Zarp Draken\Night Terrors
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
(Part 1 of 3)
Her scream could barely be heard over her neck’s snap.
The entire world was dark. The smooth, manufactured chamber reeked of ammonia. The sudden tear into this alien world was only made more painful by a coat of cold sweat.
Zarp Draken sat paralyzed in his bed. It took several minutes of desperate breathing for him to realize that he murdered no one tonight: it was just another nightmare. It took him even longer to realize that this cold, lifeless room was just one of many inside of a massive concrete tomb -- or, as convenience calls it, “home.”
His mind raced to place itself back in the material world and separate itself from the dream. Torn between the choices of ghastly sleep or nihilistic consciousness, Zarp decided that a drink was in his best interest until he could decide. Fumbling to adorn himself with one of the countless pairs of pants that had littered the room for days, Zarp left the stench of the room behind. The cleaning product only served to remind him of whose scent he was trying to cover.
The spacious Steel Canyon loft appealed to his vanity, as much as he would hate to admit it. The only light came from outside: stars filtering through the glass wall. The apartment had its own constellations formed from the reflected light of the dozens of half empty drinks scattered throughout the rooms. Zarp couldn’t help but to feel pride at their placement: originally planted to create an illusion of desperation, he felt they came to symbolize his current path. He was no longer afraid of what others thought of him.
With a content sigh, he decided to indulge in one of the few luxuries he felt unashamed of purchasing. His whiskey voice cracked the silence of the night.
“Music.”
Carry on my wayward sooo-!
“OH MY GODS. Music OFF!”
He glowered at one of the many speakers hidden around the apartment, as if the semi-random choice in song was intentionally meant to attack him. Letting out a string of foreign curses, his eyes locked on the sleek clock on the counter.
4:17. He had slept for two hours. The imminence of his early morning bourbon was the only thing that kept Zarp’s disgust inaudible. Too early to check in on those he called friends, and too late to return to the bars. There was no where he could be.
A sudden buzz split the night. Despite the lack of sleep and miserable hour of the day, Zarp’s senses suddenly reached a frightening level of focus in a matter of second fractions. His mind was already calculating who could be trying to hail him on the apartment’s intercom even before he began to move toward it. Counting seconds by his heartbeat and predicting how long it would take each potential enemy to reach his room from the front door from the lobby, he responded.
“Yeah?” In a voice of feigned surprise and fatigue.
“Hey. It’s your clone. Here to kill you.”
Once again entering the dreamer’s state, Zarp stared at the intercom in genuine disbelief. Never had he heard such bizarre, grave words spoken such nonchalance.
“… Uh… O-okay… … … Come on up.”
(Part 2 of 3)
… What did I just do?
Did I just buzz Terror Born into my building?
… Did Terror Born just ASK to get buzzed into my building?
Ok, think man. This isn’t that bad, you can recover from this. Sure you haven’t seen him in a long time, but you beat him once before. I mean, unless he’s been PRACTICING for this or something, you can just trash him again.
FUCK. OF COURSE he’s been preparing for this! He’s your EXACT COPY! Wouldn’t YOU prepare if you were going to kill HIM?! Why’s he want to kill me, anyway?! JEALOUS!? Pissed that EVERY little thing in his ENTIRE life is old and faded, ‘cause I got to it first? That I’ve had it all, and he only gets scraps of my memories?
… Ok think about what you just said. I’D want to kill me.
BATTLE PLAN!
He’s going to come in with a weapon: his genetic defect may make his fire potent, but he knows I’m immune… What weapon? A blade: I love blades. Katana. No, too cliché. Falchion. Too big. Scimtar. He’ll come in with a scimitar.
He’ll come in with it sheathed, and-… will he banter? Would *I* banter? … No, he’ll say something quick and attack. I backflip away, land half on, half off the table in the living room. It aught to break, ‘n the glasses will fall… I stagger back like it was an accident, he notices the drinks, thinks I’m drunk. He buys the feint, and I hit him when he’s getting ready to attack someone he THINKS is off balance.
I’ve got this.
A whistled Hotel California heralded the approach of Zarp’s assassin. Lacking in elegance and grace, the killer kicked the door off its hinges and firmly into the wall behind it.
Enters Terror Born: Zarp’s escape revenant clone. Save for his red wings and tail, a penchant for sunglasses and fine suits, and psychic parasite that is neither visible nor relevant, the two men were identical.
Go time. Try to set him off balance with talk, jump back, feint. You’ve got this.
Zarp cracked his usual playful grin and tilted his head. "Dayum. Nice shades. Gucci?"
His copy just smiled and brought his sheathed katana came into view. "Cliché, isn’t it?" No more banter was permitted, as the blade escaped its sheath in a horizontal cut.
In a practiced motion the original draconian bent back away from the deadly steel. As the blade finished tearing through the air and prepared for another strike, Zarp was already several feet away and touching down from his leap. The ground gave him an unkind welcome as he touched down unevenly on a mundane coffee table. The furniture burst into splinters and sent the glass on top of it to the floor. The harsh impact left him cringing, and painfully vulnerable to another attack.
Terror Born scowled and glared at his original beneath his dark glasses. "You want me to buy into THAT?! I’m your EQUAL. I know every trick you’re planning before you plan it!"
... Touché
The two simply stared each other down as their identical thought patterns raced. Arcane energy flared around Zarp with enough force to push back the debris created seconds ago, as both of them came to the conclusion that honest combat was the only way this could end.
Both men tensed every muscle in their body and shifted weight into their combat stances. The darker copy grinned as his blade readied, and spoke.
"You have no idea how long I’ve prepared for this, and the timing couldn’t be better. You’re GENUINELY off your game – without your feints – and that bitch is still at the club with her friends. You have no one coming to help you for hours."
The retort came with a sneer. "You’re a real Sam Spade. Fell just short of figuring out she don’t live here since the divorce."
The would-be killer came to an abrupt stop and cut the tension of the room in half. His glasses partially hid his stunned expression and his body eased. The tip of his blade slowly lowered from the air to the tile beneath him, and a half minute later he spoke.
"... Then... I have no reason to kill you."
(Part 3 of 3)
In the span of thirty minutes, the scene had changed dramatically. Both men now sat sprawled out on the comfortable furniture of the apartment and laughed. The alcohol flowed freely despite their inability to become intoxicated, and their humour came readily.
Terror Born had explained his hatred. Despite being the same person as Zarp and even sharing the same mind: he was universally disliked. Those who respected Zarp hated him. Even the woman that they were both madly in love with chose one and despised the other. Granted, he had performed actions that warranted their ire... but both copies knew that Zarp would have done the exact same if the situations were reversed. Terror Born was jealous of Zarp’s entire life; while Zarp pitied the cards his counterpart had been dealt.
Now their fortunes were reversed. Zarp had lost everything he held dear while Terror Born was busy making a prosperous life for himself. Without pity and jealousy between them, the two could finally talk. Despite what both of them predicted, they enjoyed talking to someone so similar in personality that they knew what the other was going to say, before it was said...
Zarp: A singer in a smoky room...
Terror Born: The smell’ve wine and cheap perfume...
Both: For a smile they share the night, it goes on and on and on and ooon! *Both fall back in their respective chairs and laugh louder than they have in months*
Zarp: Ah-hah-hah... Hoooo. But maaan! Katana? Walkin’ in here like you owned the place? You must’ve known I’d trounce you. What WERE you thinking? *Flashes a cocky grin*
Terror Born: *pushes his sunglasses up and returns with a smug grin* Who said I was thinking?
Zarp: ... Huh?
Terror Born: You-... WE, overanalyze. Think of every move a hundred steps ahead...
Zarp: ... Yeah?
Terror Born: So I picked up the nearest sword, and walked through your front door at four o’clock on a Thursday morning.
Zarp: *Just blinks*
Terror Born: Didn’t see it comin’, did ya?
Zarp: ... Daaaaaaamn! *bursting out into laughter* You’ve gotten GOOOOD at fooling-... You!
Both: *laugh heavily, leaning back to drink. They stay silent for several moments*
Terror Born: ... Think I’m not alone in foolin’ myself lately, though.
Zarp: *tilts his head* Whadd’ya mean?
Terror Born: *taps his sunglasses down to stare at Zarp eye-to-eye, shooting him a knowing look*
Zarp: ... *Sighs and shrugs* Yeah, fair’s fair. No idea what I’m at. Lost the girl, lost the title, lost the kingdom... I’m-... Done.
Terror Born: *stifles a laugh and drinks*
Zarp: ... What?
Terror Born: ... We’re pathetic when we have nothing.
Zarp: WE don’t have nothing. You’ve got that company and job. It’s just me.
Terror Born: Yeah, but think about when I was FIRST created. You may have had your soul fractured on the line of duty, but I wasn’t MADE with one. I’ve ALWAYS had nothin’.
Zarp: Not true. You had a psychic parasite. *Cracking a playful grin*
Terror Born: *With a glare* Don’t. You can’t deflect conversation with yourself.
Zarp: *A single, apologetic nod* Sorry... But are you happy?
Terror Born: ... No. But that’s because of her. *gesturing to Zarp’s bedroom*
Zarp: *Sincere frown* You gotta let that go. You wouldn’t even want her, now. TRUST me.
Terror Born: I know. But I never got the CHANCE. It’s like-... you ever-?
Zarp: Stop. I get it.
Terror Born: ... Thanks.
Both: *Another long pause*
Zarp: ... So... What’re we DOING with ourselves?
Terror Born: I’m dealing with my parasite, and managing a shipping ‘n security company. You?
Zarp: Dealing with my loss of duty, and managing relationships.
Both: ... Feel empty-? *laugh after cutting each other off*
Terror Born: Suuuuucks.
Zarp: Would ya change it? *grinning impishly*
Terror Born: ... Nope!
Both: *laugh and finish their drink*
Terror Born: This is a lot of growth. I’m going to be SO much better off when I get through this.
Zarp: That’s awful confident talk. *Raising a brow and grinning, clearly impressed*
Terror Born: *Winks* I’ve been on this road longer than you have. You’ll make it, too. *tosses his glass idley – it shatters on the floor a moment later*
Zarp: *staring deadpan at Terror Born* ... Y’know, I need to clean that up.
Terror Born: Sure do! *Cheeky grin*
Zarp: ... Bastard. *grinning in amusement*
Terror Born: Cloned from the biggest!
Zarp: AH! You bitch!
Both: *Laugh and pause again*
Terror Born: ... Ah, gettin’ late-... well, early.
Zarp: Headin’ off?
Terror Born: Might’s well.
Zarp: *nodding* ... I’m glad things panned out like this. I always hated f-
Terror Born: I know.
Zarp: *just smiles*
Terror Born: *Stands and dusts himself off* ... ... ... Hey...
Zarp: Mm?
Terror Born: ... I got an arms deal in a few hours. I already know it’s gonna go bad, and get real violent... Wanna come?
Zarp: *Suprised blink and several seconds of staring* ... ... ... Yeah, I do. *grins wildly*
Terror Born: *returns the grin and offers a hand to help Zarp stand up*
Zarp: *Takes the hand*
