Artemis In The Box

If Artemis is not already inside the Box when he wakes up, that's where he drags himself immediately. He locks himself inside (again, if not already locked in), and refuses to come out for the entirety of the next two gaming sessions several days. He takes no food with him. Occasionally tapping or clanging sounds will resonate from within. (OOC: Anyone who wants to talk to him from outside the Box, please do. It'll help me get a better grip on his character now and will give me something to do over break.)

You seem to be following the path to the Darkside doctor. Perhaps you should reconsider your choice to follow this path. The others that I have seen follow it have all been defeated even when logic dictated that they would be victorious. The sheer military advantage that the empire had over the rebellion would make their defeat absurd. An outside observer might conclude that the universe itself conspired against them. I think we should accept that the universe knows what it is doing in these matters. However, I believe that we all must make our own choices. We must fight against those who would take away a beings right to choose their own destiny. Know that as long as you remain a member of this crew I will be by your side, whatever choice you make.

To VLTD8:

The tapping that had been emanating from within the box ceases once you speak. The complete silence indicates that Artemis is listening. After you're done, the sandpaper sound of cloth against metal sifts closer to the side of the box before you. After a moment, he speaks, his voice raspy and quiet.

"Thank you. I appreciate that very much. It's... it's not that I'm trying to go dark. I'm just afraid and angry. I know...leads to slipping. Risky. Can't help it, though. I keep running from my past. Not like you--not that I know much about your past other than that your brothers are Organization XIII. But you seem to be fully ready and eager to face them. Me, I screwed up a long time ago. Been running ever since. Can't face what I did, because I'd wind up dead. But running makes me a coward. Makes this worse. I was trying to find a middle ground, you know? Trying to help undo what I'd done, as much as I could, but then Freya just casually undermined a part of that. I don't know what to do. I know... choices and all... but I want to know...what do you think I should do?"

I am hesitant to advise you on matters that I do not know much about, but my personal observations have led me to believe that in most matters a middle ground does not exist. I have heard Freya speak of a middle ground and the notion interested me, but after some observation I am coming to the conclusion that this notion is flawed. While Freya appears to be currently walking this line herself there appears to be a high price for those around her. However I still believe that it is her choice to make. The best advice that I can give you is to confront the demons that haunt you. Only once we have come to terms with our past can we move towards the future.

Ten seconds of silence follow your answer, broken at last by a shaky, rattling sigh. "You're right," he says. "I have to face my past before I can go on. But I don't know how to do that without being put to death by the Defel. But I don't want to put the rest of you at risk, either." Rustling of cloth and another sigh follow. "I guess... I've done some of both already. This isn't going to make any sense unless you know what happened three years ago. Maybe that would be a good way to start: telling the group what it is that I've been hiding. Think that's a good idea? It's... it's going to come out soon anyway, I think."

Telling everyone seems like a good idea to me. When you are ready we should all meet and discuss it. In the mean time I must return to my lightsaber practice.

Right. Thank you, V. You're a very decent person. Thanks. I'll do that.

Some time after Eight leaves, Freya wonders in and lays a pillow down in front of the box. Her skin, normally ivory white has a bluish tinge and her eyes are bloodshot. Carefully, she sits down with her back against the Mandalorian cell's door and sighs wearily.

"You are sick, Artemis, and you need help," she says softly and evenly. "I've watched your fear and cowardice and indecision infect the other Jedi like a cancer. I thought it could be fought off by them individually, but they are a much more vulnerable group than I had imagined. I tried to help them, but that wasn't working as well as I had hoped. I had to go to the source.

"You know, Doctor Vox, as much as I hate to say it, the Jedi were right to assign me to this mission. I have this… talent… with the Dark Side that my Master saw and fostered. I can draw it forth like poison from a wound, and I can wield it like a scalpel. I think, as a doctor, you can appreciate that."

She pauses for a few moments as she shifts uncomfortably and takes a few deep breaths.

"Despite what you and the others might think, I am not cruel. I have given you a gift. Knowledge of the Self is the most valuable thing in the galaxy. It is also one of the more difficult things to learn and, at times, unexpectedly dangerous. The pursuit of it can takes years or, sometimes, a lifetime.

"Unfortunately, we don't have that much time, so I took a shortcut. You would have ended up here eventually," she says, knocking on the box. "We just got here more quickly than we would have otherwise. Still, it's better that this comes out now -- where no one can get hurt -- rather than having you at our backs when facing down a Sith Stalker. Wouldn't you agree?"

(OOC: When you crossed-out the "Something to do over break" line, does that mean you're going to be out of touch? When are you taking off?)

(OOC: Yeah. I'm going to be visiting my parents until Jan 4th. They're only as far away as Rio Rancho, but I won't be able to be around and present for gaming until I get back. And I need my fix for this glorious game so, so badly.)

Artemis jolts within the box, unpleasantly startled by the sound of a voice that he's come to dread in the past several hours. He draws his knees to his chest, invisible in the darkness that comforts all of his senses save sound. He cannot see, but he can hear all the better for the lack of his sight. The rustle of cloth against smooth metal scrapes like steel wool through his mind.

His first instinct is to deny what Freya is telling him. And, in fact, he begins to do so. "I'm not--" But then he stops, unable to finish a sentence that he has realized, to his own dismay, would be a lie.

He clears his throat, clearing the cobwebs from his voice. "Look. I know what I am. More so than you do, Sith Scalpel notwithstanding. It's not like I'd planned to run forever, you know. I had a plan. A careful plan, I think." He pauses, as though realizing something, and shifts towards the direction beyond which Freya sits. "But it's not about me. You sacrificed me for the sake of the rest of the group." He doesn't wait for confirmation or denial of this, and neither is their anger or accusation in his tone; his voice is simply tired. "What's going to happen, then? Since you seem to have everything figured out."

(OOC: Sorry, would have had this up earlier, but it's been a hell of day.)

"Well, what's going to happen is that you are going to man-up, or whatever similar act of gender-biased genital fortitude is appropriate for your kind, and take responsibility. I am not talking about making cyber-eyes for Defels as a way to make yourself feel better for accidental genocide, or wielding a child's stun-saber so you can play Jedi without any of the thought or consequences.

"You accept the fact that you are an adept wielder of the Force and a formidable opponent, along with the responsibilities and obligations that entails.

"You accept that you are never going to wash away the suffering of the Defels even if you were to find a cure tomorrow.

"You accept that as part of the elite peacekeepers of the galaxy that you and the other Jedi on this ship can take of an internal squabble, or a lone girl with a sword, by yourselves without running home to Mommy.

"You stop wasting your time feeling sorry for yourself. You stop handing over power to everyone else because you do not have the courage to run your life. You take control. You take the initiative.

"Because, if you do not, someone else will and they shall not be as concerned with you as I am."

(OOC: No worries at all! You guys okay?)

Artemis listens to Freya, and within the darkness his eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly in stunned surprise. His silence stretches a few seconds beyond her last words. When he does finally reply, he laughs the small, wavering titter of someone both highly amused and slightly insane.

"That's just great, Freya," he says. The unbalanced laughter in his voice has not yet dissipated. "I do appreciate what you're trying to do here. Really, honestly, I do. Don't mistake that. But it's not that simple." He shifts to address the wall that he knows Freya is leaning against. "Never washing away Defel suffering--check. I came to terms with that about a year ago. By the way, it wasn't an accidental genocide attempt. I could live with myself if it was accidental. Things like that happen. But, it wasn't. I went insane and tried to kill them all. Not exaggerating. Feeling sorry for myself isn't really even an option. I'm okay with that. I'm dangerous and psychotic, and that's just a fact.

"Using a stun saber was just plain common sense. I was incompetent with lightsabers, but even worse with a blaster, and I wanted to help out in fights more than just twiddling my thumbs. It's gone now, and that's fine. I don't need it anymore.

"As for this group, I don't know what you expect me to do. I'm not a leader. I've never been a leader. I don't have brilliant plans outside of medicine or virology. Toss me a problem involving one of those two, make sure I get sleep, and then I'll be spectacular. Otherwise, not going to happen yet.

"As for hesitating, I hesitate in my own life because I'm scared as hell. I sent off to Aretak my old logs that prove I'm the one responsible. Sent them, um, five days ago. Got to be there by now. Yes, Freya, you're absolutely right. I'm sick and I need help, but I don't know what to do from here. Do I run? Isn't that shirking responsibility? But I do not want to die."

"Ah, so now we come down to it. Tell me, Doctor, what did the Defel do to you that made you want to kill them?"

Artemis falters and, although no one can see him within the smothering darkness, he covers his face with his hands. He takes a slow, tremulous breath to calm his voice. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The Defel are decent, good, honourable people as a whole. They didn't do anything wrong. It's..."

He sighs and lets his head fall back and tap against the wall behind him. "You really want to know? It's somewhat of a long story. Though, I'd rather you and the rest of the group hear it from me rather than secondhand."

"Collecting stories is a hobby. Could you tell me if Doctor Trevore was an accomplice, or if you just used him as a scapegoat?"

The dull thunk made by the back of Artemis's head colliding yet again with mandalorean metal echoes from within the box.

"Ha very ha, Freya," he says dryly. "And the answer is neither." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I'll tell you everything that happened, then. Just, please don't tell the rest of the group yet. I want to do that myself, once I come out of here."

He's silent for several breaths, collecting his memory and his words from the dusty, unspoken recesses of his mind.

"The Defel have a genetic disease that's been manifesting itself more and more strongly with every generation. The disease causes increased light sensitivity--severely so. Sunlight burns their skin, their fur. It's excruciating and debilitating. The estimates four years ago said that the disease, then existing in 1/1000 Defel, would climb to 1/100 Defel. But, around the same time, the specific genetic code responsible for the disease was finally isolated." Artemis stretched his legs out. "Theoretically, once the sequence was known, it should be possible to treat the disease. So... that's what I tried to do. I was a virologist on Aretak. Smartest one in my department. I picked a method of retroviral engineering that should have worked. Went over it month after month, couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong, what I was missing.

"I stopped eating much. Sacrificed my lunches, my breakfasts. Stopped going home after a while and just napped in my office. Finally, I stopped sleeping at all. That's when...my memory fades a little. Becomes blurred. I was stupid and triggered...something wrong with me. Anyway, I started feeling as though I was being watched. At night, in the lab, with the hum of the hood in my ears, I'd see a glint out of the corner of my eye, reflected by the half-lowered glass in front of me. I kept thinking it was someone walking behind me, but I'd turn and no one would be there. I got nervous. Skittish. Paranoid. Psychotic. After a while... I saw something in the Defel sequence. I wasn't sure what it was. Couldn't place it, couldn't pin it down. Something was there, some riddle I hadn't uncovered. Something sinister, I thought. I was sure of it.

"After about a month of this, I figured it out. I knew what I was seeing. Grand conspiracy. The sequence was a disease, yes, but not for the Defel. Rather, not only for the Defel. The disease was a cover-up for the real damage--a virus targetting all humans and near-humans. Devastating. Wipe us all out, it would. I was terrified. Terrified and completely insane, of course. I had no semblance of rational thought left, but I did have enough of my brilliance to engineer what I meant to be a first strike. Something that would be in the shape of a cure for the Defel disease--the disease that I thought was their secret and ultimate weapon--but that would actually chop up any Defel DNA it found. Ugly, nasty death.

"It worked, too. The final product was lethal. Extremely high mortality rate if it had gotten loose. Which, mercifully, it did not. As soon as it was done, I went home and passed out. Slept for four days straight. When I woke up, I was sane again. It was awful. I went right into the lab, horrified, and destroyed every single sample of my work that I could find. But...I missed one. One of the middle products. Not as effective, not yet systemic, still susceptible to the immune system. Ansed found it. Poor Ansed. He didn't think to ask me about it, didn't think to at all. Hell, I don't know what he was thinking. All I know is that the next day, I found out that he'd gotten ahold of one of the samples--probably when I was asleep at home-- and distributed it.

"I was terrified. I was sure that Defel would come for me, come to rip me apart. I skipped planet. I just packed up and left. Ran as far away as I could on whatever ships I could hitchhike on. I spent a year in space, alone. I felt safer the farther I ran and the stranger the people around me were. When I finally emerged into civilization, I heard about Ansed. Heard that he'd been blamed and that he'd fled and was hidden somewhere. I was too much of a coward to do anything about it until recently, when he was caught. Hopefully the evidence that I sent in will clear his name, but I don't know if it will. He still sent off the virus, distributed it. He didn't know, but he was still foolish. Not half as foolish as I was, though.

"And... that's it, really. I joined the Jedi to try to find a way to control my emotions, clam them up to prevent any future outbursts of insanity. But that didn't work out well. I don't really think the way of the Jedi is for me. It doesn't feel right to blank out emotions and fervor. Feels smarter, better, to just learn how to live with them."

After Artemis finishes speaking, it is quiet for several second. Then it sounds as if Freya suddenly gets up and leaves.

Before Artemis can deal with the clutter of emotions attacking him subsequent to Freya's abrupt departure, he yells after her, unsure if she can hear him. "Freya! I'm sorry!"