ArchivedLogs:Whispering Shadows
| Whispering Shadows | |
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| Dramatis Personae | 2013-10-28 ' |
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Jackson Holland's phone rings somewhere around mid-day, close to the afternoon. "H'lo, s'is Jax," comes the cheerfully drawled greeting, warm as ever. There's a quiet background chatter of young voices behind his words, though it's shut out a moment later. "Mr. Holland." The name is whispered. Distinct, yet hazey -- like a dozen men with the same voice murmuring all at once, slightly out of sync with each other. "We need to arrange a delivery." "-- Hive?" For a moment Jax sounds /distinctly/ puzzled, at the chorus-voice coming through his phone. It takes a moment before he corrects himself: "No, wait, you're --" He pauses. There is another door opening, closing again. "There ain't gonna be no delivery." "Mr. Holland." Again, the name is repeated -- this time, the chorus of whispers has grown more firm, more insistent. Less a greeting, more a /command/. "Do you understand the nature of the risk we are discussing, here?" "My name is Jackson," Jax says, kind of /automatic/ in this correction. "An' I'm fair sure I understand, sir. He told us about what the government's been trying to do with him. I ain't quite sure I see that turning him over to be made into a weapon /for sure/ s'got more value than lettin' him live his own life where he don't want to hurt anyone at all." "Jackson." As if tasting the name for the first time; weighing it atop of his -- their? -- tongues. And then: "He already /is/ a weapon. Every breath he releases outside of a closed system may kill you and every single person you have ever known or loved," the chorus of voices continue to whisper, the words humming so deeply they seem to /lick/ at Jax's ear. "If you keep him out, people /will/ die. Are you prepared for that?" The last question sounds less accusing -- more curious. Almost as if he were probing at Jax. "May. /May/ kill us." Jackson sounds flat, in comparison to Malthus's strange whisper. "What've you done to yourself? Nox didn't sound like this." He draws in a breath, afterwards. "If we give him back to you, there ain't no 'may' about it. That's a huge part'a the reason they want him /back/. To find a better way to kill people. To kill us. Out here there /may/ be a danger. In there, people /will/ die." He sounds a bit wry when he continues: "-- I know /you're/ prepared for that, anyway." "Ms. Garrett did not have blood," the voices whisper. "Rendering her immune to injection." As if this was sufficient to answer Jackson's question, he goes on: "Yes, Jackson," Malthus' voices agree, a hint of amusement lingering in the tone. "You will find I am prepared for quite a number of things." "Injection? What did you --" Jax sounds puzzled, here. He stops, though, quiet for a long moment. "We ain't giving him back to be your weapon." "Understood, Jackson. I hope the wounds I left you with healed well. I look forward to our next meeting," the voices whisper, and then: Click. For a while Jackson just stands. Phone in hand, his other hand rubbing slowly at his jaw. He eventually lowers his hand to send a few texts, and then return to class.
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