Please Login or Register to get full access to the forums.

Lost Password?
Current time: 03-29-2024, 07:26 AM (time should display as Pacific time zone; please contact Admin if it appears to be wrong)                                                                


X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Fire and Ice 2022 PPV RP Boards
Arpeggio Part 3
Author Message
The Chameleon Offline
is Ned Kaye



XWF FanBase:
Mixed

(loved by some; hated by some; dips between clean/dirty)


#1
01-29-2022, 07:36 PM

Arpeggio


Part 3:
All Debts Come Due


RECAP
Last time, The Chameleon was continuing to experience various simulations related to their opponents before an abrupt incident caused the handlers in charge of them to cease the simulation and revert to less technological forms of imitative learning. One of these handlers, dubbed The Custodian, has allowed TC-01 to prepare for Corey on their own terms as he tends to the bureaucratic aftermath of firing a fling he shared a night with named Kristen Kyers. Darcy Ellis, the main overseer of simulative functions has ceased to have an immediate list of job orders following this incident.

The Chameleon must now begin the Herculean task of getting into the mind of someone who claims to not know himself. Perhaps the parallels run deeper than either of them could possibly comprehend.


BEFORE


The lazy beeping of the command console lulled Darcy into a slight daze. The trials she has studied for when dealing with this kind of specimen proved to be anything but accurate, especially given the kind of junk they were tossing at it. She glanced at the monitor hung above her once more, seeing some perverted escapade they had to put it through for "comprehensiveness."

She was certain the project director just wanted to see his "prized creation" get into some kinky shit.

Her eyes fluttered softly, barely capable of staying awake as this farce, in her professional opinion continued. It wasn't until the beeping became a full-on alarm that her difficulties in remaining aware evaporated entirely.

Diagnosis, Ms. Ellis!

With a panicked movement of her hands, she checked the many instruments in front of her, desperate for an answer, yet hesitant to vocalize anything to The Custodian, the official title of the project manager, who was hovering behind her.

We don't have time for nerves to cease your ability to function! Diagnostics. NOW!

I.. I don't know what's wrong. She muttered under her breath. The anxiety of the moment had a paralyzing grip on her, keeping her mind and body suspended where it sat.

Breathe.

Breathe, Darcy.


She shook herself free from the shackles of fear and analyzed the information as rapidly as possible. Everything led to one answer:

A recursive self-awareness.

It's retreating inward. Caught in a feedback loop that causes it to repeatedly focus on itself.

As she glanced back to see his reaction, she was shocked to find a hint of vulnerability in that man who she had only ever witnessed as a complete slate of confidence and professionalism. In his eyes was concern, though what for was unascertainable.

Turn it off.

I'm already starting the shutdown, but it's taking too long.

Open the door. The Custodian's words had an undercurrent of instability.

I-

Open the goddamn door! He cut her off, uninterested in her recital of any regulations or codes that might disagree with the order. With a trembling hand, Darcy pulled the lever that opened the chamber in case of emergency, the door scraping and shrieking against the metal frame that held it. The Custodian rushed into the room to retrieve The Chameleon who had passed out from the intensity of the feedback loop.

As he pulled its unconscious body out of the chamber, Darcy couldn't help but notice how... alive it seemed up close. The Custodian lifted himself up, dusting off his suit as a formality before inhaling to calm whatever cracked his composure and swallow it as far down as it could travel.

What now? Darcy questioned, still shaky from having watched the most important part of this project nearly collapse in on itself seemingly. With a wave of his hand, The Custodian seemed to swat her concerns aside.

Clearly, we improvise.

NOW


The Chameleon stared upward at the ceiling to their room. Each detail, both physically on the metal of the ceiling that rested above them and those only caused by tricks of the flickering, inadequate lighting implemented inside the chambers. The bed was stiff, resistant to conforming to their body in even the slightest of ways. Stagnant and unchanging, regardless of whatever sheets lay atop it.

There was a discomfort to viewing the mattress in that manner. A chilling implication that The Chameleon placed to the side in their mind. Getting to their feet, they stepped towards the bathroom provided to them, seeing their masked face through the mirror. The way the mask and the plane of glass stood in front of them and reflected each other was profoundly intriguing. Each copy of the image was replicated off of the other and into its opposite counterpart.

Infinitely inward and out.

An abyss of self.

A realization overcame them. They had worn the mask rather consistently for the past few days, losing themself in the minds of others with not so much as a visage to call their own. With a steady hand, The Chameleon brought their hand to the base of their mask, curling fingers beneath it and preparing to lift upwards. They needed to know.

To be sure there was a still a face underneath it all.

A loud knock at the door interrupted their concentration, pulling them away from the mirror and towards the door that led out of this small personal chamber and into The Facility proper.

They tapped a careful finger on the keypad to the side of the frame, watching as the hydraulics split the metal divider in two and revealed the person standing on the other end.

Darcy Ellis.

She was a bit short for being in her mid 20s, barely overcoming five foot, six. Wordlessly, she stood there, seeming to be in slight shock of her presence in front of them in the first place. With a breath, she shuffled some of her light coffee colored hair out of her otherwise pale face. After a few awkward attempts to speak that she snuffed out, Ellis finally found the words clinging to the inside of her throat.

Um, hi.

Hello. The Chameleon responded, still curious about what her presence truly meant. Am I needed for another test?

Oh, no, no. Darcy shook her head, dismissing the thought entirely.

I'm the person who checks up on your various subprocesses and states of learning, plus a whole lot of other super technical stuff when you're simulating. Y'know, it's actually a lot to get-

She cut herself off, cursing under her breath as she prattled on, clearly feeling ashamed of talking to what she could best assume was some sort of incredibly complex toaster oven.

That's beside the point. My-uh... job is to check up on you, basically. gulping, she ignored the embarrassment of talking to this thing as though it were a real person, but equally unable to approach it in a more sterile procedure.

How are you feeling?

The Chameleon tilted their head at the inquiry, finding the prospect of answering such a question rather daunting.

I'm fine.

Just fine.


You sure? Yesterday was pretty crazy. We don't have you hooked up to anything, so my best guess, if there is something wrong with you, can only come from you telling me if there is, okay?

She didn't know. It was a naiveté The Chameleon envied.

Of course, there was something wrong with them.

You don't end up in a place like this if you're well.

I assure you that everything is okay. They brought a hand near the keypad once more, primed to close the door and end the conversation there. But before they could ask Darcy if she could leave, she noticed something on The Chameleon's neck. A scrunched bit of the mask, revealing nothing underneath, but enticingly close to presenting even the slightest bit of their face. A hand of hers reached out to grab onto the area where the mask was easiest to remove only for The Chameleon to intervene with two raised fingers blocking her trajectory.

She gulped slightly, a self-conscious redness growing in her cheeks. The Chameleon couldn't blame her for the attempt. They hadn't seen much of her, but they knew that she had initially delved into the sciences for the sake and discovering the mysterious and uncharted.

And what is more curious than someone who rejects identity? It made sense why she reached.

But she still couldn't be allowed to look.

I'm sorry, but that's something I'd like to keep private. She nodded her head and left The Chameleon to their devices, watching silently as the door clanked shut, the two pieces meeting in the middle once again.

Well, so much for learning about it, Darcy. Great work there.

Kicking the wall in frustration, only to have her stubbed toe send a shock of pain up her body as she swore out loud. Grumbling, she hobbled her way down to where she really needed to have a chat. This whole "talk with the specimen" idea was idiotic and she was well aware of how dumb it truly was. But still, there was something strange about all of this.

Something Ellis needed to get to the bottom of.


After a few more long strides, she had arrived at her destination: The Office of The Custodian. Taking a deep breath, she scanned her Facility ID on the terminal next to the door and entered to see him sitting in front of her, busy at filling out some necessary papers at his rather unremarkable desk. His head didn't move an inch to recognize her, merely announcing her presence as he saw her out of his peripheral vision.

Ms. Ellis. What brings you here at this time?

A couple things, actually.

Lifting his head for the slightest second to make his disappointment in being interrupted known, he gave a gruff sigh before the next words escaped him. My time is increasingly precious. Perhaps you could forego wasting it and merely state your points.

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt slightly, gulping as she approached the subject mentally and then vocally.

I'm, uh, I'm concerned with your treatment of female employees on this project.

And why is that exactly?

Well, you've repeatedly used your position to sleep with several women who were working here. And then you promptly fired each one. That seems incredibly exploitative, and I know where we're getting funded from and who to go to if I need some reassurance that I won't be targ-

The Custodian spoke up to interrupt her, shaking his head with a twinge of disappointment. You misunderstand me, Ms. Ellis. None of those women were individuals who I came to for... certain carnal pleasures.

His choice of words sent shivers up Darcy's spine.

And not the nice kind.

They had approached me for such purposes. Furthermore, you needn't worry about feeling pressured into such acts with me. I have absolutely no interest in it.

Well, that's wonderful. I'll just take your word for it. She snipped sarcastically.

If I provide a further explanation, will that satisfy your concerns?

Darcy shrugged, taken aback slightly, but willing to hear what he felt like describing. Sure.

The Custodian cleared his throat and asked a question to the air. Why do people pay thousands of dollars for fine dining, Ms. Ellis?

Rolling her eyes, Darcy gave an annoyed sigh before cutting through his constant metaphorical nonsense.

I'm not here to wax philosophical, I'm here to tell you that if I don't feel safe, I'm going to our equivalent of HR.

It's indulgence.

What?

Food- sustenance is a necessary portion of being human, however the desire to take pleasure of a required act is indulgence. Those women are largely the same to myself. Temptresses toiling about with such inefficiency and idiocy that they become completely irrelevant to the completion of this project.

Wait, what are you trying to say?”

The Custodian huffed an aggravated breath, frustrated at her inability to understand his point.

Allow me to put this into terms you, of all people, will understand: Sex with those women was indulgence. The concept of laying with you itself is to consider eating the mud pigs bathe in. They are meat. You are slop. But you are particularly talented slop, so if you could cease wasting my time to try and satisfy your ego, I have paperwork to finish.

Darcy sank a little where she stood. Yeah, it was nice to know he wasn't interested, but his dehumanizing rhetoric wasn't particularly reassuring.

I have one more thing to bring up.”

Do it, then leave. I have grown tired of your presence already, Ms. Ellis.

Yeah, join the club, asshole.

Is The Chameleon... alive? Like, a person?”

He paused his work, calculating an answer for a few passing moments.

I don't see how that is relevant.

...What?! If we're doing... all this to somebody, that's an incredible breach of scientific ethics! We're not talking about just teaching a robot or something but reprogramming a human being! Doesn't that seem wrong to you?”

The Custodian lifted his head from the desk, gazing with the intensity of a thousand hot needles into Darcy's soul.

I am the father of this project, Ms. Ellis. The ethics have been considered and thoroughly regarded. We will proceed as we have and if you are so terribly concerned about them, then you may simply to speak to them again.

How did you-”

It's my job. Go do yours out of my sight.

With a final lowering of his head, The Custodian returned to his forms, leaving Darcy to backpedal out of the office and step towards one of the common rooms, exhausted from even a fleeting moment with the project director.

ELSEWHERE



Sat with her legs crossed in the office of The Boston Tribune, Kristen Kyers pulled her cigarette to her lips, inhaling the slightly oaky tasting tobacco until it filled her entire chest, expelling it with a single unbroken breath outward. The Editor-in-chief of The Tribune, Jonas Avery clearly didn't appreciate her puffing away indoors, but he was willing to humor her poorer choices with the story she had abruptly dropped in his lap.

Let me get this straight: This facility is underneath Boston? And funded by the federal government?

Mhm.

Her claims were… dubious at the best of times, but the photos she provided as well as other documents reinforced these strange claims.

Still, it smelled of a low effort hoax only worth tabloid coverage.

I don't know, Ms. Kyers. You seem awfully nice and all, but isn't it a little unbelievable that the U.S. Government is funding some weirdo's pet project whose main purpose is to wrestle?

I know it sounds odd, but if you really think I could fake everything there, you go ahead and toss me out now. She flicked some of the ash of his cigarette into an empty, nearby mug, much to the chagrin of Avery. His fingers flicked through the file she handed him once again, seeing too many consistent details to pass up on the opportunity for a story this big. He pressed a button on his outdated phone sat upon his desk, calling a certain someone to his office.

Alright, I'll have one of my guys look into it, but we want exclusive rights to the story.

Deal. I know how much this is worth and I know I'll make a lot of money when all of this settles down, NDA be damned. That'll show that prick.

The office door creaked open, a rather unassuming man in a pair of slacks and a grey t-shirt, his thick beard protecting his face as he walked through to get a face full of “flavor,” as Kyers liked to euphemize it.

Well, boss, I didn't realize you partook in the odd cigarette here and there.

I don't.

Michael Stromback, meet Kristen Kyers. She's the whistleblower for this “Chameleon” story making its rounds around the building.

Oh. Mike gave a polite interest to his voice, as was customary when talking with a source. He glanced down at her puffing away. You know, I typically only smoke after sex. Do you?

Kristen gave a snide smirk before replying, Don't know. I never really checked.

Ignoring her quip, Michael walked over to check the file she had brought in, giving it an intrigued once over before glancing at Avery and remarking. So, this is all to create some sort of robot or android that copies others?

It's not a robot. It's a person.

The two men turned to stare at Kristen who snuffed out her cigarette at the bottom of the mug, a visible macabre expression as the words left her lips.

You gotta be kidding. What kind of person would sign up to do that to themselves?

I'm pretty sure it's a person... based on what I've gathered. But to answer your question.

She lifted up a fresh cig from the carton, opening her lighter with a flick of her wrist.

You'd probably have to hate yourself pretty bad.

THE FACILITY


Darcy made the long walk to one of the recreational areas in The Facility, each step a grim reminder of exactly what she had signed up for. Yet, a soft, gentle melody began to sound out over the hallways, reverberating outward. The closer she got to her destination, the more pronounced the music was until at the end of her journey was one person.

The Chameleon.

[Image: WshpcNT.gif]

They sat at the piano, fingers gliding effortless across each ivory key, yet their gaze seemed fixated on their hands. As if they were trying to ensure that each note came out correctly.

With a few tepid steps, Darcy positioned herself next to The Chameleon on the piano's chair as they played.

It's... beautiful.

Thank you. It's only an arpeggio, however. A pattern of notes, played in a row. Like a line of people to walk across.

Where did you learn to play like that? I've never put you in a simulation where you would absorb that kind of skillset.

The Chameleon's perfect playing slipped up for a moment as they considered how to answer.

My father taught me.

Are you two close? She inquired.

Not anymore.

Their tune began to wind down, The Chameleon's hands resting on the instrument with a tenderness and a strange longing behind the mask. Darcy no longer cared if The Chameleon wasn't traditionally living or not. They seemed to be alive enough to her.

Who are you?”

The Chameleon tilted their hand to look at her before glancing downward somewhat.

Your guess is as good as mine.

WORDS
To satisfy Corey's inflated sense of ego


Aren't champions supposed to embody something?

Yeah, yeah, I know that's rich coming from everyone's agreed upon “least memorable Spider-Man villain,” but I'm being serious here. Typically, a champion is supposed to be top of their class or incredibly proficient and notable.

But Corey? He couldn't embody a full wax mold, let alone an ideal. But I get it, why does that really matter, though? Because he pretends to. Not just to the audience at home, but to himself.

Being snarky and going on inane tangents might be a ton of fun for you, Corey, but you're not going to smokescreen your way out of this one. You're not exactly fooling anybody with your words, but hey, if you can't lie to yourself, why bother lying at all?

Well, maybe because admitting the truth is just a little too scary for Core'.

I've had to hear so much about you. How untouchable you are. About the myth of Corey Smith, the boy who “lived,” if you consider dying and then being resurrected as a perpetual tool a “life.” But as The Chameleon, myths aren't really my specialty. Sure, they're nice if you want to blow smoke up your own ass, but reality is where the winners come home to roost. And the reality is that all debts come due and you've been accruing too low interest on your sins for far too long.

Time to practice some good ol' fashioned debt collecting.

But I hear you already, diving into the metaphysics of self or prattling on about how many people try to hold The Engineer and Lux over your head even though that's in the past, right? Corey, you and I both know they have nothing to do with this. There's a monster at the core of everybody, but only a select few have the monster on the outside, too. Need me to spell it out?

The claw marks at the foot of your bed were never The Engineer. It was always just you lurking underneath your bed. Do you think that personality popped out of nowhere into the minds of the most repugnant, disgusting face the XWF has ever known and “SC?” Not quite. They needed a groundwork. You.

And it's not like you were particularly hard to corrupt or anything, hell, you hung out with Thad Duke as a good old buddy until he started saying all the quiet stuff out loud! Wouldn't want that image to fall apart of the good, whitemeat babyface!

Emphasis on the “whitemeat” considering Dyson's involvement.

And while it would stellar if you just admitted it, you instead get lost in all of these fantastically, globetrotting adventures in worlds of complete fantasy. Anything to distract from that little voice in the back of your mind that reminds you what you really are. Don't believe me? Why do you think you're willing to use Engy's move when backed into a corner? It was never “his” move, Core', despite how you rationalize it.

You built this funhouse full of mirrors around you, all to twist perception, to rehabilitate your image and to confuse any discussion of the rotten little core in your chest. Sorry, kiddo, but the only mirror that matters will be looking right at you on the 30th and no amount of propagandizing is gonna stop that. Let's look at the way you talk to your opponents.


Quote:So, am I just afraid of the prospect of facing myself? Well, honestly, yeah, but not for the reasons you think. Because the fact is, I am tremendously insecure. Fun fact: I never watch ANY of my own matches. It’s kind of like that thing where everybody hates the sound of their own voice.

You admit you're scared, but you gotta keep the snark rolling past any real reasons you have to fear me, right? Wouldn't want to be a good guy who's earnest and inspiring, better to just spout a bunch of shit and hope people buy it. And you're a legendary manure salesman. Let's see another thing you said about me.

Quote:But hey, I'm not going to sit here and grouse forever. No. That's not me. But you know what is “me”? Winning. With style! So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to lay out exactly how I'm going to turn your advantage into mine. I'm gonna play the cards face up. And I'm still going to win.

WAIT, WAIT! That's not Corey, right? That's ENGY?!? Can't you tell how differently they sound and talk? No similarities here! I mean, sure, “Engy” wanted to make dark deals to cultivate some sort of worship for an old god, but Corey, alternatively, surrounds himself in a commune that basically exists to serve him.

Wait a moment... that doesn't sound very heroic.

Sounds insular and defensive. Like you need the rest of the world to get locked out so badly that you'll make as many devilish deals as required to expel reality from your field of view. Honestly, you're not the rejection of Madison's vision. You're its culmination. Its logical end point.

Hell, you're a better Engineer than that flamboyant one ever could be. He had the evil out in the open. Too easily targetable. Doesn't sell well on television, but you? You're a Dyson wet dream. All the same bad habits in a really presentable form. Like climate denialism from that one moron who said he'd drink Round-Up. You spent all this time finding new and improved ways to ignore your problems, each mirror in the funhouse distorting you further and further until you can't even recognize what you are anymore.

Well, almost.

You recognize it when I remind you. Everyone could tell how shook you got when you realized what I am and I what I'm about to show the world. The mighty Corey Smith being reduced to what he really is, a man with a million excuses. Death and destruction follows him at every intersection, but it's never his fault. He's got good intentions, right? Those bloodsoaked hands can wash some laundry, but they can't wash themselves.

So, get scared Corey. I'm one of the few people who can tell you that with quite the assuredness in my voice. I know what lurks around your heart and I'm not fooled by how presentable you try and make it. So, let's have fun out there Sunday night! And let's get the world to know the real Corey Smith and not the one that covers up every inadequacy with some long-winded diatribe about the nature of morality.

Let's shut up and rip the mask off. Yours first.
Edit Hate Post Like Post
[-] The following 6 users Like The Chameleon's post:
"Loverboy" Vinnie Lane (01-30-2022), Corey Smith (01-29-2022), Marf (02-22-2022), Raion Kido (01-30-2022), Theo Pryce (01-29-2022), Thunder Knuckles™ (01-29-2022)




Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)