the night. “Just lie down on the couch,” he said. “We’ll get you some new clothes tomorrow.”

“Yes,” she said, staring up at him with those luminous silver eyes, and went to sleep almost immediately. The jackal sighed and went to go inform his employer of the new developments.

----

From: “T” <[e-mail]>
To: <[e-mail]>
Subject: The package
Date: Tues, 10 Dec 4061 01:53:42

Old Man—

That thing you sent me to pick up for you from Neodyne is quite a lot harder to handle than I’d expected. In fact, I don’t think it’s what you expected at all, though you’ll still find it interesting, no doubt. I had a look at its serial number – it’s apparently “8918A-24601”, if that means anything to you. I hope you like it, it’s been in development for about seven months, give or take a week or so. It’s also much more powerful than your previous estimates, and mine.

We’ll get in touch tomorrow to discuss this further. I think that your place would be safest; doubtless some idiot will see it for what it is and try something anywhere else.

Does lunch sound good to you? I was thinking something from Nippon area – sushi sounds fantastic right about now. Set the table for three.

T

[Sam O'Neill]

Wow. . These are amazing.

[Irina Zhukov (school)]

Chatveeeeeert. <3

(Yes, that is all I have to say. *bricked*)

[Yume Hollow]

Deo's based off of Tarias perhaps?

[Aleksei Trevelyan]

...hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

No.