Broken Toys /MOMO AWAKENING THREAD

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Christian Reichenbach had been sitting on the bench near an empty kiask, in the deserted Bertelsmann Building, for the last four hours. It was nearing two am now, and the dimly lit building had hardly changed since he had sat down, so soon after the senile security guard Tom and his stoner companion Steve took up their shift. He was in the clear to stare blankly at the plastic ficus until sunrise. Christian was in a state of shock. He felt vulnerable for the first time in... in his memory at all. Vulnerable and scared. At the age of seventeen, four months shy of his eighteenth birthday, Christian had been told he was going to die.

Everyone was going to die of course. But it was generally treated as a surprise, something not to be thought of until they reached about seventy five. But no. Christian had faced it earlier that afternoon, alone, in a sterile hospital room, with a Doctor he barely knew. He'd just been having headaches. He just thought he was going to be given super asprin or something of the like. The CT scan was suppose to be precautionary, they weren't suppose to find anything. But they did... They found a medulloblastoma-like tumor growing into his amygdala. Not even medulloblastoma... Medulloblastoma-like. Oddly placed, slow growing, and lethal. They were too afraid just to go in and dig it out, it was so buried under important brain tissue. They suggested chemotherapy to shrink and eventually kill it.

So he pictured himself taking chemotherapy. Becoming withered, bald, and weak. It was not the cancer itself that made people go bald, it was the treatment. Christian put his face in his hands at the idea, wishing tat he could just cry. It seems like a logical outlet in a moment like this, but Adolfo Reichenbach's teaching was to deeply ingrained. He was just lost in a moment, sinking in his own suppressed emotions. Treatment might not work, if it does the effects after will last forever. If he were to die, what would he be leaving behind? What had he ever done? He had mildly annoyed people, he had indulged in a the life of a hedonist. But in this moment he could find nothing of substance.

He was going to die.

And it all means nothing.

He had spent his life being aimless. And arrow with no target. He had never had to work or plan for the long run, because it had all been worked out for him. It had all been planned for him. The intelligence was wasted, the breath was wasted. Emilie did not love him, his parents did not love him, Adolfo did not love him. He was a pest, and inconvenience, and an heir.

Nothing more.

He was going to die.

And it all meant nothing.

He got up from his bench and began walking along the corridors. Any shopping complex after hours felt poetic to Christian. The lights were dimmed, the goods could be seen through the windows and gates, the halls were barren. It almost felt like he was watching someone in the shower. An invasive attraction, a beauty that was taboo. Consumerism at rest. Recharging for the next day of slinging bullshit. Christian wanted nothing more right now, than to be like everyone else. To fall in line with the people who roam these hollow passage way, and not roam alone. At night.

But at that thought, a sickness took him. He rushed to the nearest trashcan and emptied his gut, clutching the sides as bile rushed out of him. Like his body was rejecting such feelings. Sadly for Christian there was no contents to come out of his temperamental gut, and instead stomach acid fell out. It was agonizingly painful, bringing him to his knees, heaving for air to sooth his throat.

And as he rested on the eggshell linoleum, letting the cold and grimy floor comfort his hot cheek, he thought. He was going to die, this was a fact. Even if the doctors attempted to give him hope, he knew there was little. He could see it on their faces. They had pitied him. And Christian Reichenbach was a proud man. He would be pitied by no man, least of all himself.

He was going to die.

And it didn't matter.

He would not take treatment. He would not die without leaving a legacy behind. And as he made this vow to himself, something in him awoke. Not the mind of a petty teenage boy, but something far more dark. Far more ruthless. He would not be the Napoleon of the Classroom, he'd be the Napoleon of Crime, and he'd make his mark.

Peace came over Christian, as he brought himself to his knees and looked up, almost as though praising some primal God he had just created. He smile had crossed over his widely set, thin, lips. "I'm going to die. And it does not matter." The primal God filled him, as a small laugh escaped, following his quiet voice. He felt so free. Had he been in a cage all this time? "That's what people DO!" It was a quiet, rumbling, victorious, roar. Christian Reichenbach was the Moriarty of the twenty first century. And he'd do this proudly!

Looking down the hall, a light caught his eye. His lips were still smiling, his joy was still apparent. As he got up stealthily, he made his way to investigate, keeping carefully out of site as he approached Third Times a Charm.

Let the games begin.

outfit:; Professor Moriarty.

[MERCEDES FERERRA]

Rent-a-cops. What a joke.

Mercedes had recently gone on a little date with Steven Descarte, who had been rather informative. He might have noticed her interest in his job a little strange, had he not been baked out of his mind. But by the end of the date, Mercy had all the information she needed to break into the Shopping Centre of the Bertelsmann Building, and happy 'shop' to her hearts content.

Right around 9:30, Mercy slipped unnoticed into a bathroom stall, placing an 'Out of Order' sign on the door and locking it behind her. She took a perch up on the seat, hanging her empty bag from the hooks on the back of the door, took out her iPhone, and waited.

Mercedes had gotten used to this. She had the complete pantheon of games that she could switch between without getting bored, and the years of gymnastics and dance training had helped with her ability to sit very still for long periods of time without fidgeting. When she was absolutely certain that Tom had already fallen asleep, and Steve was busy watching youtube videos of cats, she stood, stretching her muscles languidly. Her iPhone powered off, dead, and she slipped it into the bag before slinging it onto her shoulder.

She exited the restroom, and stole through the deserted building silently, her black flats making nearly no noise on the linoleum flooring. Her heart started to pound in her ears, as a familiar sensation pooled deep in her belly. The knowledge that she could be caught was something very arousing indeed, and at the moment, this was all the sexual gratification she needed.

Of course, even if she did get caught, she could easily worm her way out of it. She was dressed in a pair of Victoria's secret yoga pants, a pink shirt, a white tank top, and a black VS hoodie. It's not like she was dressed in a way that would make one assume she was a thief. She looked like a random teenage girl, who had simply gotten accidentally trapped in the mall. No big. Her phone was dead, she was trying to leave, but she kept getting lost! All she had to do was start crying, and she'd be off, scot free.

Quietly, she lurked through the shadows, before settling on a store. The key-ring she had pilfered from Steve and replaced with a look alike made a mild jangling sound, but she was careful to hold it so it wouldn't make too much of a ruckus. What kind of an idiot shows a girl he just met a skeleton key for a mall? She shook her head at his stupidity, just as the lock clicked open. There were the tell-tale beeps, she dashed to the back to disarm the security systems, and the beeping stopped. Fail-safes, designed to make it so mall cops didn't have to remember every code for every store. She shook her head at how easy the internet made it to be a klepto.

She was starting to wonder at her luck as she started filling her bag with things, trying to avoid aiming her face at a security camera. All it would take would be for someone to notice her, she wasn't exactly being discreet. But that was silly. She knew she had time. There hadn't been a break-in at the Bertelsmann building in over 13 years. That was why they left the security so lax. That was why she had chosen this particular spot, why she had slept with someone so completely not in her league. So she could steal a simply disgusting amount of jewelry from the only store worth raiding in the complex, Third Time's A Charm.

She had lulled herself into a false sense of security. Then again, how could she possibly know that her plans were all going to ruin because of a Nihilist who had nothing left to lose?

OUTFIT;; D'aww, Mercy.

[CHRISTIAN REICHENBACH]

Christian watched as the little beauty crossed the floor of the shopping center. She had a look about her, the little archtypal, americana, beauty. Certainly she used those Shangrila blue eyes to her advantage. Hell, that was probably how she got access into this place. She probably thought herself quite clever; all it would have taken was a amorous and dallying smile, a well considered placement of her hand, and a coquettish flutter of those long eye lashes for her to have access to all these riches. He wanted to break that. In fact, right now, it was the only thing he wanted to do. He wanted to bring his new outlook on life- the absence of fear- to someone else. This girl had the fortunate misfortune of being in the vicinity of this epiphany.

With his cellphone, Christian began the indolent process of hacking into the security system. He supposed he was rather like most of his torpid peers, being glued to his phone near constantly. But, despite the sounds of angry birds echoing from it's speakers, he was doing no such thing. He was playing his games, he was enjoying himself. Like right now. With a few finishing punches of the newly made key code, a jingle rang throughout the jewelry store, and the firm sounds of locking doors followed. The sliding, steel, gate slammed shut- locking his recalcitrant Barbie in the confines of the store, and quite unable to touch anything. But she was able to see Christian on the other side, with his lethargic grin in place, and his listless wave in motion. "I wouldn't touch anything. Even if it's a simple enough system to get into, it is quite thorough." His queerly blue eyes were scanning the face of his phone, though he already knew what it would do. Still, everything was an effect of an effect. "Apparently it will call the local police precinct if anything is touched while the system is on... Isn't that something?"

He leaned against the entry way frame, eyes looking down the corridor of the shopping center. She was certainly pissed at his interruption. This was something that took at least basic preparation. And here he was, ruining it. Poor thing. He might consider feeling bad for her, had he not found his purpose far more pertinent. Though, still, he probably wouldn't feel bad for her, to be honest.

"I've had a very long day. Very long." He admitted, his voice wary. Yet, it was still a confiding tone. There would be little pleasure in goading a caged tiger, after all. So he kept his tone conversational. "So I've... well, for lack of a better term, caught you. Strangers are really the best people to tell your problems to, don't you think?" His eyes bore into her a little through the rectangles of the gate. "You have no reason to care about anything I have to say, because you don't know me. But, ahhh, if I give you a reason to- which I do believe I have- than I have your undivided attention. People you see everyday become so... complacent. So self centered. Which really... It tends to contrast with my current need to be the center of attention. Do you understand?"

Of course she understood. She had to understand, because otherwise she was going to jail. And- probably- prison after than. As clever as it was to dress in her sweats- Lord, did Christian hate a sweatsuit on a pretty girl- it would be a bit more tricky to explain how she managed to get into a cleared and locked down store front. And wasn't it amazing, how the level of empathy in a human being seemed to spike when they were faced with personal turmoil. His eyes soaked her in, a hound having cornered a foxy little fox. Yet, all Christian would allow this girl to see was a vapidness; Never the clockwork beneath. "Today, I found out I'm going to die. Can you believe that? I hardly look sick at all. But... give or take a decade and-" He raspberried. "Dead as Houdini after a hard punch in the gut. What would you do, if you were given an expiration date?" The conversational tone he kept through this was quite candid, but his ageless boyish face looked at her, as if eager to hear her answer back.