The harsh cold weather clawed at Enigma's throat, awakening him from his unconciousness. The wind blew through his hairs as they danced in the air. The snow underneath him began to sting under his legs and his back. He got on his knees and glanced around, scanning for his enemy. Riding in his Time Cruiser had really been a bad idea after all. He didn't see any traces of his vehicle. He didn't know where he was, but it was obvious it was the harshest weather he had ever encountered. For a living zombie like him, cold wasn't much of a problem, but if this cold was beginning to sting on his dead skin, the average human didn't have a chance.
He stood up, pulled his gloves on in tighter. He could see his breathe, something rarely seen in a zombie. Trees were all around him, fog didn't allow him to see where Basho was. It was a dangerous place for a battle. If they had both been teleported, Basho would have had to be the same distance away from when they had been inside the dome. But the problem was that Enigma had fallen unconcious before the teleportation. Enigma pulled on in his gloves tighter, once again. His white jumpsuit have began to gain a blueish tint. It might as well have been Ice Planet "Hoth" out here.
Suddenly he noticed his Time Cruiser was up on a tree. It appeared like it was still coughing out green energy. Enigma took a hold of a branch and pulled himself up. He climbed the tree until he was where his vehicle was stuck. He took a look at the engine, things appeared normal. Maybe it wasn't the bike that was having problems. Maybe it was he himself that was making it teleport to other dimensions. After all there was no reason for why it would be puffing out green energy, like Enigma when he revived corpses.
He needed to get things straight before he was teleported to a worst place. But with his enemy determined to end with him, he didn't see a chance of getting any peace. His opponent seemed like a machine to him. But he was stronger and more skilled than an average machine. The way he used his swords was something special. Deadly and dangerous, something Enigma would have toget ready for the next time they faced. It wouldn't be long before they found each other out in this harsh forest.
Enigma coughed a small puff of green mist out. His energy was draining. The cold wasn't helping him. Suddenly he noticed something moving in the distance. A shadow appeared far away in the fog. Enigma was no stealth assasin. He hadn't been trained by the best, but he knew a few moves. He slid behind a tree. Leaped on top and began to climb higher. Looking down, he saw his enemy, he was as confused as possible. It appeared as if he was a machine. If so, they might have both been in problems. Enigma leaped high into the air. Taking out his Moo Beam blaster in mid air, he took target and shot twice. He need time to think, and two paralyzers would do the trick.
Enigma vs Basho Haiku: Battle Through Dimensions
In another time and another place, Basho had another name. He used it so rarely now-a-days he forgets sometimes what it was.
Ja.. Jo.. To.. The closer he felt he got, the further it fled into his memory.
He had loved ones, a wife –she had a name-, a child, it was a boy –he had a name too-. Then they were ripped away from him, and he got a new name, he got a new purpose.
Now he was in another time and another place. He gazed up groggily, his head full of cotton wool stuffing, at the tree he’s just fallen out of. There were no trees in that gladiatorial pit he was in a second ago. As the memory of where he came from forced it’s way through the cotton wool in his mind his awareness also grew. It was cold, bitterly cold, and he was underdressed. He was also laid in several inches of snow. In an effort to keep warm he coaxed his bio-armour out, a organic metallic skin-tight blanket, but rather than quickly flow like previously, this time it oozed slowly and viscously like it was solidifying too quickly or the nano-virus needed warming up. When it had finished covering him, it lay uneven and lumpy, a silvered cold porridge. It kept him warm a little more as he gazed up at the unfamiliar trees, then from side to side at the dense forest around.
In another time and another place, maybe I am another person? He asked himself. Basho had seen technological wonders in his time, himself being one of them, but in the last few hours (give or take depending upon possibly indeterminate lengths of unconsciousness) he had witnessed dimensional travel, necromancy and bovine psychic paralysis – the last one he wasn’t even sure what to call it.
Could I be another person? He continued to think, his head only half full of cotton wool now. In this place there is no conspiracy, there is no grand nemesis I have to slay, there is no need for vengeance. There would only be me, whoever I may choose to become. He checked his psychic anchor point, a link to an unspecified point in the future where he gets his vengeance, a benchmark against which he measures all his actions to see if they help or hinder his cause. It was gone. He felt a rush of freedom from responsibility and a freedom to choose his own course rather than be driven forwards only by the vehicle of vengeance.
He stood up and patted the snow from his bio-armour and clothes, resisting the temptation to see if in this extreme cold whether or not his fleshy tongue would get stuck to his metallic hand.
If I’m to become a new me, I need shelter first. Basho started to walk in an arbitrary direction, feeling kind of happy that he was in yet another strange place, although this one didn’t seem to require him to kill anybody, not yet anyway.
He was starting to go through the logistics of survival in his head, having seen a few Ray Mears TV specials and being in the scouts as a boy, for a month, he was pretty sure he could cope. Looking at his hands and growing blades (albeit slow, sloppy and rough-edged blades) he would have no need for a survival knife. He laughed to himself – I am a human survival knife.
As he crested a hill over a fog-filled valley, he looked up at the strange star that this place called a sun, how similar to our own it seemed yet so alien to him, or maybe he just hadn’t looked at the sky in that way for a long time. As he returned his gaze to the heavily forested valley he saw something in the trees – a vehicle of some description, spewing out a green mist. And beneath it, him, his opponent from the dome. It was only a silhouette from this distance and the fog didn’t help, but it was definitely him, he owned that strange vehicle, it was him!
A feeling of rage flooded him, the nano-virus reacted to the emotional cue, seemingly warmed up now, with a wave of spikes and hooks that rippled across his face and hands. Him, he did this to me, he stole me away and brought me here. Basho’s fists clenched, the sloppy survival knifes he’d grown previously erupted into multiple spiked knuckle-dusters. Him, with his magicks and mind tricks, and cow noises, and zombies, and green effing mists, he did this to me, he snatched me out of my time, my place and my vengeance. The rage built to thunderous climax, even Basho’s teeth exuded the bio-armour, carving them to sharp points as he began to run through the fog towards the figure.
Basho was charging down at the figure when he vanished, possibly another –as yet- unseen power, probably he just ducked behind a tree. But the rage demanded vengeance, caution to the wind. Basho stopped dead, a conflict inside him and his enemy vanished, the confounding fog. Then a noise in the trees, he was in the canopy, the sneaking little necromancer. Perhaps he sought to escape on that vehicle, the rage will sort that out.
-MOO- -MOO-
Not again! Basho thought, he flung himself as far as possible to try and evade the paralysis ray. His foe was quite a distance away and the fog didn’t help with visibility but nonetheless the second of the two rays tagged Basho on his foot as he leapt clear. He fell to the ground hard, limp of body and mind raging impotently as the cotton wool started to multiply again. Before the mind paralysis was complete he begged his bio-armour to protect him until he regained control.
YES!
Enigma cried into the sky inside his mind as one of his shots connected. Waiting for a moment, watching to make sure that his opponent was not faking, he looked on as Basho fell hard into the harsh cold ground. Enigma's eyes sparkled green with joy for a second. He had to think of what his next move should be, either continue with this senseless battle or ditch him out here, and find his way to civilization. He had landed on both feet, but apparently, he had landed in deep snow. He now found himself stuck-- and he didn't believe it. Well not all could go as he wished. But for now, he would have to think in place. His white jumpsuit had a few scratches and rips, but nothing serious. The big red question mark in his chest represented what he felt he was, an Enigma. He didn't know where he had come from, how he had gotten his powers, or even why he had such strange powers. He closed his eyes, and began to dig deep into his brain, thinking of what he should do next.
His mind was covered in a green and purple checkered pattern, full of funky and freaky thoughts as he tried to get past that into a calm and silent corner. He got there, a point of bliss inside him. If he stayed, and continued this battle with this dangerous opponent, he would most likely be defeated. The cold was getting to him as he continued to lose energy and cough green puffs of smoke. If he he had had some trouble against his enemy before, it would only get worse. Yet, he couldn't just leave him here, what if they had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? What if his opponent had just been following his instinct, either it was him or someone else, just following the orders of the strange dome? What ever it was, he wouldn't leave him here to die without any clue of where he was. Instead, he would try to talk to him. He wasn't sure if his blaster paralyzed the brain as well. But he would give it a shot.
"Listen, just listen, ok?" Enigma began as he looked down at his enemy. He realized there was a possibility that he was talking to a brain-dead body, yet he continued, "This, this meaning-less battle needs to stop. Ok? We've "escaped" that dome back there. We don't need to fight for "survival". What we need to do is find out where we are... 'cus I think my powers screwed with my Time Cruiser over there and it sent us to another dimension." Enigma pointed to his bike which was still stuck on the tree behind him. Well, if his opponent had heard a word he had said, he wouldn't be answering for another two or more minutes, when the paralyzing effect wore off. He looked over at his Time Cruiser, he might as well take a look at it while he can, just in case his enemy awoke and didn't feel too friendly. Days like these, were usually the days he had felt like taking the day off, yet his hero side had kicked in some time after breakfast, and he got himself into a mess like this.
The snow around his feet was somehow beginning to melt, so he pulled out his boots. It was easier this time. He looked around, searching for a good branch on a tree, one that could support his weight. He wasn't heavy, come to think of it he was actually pretty scrawny, yet his weight could probably bring down a weak branch easily. He found one, it was thick and young, he gripped it with force, and pulled himself up. There, he was up. He began to climb higher up the snow covered tree. Going from branch to branch. After a while, the snow and ice began to sting on the palms of his hands, yet he could still continue. The gloves he wore were thick and comftorable, not to mention warm as well. He owned 12 pairs of gloves, used one for each day of the week and the others were kept as extras, and today, he had decided to wear a brand new pair. Finally, he arrived to the top, a minute later, and 20 or 30 ft in the sky. He stood up on a branch, his hands on his hips and his head up high. He looked as far as he could, yet he had wasted his energy and time into nothing: the fog was too thick.
He climbed his way down, but stopped to where his Time Cruiser was stuck. He began to dig at the snow, cleaning it out from every branch. He began to sing to himself in a whisper, "That This Is Thriller, Thriller Night! Cause I Can Thrill You More Than Any Ghost Would Dare To Try--" he stopped as he realized more than three minutes had passed. He stood up and leaped off the tree, crashing on the ground, failing to make a good landing. He was on his knees, looking around. As he moved his head from side to side, the snow on his brown long hair sprinkled off and fell into the clear white ground. If his enemy was awake, he was probably in trouble. He got up and began to run towards where he had left him paralyzed. His eyes widenned as he realized his enemy had ditched him. All that was left were boot marks and a big sunk-in spot in the middle of the clearing.
Why didn't he strike me down during my paralysis? Despite my rage I did not blame him for summoning me to that dome, if anything he had helped me escape. Basho thought.
Escape! Escape into what? A fog-ridden forest on a bizarre earth where the stars form unknown patterns and the sun shines an unfamiliar light. An internal voice answered him.
Jo.. Ja.. Ti.. When was the last time you looked at the stars, or thought about the sun. You've been so consumed with vengeance that you've done little else.
Yes, my vengeance, my goal, this necromancer has stolen it from me and cast us into this strange place.
That man is not to blame, his time bike, or whatever, got damaged, in a fight with me, it's half my fault we're here. If it brought us here it can bring me back.
Back for vengeance?
Yes, back for vengeance, then life and freedom. And my original name... Ti... Bi... Br... But don't think about that for now, night will be upon us in a few hours and we have no food, shelter or warmth.
We must survive, vengeance must be had.
Then it is agreed.
The strange man had left and was climbing a tree. Basho stopped his internal train of conflicting thoughts and slowly began to regain control of his body. Unsure as to whether to trust the man, but equally sure that this wasn't his fault, not entirely at least. Basho's armour retracted back into his pores as he calmed, the chill wind raising goose-bumps on his arms and neck. His companion was up in the trees by the strange vehicle, singing to himself, to be cheerful in such situations - what madness.
Unsure of what to say to a man he'd been trying to kill not ten minutes ago, Basho remained silent, leaving the awkward conversations for later. For now he looked for a cave or a tree with enough remaining foliage to provide shelter, lopping off dead and burnable branches as he went, leaving a breadcrumb trail of firewood for easy collection later. The question-marked man was right, if the two of them were to survive here, they'd survive better together, and a good start would a fire. Basho walked out from where they had last spoke in a rough pattern of ever an increasing spiral, hacking wood here and there, looking for a good spot to rest for the night or somewhere to get some food.
The trees bore no fruit, the ground was frozen, no birds or mammals had been heard let alone seen - Basho feared that even if they found shelter and warmth, avoiding a quick and cold death, they would suffer a prolonged one from starvation. That was if his new companion even needed food! The nano-virus certainly didn't, it drew it's power from tiny nuclear reactors with each bot, and made the armour and blades from altering elements in the atmosphere - Basho wasn't too sure how either process worked, but it did and that was enough.
For a second Basho stopped, if he died would the nano-virus carry one, the creator of the virus Volund told Basho that it was linked to him, his memories and his emotions, would it, could it, carry on without him.
Basho's stomach grumbled with dissatisfaction and hunger waking him from his day-dream and tying knots with his intestines. Before him, in the folds of a hillside, between snow and wind carved rocks, was a dark cave entrance. He noticed the question-marked man had stopped singing sometime ago, and about him the fog thickened, almost menacingly. However the lure of shelter overcame the complaing, knot-tying activities in Basho's stomach and any fear of the unknown, he rushed inside to investigate, hoping the cave was unoccupied.
Enigma glanced around, turning his shaking hands into shaking fists by instinct. He quickly turned around at the sound of leaves crumbling under a boot. But he could see nothing. The thick fog began to turn a frown in Enigma's pale face. The crime fighting zombie took a few steps, careful not to make a sound. He looked farther into the fog, squinting into the darkness. If this was dark, he didn't want to imagine how dark the night would be. He tried not to imagine, and tried to keep focus on his potential enemy.
Enigma was a crime fighting zombie, he turned the dead into undead, and yet, he himself was not a fan of the unknown or paranormal. Enigma sometimes laughed at the irony in that. But now he realized that night was coming faster than he thought. Time must have gone faster on this planet, either that or the minutes he had just lived had actually been hours. Either way, he didn't like it. Enigma reached for his chest, unzipping the jumpsuit and then his skin. He pulled out his Pepsionic Mento Gun. If a rush of pepsi that strong hit someone fast enogh before it froze in mid air, it could probably freeze the person as well.
Sometimes Enigma wasn't too proud of carrying inside of him a bunch of bizarre and silly looking weapons, but sometimes they were just too crazy that they might just work. And that was what happened most of the time, if not, his good 'ol friends the undead finished the job, and that was a job Enigma wasn't too proud of and the zombies were happy to do. But if Enigma lost his cool in mid battle and began to look at his weapons only as a bunch of useless junk, he was sure to lose the battle.
Enigma continued to walk slowly, holding his green and purple colored weapon with both hands, pointing straight in front of him. He realized he wasn't stepping on grass or leaves anymore, now it was clear white snow that his boots were sinking into. Enigma looked behind him, maybe he should stay where he had landed, and try to repare his Time Cruiser. It was the best thing to do, yet, Enigma continued on, gripping his weapon with strength. The fear inside him didn't allow to think properly, and he even forgot to look at the snow, for any traces or boot marks.
Finally his exploring came to a halt as he came to a towering cave. For some reason, it looked as if the fog was actually pouring out of the cave's mouth. That only sent goosebumbs down Enigma's back. His teach clattered in the silent forest and his whole body kept on shaking. He stopped where he was and reached once again for his chest, unzipped the jumpsuit down to his waist and continued to unzip his skin. Out he pulled another blaster. It was old and had dust all over it. It didn't seem to bizzare. It had the shape of an oval, and was colored black. It was a blaster Enigma prefered not to use, since it's use wasn't of much imagination.
The blaster shot dust. Yes, dust. Such a useless blaster was kept inside only for desperate cases. Enigma couldn't afford to run out of paralyzing beams, but he needed to be as armed as possible. His boom bubbles weren't too powerful, and he needed to have both hands free. But Enigma couldn't afford to put down his Pepsionic Mento Gun, in such a weather like this.
With both hands armed and looking straight ahead, Enigma walked into the darkness, shaking and coughing green puffs of energy. Even though Enigma didn't remember his child-hood, he was sure he had never been a Boy Scout, it would have just been a disaster.
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