01 ◇⊦ Twenty-Thousand Leagues
Characters: Quorra and YOU, Users!
Location: The Plaza
Time: Just before dawn.
Style: Pick your poison!
Status: Very open! Tag away at the poor, confused ISO with the glowy outfit. PLEASE.
"Sam! It's time!"
The Creator stood across the chasm and from here he looked old, and frail, and tired. Tired of the constant fight, the battle for survival; every line etched in his face Quorra had come to know like a map of his sorrows, his regrets, his mistakes. And here, at the end of all things, the Portal - the light he and Quorra had spent their entire existence in the Outlands striving for. She had never been this close to it before, never imagined that she would be standing inside it.
And she wasn't alone. She stood with his son, with Sam Flynn. Sam wouldn't budge; the space between him and his father was vast and full of of desperation, of hope and longing and regret and so many other things, and Quorra stood in the middle of it. "I'm not leaving you!" he yelled, and distantly she heard Flynn's reply - "Take her!"
Quorra reached over her shoulder for the disc. Not her disc, which she had switched with Flynn before on the light jet - he'd known, then. He'd known, even if she hadn't, that it would come down to this. This, his disc, the master key; the key to the real world.
It was warm in her hands, but before she could give it to Sam, the light around them reached a blinding intensity and Quorra gasped, throwing up her arm to cover her eyes against it. But it was too strong, and within moments, in the midst of the light, the ISO knew darkness.
When she opened her eyes, it was to a glow, this one new and different from that of the Portal. It was gentle, soothing almost, and as pixels swam in and out of focus through Quorra's blurring vision, she frowned and tried to focus, tried to move; for a microcycle her limbs felt heavy, slow, unresponsive, but her will was too strong; with some effort she managed to sit up, reach up to rub her eyes - Flynn's disc was still in her hand. Why was it still in her hand? And what was that glow?
Depth rushed into her perception as she looked up, cast around with a wide-eyed gaze. The glow was coming from a strange, thick tendril of some brittle substance Quorra could not immediately identify. Automatically, she reached out with her free hand to touch it, and she almost yelped at the sudden shock it shot through her. The jolt went from the circuits in her fingertips all the way up her arm, and she drew in a deep breath as the energy flowed through her.
And then she knew, all at once, that something was very, very wrong.
Location: The Plaza
Time: Just before dawn.
Style: Pick your poison!
Status: Very open! Tag away at the poor, confused ISO with the glowy outfit. PLEASE.
"Sam! It's time!"
The Creator stood across the chasm and from here he looked old, and frail, and tired. Tired of the constant fight, the battle for survival; every line etched in his face Quorra had come to know like a map of his sorrows, his regrets, his mistakes. And here, at the end of all things, the Portal - the light he and Quorra had spent their entire existence in the Outlands striving for. She had never been this close to it before, never imagined that she would be standing inside it.
And she wasn't alone. She stood with his son, with Sam Flynn. Sam wouldn't budge; the space between him and his father was vast and full of of desperation, of hope and longing and regret and so many other things, and Quorra stood in the middle of it. "I'm not leaving you!" he yelled, and distantly she heard Flynn's reply - "Take her!"
Quorra reached over her shoulder for the disc. Not her disc, which she had switched with Flynn before on the light jet - he'd known, then. He'd known, even if she hadn't, that it would come down to this. This, his disc, the master key; the key to the real world.
It was warm in her hands, but before she could give it to Sam, the light around them reached a blinding intensity and Quorra gasped, throwing up her arm to cover her eyes against it. But it was too strong, and within moments, in the midst of the light, the ISO knew darkness.
When she opened her eyes, it was to a glow, this one new and different from that of the Portal. It was gentle, soothing almost, and as pixels swam in and out of focus through Quorra's blurring vision, she frowned and tried to focus, tried to move; for a microcycle her limbs felt heavy, slow, unresponsive, but her will was too strong; with some effort she managed to sit up, reach up to rub her eyes - Flynn's disc was still in her hand. Why was it still in her hand? And what was that glow?
Depth rushed into her perception as she looked up, cast around with a wide-eyed gaze. The glow was coming from a strange, thick tendril of some brittle substance Quorra could not immediately identify. Automatically, she reached out with her free hand to touch it, and she almost yelped at the sudden shock it shot through her. The jolt went from the circuits in her fingertips all the way up her arm, and she drew in a deep breath as the energy flowed through her.
And then she knew, all at once, that something was very, very wrong.