Non-Journal
A McDonald's. Pyramids. Walk-ways to other badly themed hotels. Jason shook his head as he rode the inclinator down to the main lobby of the Luxor. How... utterly American, he commented inwardly. Leave it to the Colonies to co-opt every other culture into their own.
Sin City was an apt description of this city, a modern-day Soddom and Gomorrah, he reasoned. And, Jason smiled, in much need of renovation. The entire world would be reshaped when he opened the ninth and final gate, more in line to his tastes.
But first things first.
As he and Kennedy walked through the main casino, Jason's hand lazily brushed against one of the garish slot machines. A minor spark of electricity tendriled from his fingers, snaking from object to object. Bells sounded and their gaping maws relinquished their contents, coins spilling from each hole. The resulting euphoria (and panic from the staff) giving enough distraction as they made their way through and into the deeper bowels of the building. Another jolt of electricity unlocked the door to the lower levels and towards his target.
The fifth gate.
Jason stood rock still for minutes, soaking in the majesty of the rocky surface. He wasn't entirely surprised that the Americans had given up on their goal of utilizing it for themselves. What they couldn't take by force, they simply abandoned. Like Vietnam.
Eyes closed briefly, and when his lids parted again obsidian discs shone in the low light. Hands outstretched, incantations muttered. Crackles of energy leaping from the surface.
And threw him across the room, his frame cracking the wall as the two connected. As Kennedy rushed to his side, Jason wiped the spittle of blood from his lips. He remained there, almost motionless.
The gate stared back, refusing him entry. "Well, this won't do," he grumbled, unleashing more energy at his target. Which promptly backlashed and raked Jason's body with force. He stood after a moment, accepting Kennedy's help. There was something... wrong.
Smoothing his hair he walked, unsteadily, to the Gate, resting one hand on the stone. This time he didn't so much push as listen to its song. The Gate's rich history, its power... and its cry to be used. And, more importantly, why it couldn't. Not without something else.
And Jason wouldn't be denied his due. He'd learn its secret soon enough.
All he needed to do was to place a phone call.
Sin City was an apt description of this city, a modern-day Soddom and Gomorrah, he reasoned. And, Jason smiled, in much need of renovation. The entire world would be reshaped when he opened the ninth and final gate, more in line to his tastes.
But first things first.
As he and Kennedy walked through the main casino, Jason's hand lazily brushed against one of the garish slot machines. A minor spark of electricity tendriled from his fingers, snaking from object to object. Bells sounded and their gaping maws relinquished their contents, coins spilling from each hole. The resulting euphoria (and panic from the staff) giving enough distraction as they made their way through and into the deeper bowels of the building. Another jolt of electricity unlocked the door to the lower levels and towards his target.
The fifth gate.
Jason stood rock still for minutes, soaking in the majesty of the rocky surface. He wasn't entirely surprised that the Americans had given up on their goal of utilizing it for themselves. What they couldn't take by force, they simply abandoned. Like Vietnam.
Eyes closed briefly, and when his lids parted again obsidian discs shone in the low light. Hands outstretched, incantations muttered. Crackles of energy leaping from the surface.
And threw him across the room, his frame cracking the wall as the two connected. As Kennedy rushed to his side, Jason wiped the spittle of blood from his lips. He remained there, almost motionless.
The gate stared back, refusing him entry. "Well, this won't do," he grumbled, unleashing more energy at his target. Which promptly backlashed and raked Jason's body with force. He stood after a moment, accepting Kennedy's help. There was something... wrong.
Smoothing his hair he walked, unsteadily, to the Gate, resting one hand on the stone. This time he didn't so much push as listen to its song. The Gate's rich history, its power... and its cry to be used. And, more importantly, why it couldn't. Not without something else.
And Jason wouldn't be denied his due. He'd learn its secret soon enough.
All he needed to do was to place a phone call.