Nameless - Girl Your My Angel

Description: Reborn anew, the nameless soldier of NESTS comes out of another test tube, in order to tirelessly serve his masters. However, to bring him into the world of the living again, is a woman who rarely cares to live or die. Family is important in NESTS, but how can the nameless teenager endure a troublemaker like... Angel?

The last thing that he would remember was the volley of bullets tearing into his body. Killing those corrupt leaders. Being a hero for the world. And then, the flames. The hot, the eternally burning flames from within, that corrupt and consume him. And then, darkness. Long, long darkness. Peculiar moments of partial consciousness, only able to think words and brush memories, before being lost in the abyss.

And then, there was light.

The dark-haired teenager's eyes dart around desperately, as they surge open. He breathes quickly, and almost immediately earns himself a sense of sudden drowning, lungs filling with liquid. The naked teenager was within a slender glass tube of greenish liquid, overlooking a small specialized laboratory. The life support systems have been disengaged, as has his rebreather, and the shock of consciousness -- of a new birth -- is likely more than a little disorienting. Severak white-jacketed scientists standing just outside scribbles clipboards, one even inputting into a console. "Test Case #9999." The scientist mutters. "Zhe Prime..." An unwanted pang of familiarity might well up then, a ghost of countless, fragmented memories of agony, pain, needles, sterile walls... It hurts. It is cold. The red blinking light. I am numb. It is cold.

And the pain returns.

The nameless teenager struggles as he breathes, but he doesn't fight his fate. His mind was returning. His thoughts... flickering. A stream of bubbles rise beside him. He tilts his head slightly, ignoring the pain in his spine that was charging through. His skin on his arm was fissured and bearing open sores, where the trickle of bubbles was rising up. It did not hurt there, though. His spine hurt the worst. He shuts his eyes tight, as his chin adjusts upright to the fluid. He reopens them. His lungs hurt terribly. He was naked. But someone very dear to him was missing. The scientist at the console looks up, and then, behind him.

"What do you think of him, Angel?"

Another figure occupies the room, a slender and shapely form silhouetted by the brilliant glow of unseen lights. The illumination is harsh and blinding and from his perch within the fluid tank it seems to engulf the young woman in a halo of blurry white as if she herself were radiating an aura of energy. Ofcourse, it is naught but a brief optical illusion, a trick played upon him by newly formed eyes as they fight to establish the focus that his consciousness expects.

The blurred image eventually resolves into the familiar figure of a teenage girl. Angel is dressed in her usual fashion, wearing something that looks like a cross between a professional wrestling uniform and a biker gangster. The front of her vintage leather jacket lies unzipped and dangling open leaving only a thin sports bra of navy blue to keep her ample bosom in check, a job which it doesn't seem to take very seriously. She sits atop one of the many medical beds that line the room, her legs crossed into a tight knot with her chin propped up in the palm of a hand. Despite the obviously frigid temperatures of the room, as evidenced by the way her breath turns into a fine white mist in the air, the girl doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the lack of protection her skimpy outfit offers against the sterilizing temperatures, showing no outward signs of discomfort or chill. If anything, she looks bored.

At the question, Angel's gaze shifts from the far wall, her mind slowly rousing from the lazy daydream she'd allowed it to wander off into to focus on the figure hovering above them in the vats of life-giving chemicals. Her dull grayish eyes slowly drift upwards taking in the naked form of the young man held in suspension in an overtly sensual fashion. It's hardly the first time she's laid eyes on her fellow agent in the buff, he had a nasty habit of getting brutally murdered, and this is only the latest of his 'ressurections', but she never missed an opportunity to steal a free peek; if only to have something to tease him about later.

Angel has no real interest in seeking out this particular conquest. Like the other here, the man without a name was more like a sibling to her than a co-worker. She'd been rescued from a life on the streets at a very young age and it had been nearly impossible to keep from forming new bonds with the other subjects that came in and out of NESTS' labs over the years. This had the unfortunate side-effect of making her grow attached to disposable assets and more than once she'd been forced to simply sit back and watch as a precious friend who was no longer useful was taken away to be disposed of. Someone attempting to psycho-analyze her quirky personality might put some of the blame for her almost suicidally laid-back attitude on this unusual childhood; it's certainly been suggested in her yearly psych reports. But then, the engima of Angel has never truly been cracked and no one, not even the girl herself, really has a good grasp on what makes her tick.

"Not bad," she offers non-commitally after a few moments of silent oogling. "But you should really do something about that self-sacrificing hero complex of his. Every time he pulls this shit, I'm the one who gets chewed out while you geeks pull another cabbage patch knucklehead out of the freezer."

"It's his purpose to die."

That is the response from the scientist as he analyzes the charts pulled up on the monitors. It was well established that of the experiments and resources acquired, they would develop a rudimentary familial model. A psychological profile of 'siblings.' Project Zhe was meant to avoid this fate, but like all attempts to overcome the bonds, it constantly ran into the limitations of the human condition. One that even NESTS top scientists have yet to properly overcome and solve.

The scientist, thus, feel obliged to explain. "The purpose of Project Zhe is to provide an effective, functioning, loyal, and above all, expendable tool for conducting missions on behalf of our organization. He is functioning, he is loyal, and he is above all expendable. When the time comes to complete the mission, it is his job to die. The reason why -you- get, as you say, 'chewed out.'" The scientist takes a moment to make air quotes, turning towards Angel. "Is because it's your job to ensure he completes as many tasks as he can before he burns up..."

"And to retrieve the glove."

The scientist hits a few buttons on the console. From a nearby sealant tank, a hiss of nitrogen erupts as a pedestal rises from the mechanical interior. On it, is a simple blue, white glove, impossibly pure looking. Clouds of icy mist rise off its body, inspite of the chill of the interior. The scientist motions to one of his colleagues. The other scientist nods, and moves to the test tube. Pressing a large, red, button, an alarm goes off as the tube begins to drain out the thick green fluid to a grate underneath... and with it, dump out the nameless teenager to the floor. The head scientist gestures to the glove, staring at Angel.

"Would you like to be one to put it on, Angel?"

Angel's head swivels without detaching from her palm where it rests as she eyes the rising pedestal. It reminds her of an altar despite the plainess of the steel upon which the glove rests, a small shrine to the artifact of a long forgotten deity. She was aware of what the glove represented, of what it contained within the confines of its deceptive exterior, but more importantly, she was keenly aware of how Nameless felt about the object.

After thinking about it, she unfolds her legs and hops down to the floor, sliding off her perch with a supple grace that, if displayed by anyone else, would have been an obvious attempt to draw attention; for Angel, however, her sleek movements are the result of an absurd amount of gene-modding combined with an adult woman's playful charm. This is just who she is.

Slinking her way over to the glove's protective encasement the youth peers at it as if appraising the object within. She stalks in a slow circle around the raised dais of Nameless' personal goddess dragging a finger along the polished surface as if toying with the idea of snatching it up and sliding it over her long slender fingers. Ofcourse, she would never defile something so personal in that way, atleast not something belonging to someone she likes, but it was impossible for her not to tease him when she knew the reaction it would get. Actually, he might like it, in a twisted sort of way.

Angel's hand slowly reaches out for the glove hovering over it for several long seconds before she steps away with a dismissive look. "Nah, not my color."

The scientist steadily turns a shade of purple as this plays out.

As Angel teases and toys with the glove, all eyes gradually cast on her. By the time she ultimately decides not to take up the glove, the room was no longer chilly. The teenager, still down on the ground, was beginning to flare out plumes of chi. Already, the room was warming up. The scientist by the console rushes past her. Taking up the glove with both hands, the scientist was sputtering spittle to himself as he rushes down to the tubes, where the nameless teen was gasping, clutching his steadily blackening arm. The glove nearly flies from his fingers as the teenager snatches it away, and with a smooth, almost indulgent satisfaction, he slips the glove on. The heat in the room dies down. Still gripping his now gloved wrist, the naked teenager inhales and exhales. The boy rises without shame, standing tall. He falls into a parade rest stance, holding himself with the utmost dignity.

"Worthless damn-"

The scientist was still purple, glaring bug-eyed at Angel as he sputters. "You nearly got us all killed! I will make a citation on this! I will... barumph! BARUMPH!" He hammers his fist on the edge of a console. "Get him out of here! Get him dressed! You are in charge of him! Prepare him, and debrief him on his mission! I can't believe that they tolerate such wanton, such hideous breaches of protocol..." The nameless continues his stance, holding himself at attention. The scientist was clear. Angel would be his commander. He would follow her orders. He would have faith in his big sister. ANd when the time was right?

He would provide another sacrifice.

Angel casually steps out of the way of the huffing scientist giving him access to the glove as the clone's inherently unstable chi threatens to boil over without the special regulator to keep it in check. She shows no signs of concern at the possibility of the imminent demise of everyone in the room, herself included. Death was always nipping at her heels, be it the fists and bullets of their enemies or the Damocles sword hanging over the head of every NESTS operative, a perilous pendulum that swung upon the thread of her superior's whims. She had managed to avoid that fate through a combination of tactically applied effort, shameless brown nosing, and an unfathomable amount of luck. One day her number would come up. Worrying about the exact day and hour would have driven her to insanity years ago and only hastened her demise.

The girl gives the skinny technician a lop-sided smile at his furious outburst and sticks her tongue out like a child caught doing something they know they shouldn't but then did it anyways. These self-important blow-hards aren't part of her family, they don't know what it is to be on the other side of those needles and monitors, to suffer for weeks on end with no hope for release save the positive results of whatever test they are being used for. Fortunately for them, they work for NESTS, a shield that they wantonly hide behind knowing that she can't hurt them without good reason. Doesn't stop her from pissing them off to no end.

Shoving her way past the scientist, who has by now turned a new shade of red and begun hyperventilating as he attempts to spew forth a non-stop barrage of indignation and outrage, Angel moves over to stand next to her 'new' charge, both hands resting on her hips. Nameless, as he is often referred to, gets another once over then she nods and gives him a sharp smack on the rear.

"Alright, you heard the man. We have, uh... ssssstuff... to do. Or something." She shrugs and moves behind him, planting her hands on his back and pushing him towards the pneumatic doors at the far side of the room. "Whatever, let's just get out of here before this guy's head explodes, I don't feel like washing blood out of my jacket again this week."


That was the curt response from the teenager as he is promptly smacked on the bottom. He didn't even look upset, or shocked. He was not as flappable as some of his other brothers. He was not uncomfortable to be naked around Angel, as difficult as it might seem. Besides, he didn't truly feel nude anymore.

He was wearing his glove.

"Thank you Angel." He states firmly, as he steps out of the lab into the sterile, minimalistic hallways. Red lights blink in a chain up and down the hallways. The boy continues continues forward, keeping pace with Angel, no matter how slow... or fast she could go. He keeps silent, as they approach a pair of scientists walking through the hallway. Not even looking at the naked teenager, he waits a moment longer, looking back over his shoulder, before finally opening up a bit. "I remembered not to call you ma'am this time." The nameless teenager keeps his expression stoic, though his tone was proud. "I remembered what you told me last time. What you told me before. Memories are important to me, and so are you." The teenager goes quiet, looking away.

Idly, he rubs his gloved wrist again.

"That was a funny prank you played on him." His tone was flat, and firm, betraying any actual sense of mirth or merriment. "I can't believe you can get away with teasing those scientists. But if I couldn't control the power any more, you could have gotten hurt." The clone looks back towards Angel, looking intensely at her, a real fear in his eyes, as they approach the quartermaster. That was where the various outfits of NESTS was made available in a sort of central locker room. He could get dressed there. As the pneumatic doors open, the teenager emphasizes again as he enters through.

"I don't want my family to get hurt, Angel."

It doesn't take much to get her ward moving but Angel pushes him all the way until they are out of the doors of the clone lab before moving to walk beside him instead. In the past she had teased him by walking with her arm locked in his or wrapped around his waist during the ritual of reorienting a new body with the collective consciousness but most of his awkwardness came from a lack of comprehension and experience. That had quit working a long time ago. The pair of them wander the long corridors of the base side by side, neither of them particularly bothered by the skin they have on display though Angel can't keep the wry grin off her face. It's a rare day when someone outshines her brazeness in that department. Not that she doesn't strut the halls in her birthday suit from time to time. It just comes with the territory of being the perpetual lab rat of a secret society hellbent on world domination.

"Well, sometimes you have to get creative to really get under their skin," she retorts with a languid tone, her tone of voice so relaxed as to lend one the belief that she's half asleep. "I used to doodle on their notes or slip laxatives into their coffee but they guard that shit like hawks now. One even rigged his tablet up to shock anyone who touched it without a remote key to turn the safety measures off."

She grins at the memory of that one. It had been a clever counter-measure for sure but the competition between the lab rats in here was fierce and the man had failed to inform his colleges of his new toy. So Angel had just sent and endless tide of the other techs to retrieve the tablet over the course of a few days until half the department was out to get him. They were smart but she had wiles.

"Anyways, don't worry about me. I wouldn't have let things get out of control. I'm not in any particular hurry to meet my demise." That train of thought made her frown suddenly and she turned to plant a fist in the center of Nameless' well toned abs. It wasn't a hard punch but it had enough power to make him feel it. "Unlike someone I know."

And what of the vanguard weapon of world domination

The teenager listens to Angel dilligently. He loved his family. And while he did not agree with Angel's authority issues, he knew that when it came to the most important things, he could trust her to do the right thing. Unlike some of his brothers. K9999. K'. The failures. Well, K9999 wasn't yet. Yet. But the boy loathed that brother more so than the traitor. As the punch comes, he doesn't even flinch. He didn't need to flinch anymore. Besides, if Angel needed to break him?

He would let her, if she needed it.

"I always worry about my family." The teenager's words are dead serious, as he pulls away from Angel, holding a hand to his stomach. He did feel it. Angel was strong. Moving further into the room, he reaches the console in the corner. The quartermaster was a system, not a human being. Bringing his eye to the retina scanner embedded on the console, the laser flickers in his eye briefly, before he places his hand on the console. And then, as he waits, he continues to speak. "I can die. They can't. Every time I die, that means one of my brothers and sisters are saved. Every time they make a mistake, they could be gone forever. And when I make a mistake..."

"... The only mistake I can make is losing you guys."

In a nearby bin, a set of clothing tumbles out. The teenager collects up the clothing in his arms, and begins to get himself dressed. NESTS still never had gotten over their love of synthetic leather. The boy puts on his pants first; maybe he was much more uncomfortable with his nudity than he had let on. As Angel waits (and probably watches), he looks towards her. "How are the others, by the way? I don't remember... anything the last time I met the others." The boy's memories were always spotty; likely artificially so.

"Has anybody been hurt?"

Angel shrugs, a gesture which says quite a bit on its own. She cares just as much for her messed up little family as the clone. Even K9999 is special to her even if he is a bit special in a different way. The kid's got issues, no doubt about that, but considering what he's been through... well, she just has a little more tolerance for his tantrums than most.

"Nothing serious. Eve's gotten into a few scraps but she always has that weird monster girl with her. I guess they keep each other out of trouble."

Nameless dresses. Angel watches. The routine rarely changes save for the presence of others on occassion. Today the room is empty, the majority of the base personnel on another floor working on some secret project that will 'advance NESTS down the path to final conquest' or something like that. Every project is secret, every experiment possibly the one that will make all their grand designs possible, and every idea is inevitably a dead end. World domination is harder than it sounds, she supposes.

Fortunately, all of the hard work falls on other people. Most of her time is spent lazing around watching tv with the occasional trip into the real world to bust a few kneecaps or some Mafia shit like that. Since their last tussle with Shadaloo, however, things have been pretty quiet.

She hates quiet. Quiet is boring.

"Actually it's been pretty lame around here for a while. I guess Zero took a few months off to wax his moustache or something. Seriously, have you seen how shiny that thing is? It's like he glues a piece of plastic to his lip."

The nameless teenager could tolerate quiet.

Quiet meant peace for him. And peace... he was okay with peace. Peace gave him a chance to reflect. To bond with his glove. But there was a bitterness of peace. Peace without power meant stagnation. And stagnation... stagnation meant that she would be apart from him. He had to make himself useful for NESTS. He always had to do something. To glory NESTS, to drive it forward. And only as long as he was useful...

Would he be able to save her.

"It shouldn't be boring for long." The teenager states, adjust his vest. The outfit is form fitting, more so than Angel's own outfit. It was a practical suit, a functional suit. The boy was not driven by the same freedom that Angel lived every day. "If I am around, that means somebody is going to die." He states flatly, no emotion in his voice. His next mission wasn't known yet. But he knew whenever he was alive again, it meant death, death, death. He was an assassin. A weapon. A tool. The teenager is silent, as he fixes on his other glove. He had a mission. But it was not known yet. That meant only one thing.

"I liked Zero better when he didn't have a mustache."

The words come casually. "I don't have my mission yet. You don't have your mission yet. And right now." The teenager takes in a breath, and exhales. "I'm bored too." He looks towards Angel, eyeing her up and down, before rubbing his stomach. "Angel, in my last encounter, I felt that my martial skills were inadequete. I don't know any way that I practice them." The boy does not crack a smile, but his tone held just the faintest tease in it.

"Could you recommend any way I could train?"

The subtle shift in tone might have gone unnoticed by another person but not Angel. Her sense of hearing was among the many things amplified by the countless experiments on her body. Even without the physiological boost to her auditory prowess, one learned to listen very carefully to the tones of those speaking in a place like NESTS if one wanted to have a long and healthy life. Eccentric was the norm for those chosen to partake in the holy crusade for total control and learning how to navigate the varied moods and tempers of those with the power to crush her like a bug was something Angel developed a knack for at a very young age, which probably has something to do with why she is still alive after a decade in the lion's den.

Nameless' personality had taken a little more time to pin down but she's something of an expert now on his various shades of monotone. This one in particular is quite rare and it causes her brow to quirk upwards in amusement as she tilts her head to peer at him like a cat who has spotted something interesting to play with.

Peeling herself off the wall which she had been leaning on, Angel slinks over to the leather-clad assassin and crosses her arms beneath her chest, an act which causes her ample bosom to be pressed together in a practiced and seductive fashion. The girl leans forward and eyes him with a sideways glance, a knowing smirk creeping across her pretty face.

"Hrm... training, you say. Has the white knight begun to lose his lustre? Maybe if you used your hands for something besides caressing your girlfriend all day you'd see some progress." She turns away and pauses, contemplating something, then tilts her head to peer back at him over her shoulder through the loose curtain of her snow-white bangs. "Or maybe she's the one doing the caressing," she adds suggestively, making an empty fist and waving it up and down in the air.

Log created on 15:42:53 02/04/2016 by Nameless, and last modified on 01:01:12 06/28/2016.