Chronicles of Brink "Slight" Helsing, the Blue Son. by RavenWhyteWing

FIREFLY UNIVERSE

Chronicles of Brink "Slight" Helsing, the Blue Son.

POSTED BY: RAVENWHYTEWING
UPDATED: Wednesday, July 13, 2005 12:29
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Tuesday, February 22, 2005 12:00 PM

This is a story-telling thread for a character of one of the RPs. If you want to join in, or have comments or general plot points you want clarified, feel free to post.

Brink "Slight" Helsing is a character created from the fanfics I've posted, entitled Dawn of the Blue Sun. In these, I created a Blue Sun corporation that was initially a government project to creat supersoldiers. To that end, Brink Helsing was created. Although ablino (a human born without the natural pigment that gives color to skin, hair and/or eyes), he was a part of the three supersoldier classes, the Vampire-class. This is a class of assassins, intended to blend into urban environments and make the kills without being traceable. They were adjusted from the Drake-class, a supersoldier intended to pilot ships with unsurpassed skill. The unexpected twist of the program was that the Drakes were inhumanly accurate with firearms, and therefore made excellent snipers and frontline soldiers.
When the War for Independence was initially waged, the Blue Sun found a human from Earth that Was. This human was huge, and unnaturally strong and skilled at weaponry, and became the basis for the final class of supersoldiers, the Nemesis. These were the crowning peak of the supersoldier projects. Huge, unstoppable warriors, the Nemesis were ultimate fighters, two Nemesis being the equavalent of a platoon of average soldiers.
Slight was the result of a dual experiment. With the empathic and psychic abilities being the equal of River Tam, he was, instead of being allowed to be raised in a loving family environment, was put through ever imaginable training exercise and torture known to man, and unknown. His "father" Harold Helsing, the founder of the Blue Sun, tormented him, stripping virtually of identity and emotion.
His defaction from the Blue Sun came as a surprise. On orders, he was sent to rape a civilian. During it, he enjoyed one of his few pleasures-toying with her mind, extracting and manipulating memories. The woman turned the tables on him-she was a low-level psychic, breaking the hold of the Blue Sun over Slight. Slight, realizing the horrors of his life serving the Blue Sun, left, and made it his mission to destroy the Blue Sun.
These are his stories. Until he boarded Serenity, and began to learn the nature of his humanity, he began his campaign with a single-minded focus-topple the empire that was the Blue Sun.

Wizards Eighth Rule: Deserve Victory

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Tuesday, February 22, 2005 12:15 PM

RAVENWHYTEWING

Slight stared up the building, breathing deeply. It hadn't really occured to him, when he'd killed Angelo, just what a bad idea this was. In the first place, he knew what occupied the eighty-two floors beneath. He personally had been one of those horrors. Still was, even if he was the only one counting that score.
A uniformed Fed came up to Slight, his hands firmly curled around the compressed-energy rifle, called a "sir." Most people called Feds "sir" after getting hit with one. Slight kinda missed waking up to one.
The Fed affected a curious-but-distant look, still holding the "sir," like a loaf of bread. "Are you lost?"
Slight gave a half hmph, half chuckle. "more than you could ever know. Stand down, soldier-boy. I'm doing just fine."
The Fed squinted. This being the Corporate Commerce Sector of Londinium, he knew better than to jerk around with a stranger on the street. Especially one here, in front of the most powerful company in the 'Verse. He wandered off, still trying to posture.
Slight breathed heavily, taking out a pack of cigarettes. "Sorry, Dad." He smiled crookedly. "I'm not coming home this time."
His hand gently tapped the flatscreen, his ticket to the border planet of Persophone.

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Tuesday, February 22, 2005 11:32 PM

MANIACNUMBERONE

I like, I like.
I gots lots a questions, but I will wait to ask 'em... I wanna see how things play out.

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Wednesday, February 23, 2005 10:08 PM

RAVENWHYTEWING

Slight leaned back into the bed. He'd chosen this particular hotel becuase of its nostalgic nature. The more eccentric rich came here, most of them intent upon their privacy. So the Rastafa Hotel had set aside a smaller moon, and after all the necesarry terraforming and construction, had allowed one Cortex terminal on the entire moon. The guards, privately hired by the owners, numbered in the twenties, and had to be given proof of the emergency before it could be used. Other than that, a mild electro-magnetic field prevented any use of electronics within the hotel walls.
Slight figured it would take his father about three days to catch up with him. So he had two days to rest. Two days of an actaul break from the slums of the border planets. All of the dust, sweat and tears had left a lingering stink of drudgery in his nose, and he wanted to be cleansed of it. Besides, he had work to do.
In the morning, anyway. Slight began to take long, slow breaths, easing out of the world.

(Placeholder for dream sequence.)

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Thursday, February 24, 2005 12:04 PM

RAVENWHYTEWING

In his dreams, they generally started the same way. He is wearing only black gi pants, standing in a totally darkened room save the bright, white light three feet around. The only other recognizable object in the room is a steady, unmoving blue sun, burning gently. It's about four feet tall.
Zealot after zealot attack, run-of-the-mill believers that were virtually worthless. He breaks necks, collapses hearts, punctures lungs. . .death after death. At first, it is surpassingly easy. But more and more come, the bodies climbing high. Above him, his father laughs as he starts to drown in the zealots, losing focus with every desperate attack. The zealots get smarter, using the fallen bodies of their fellow believers, so that he uses killing blows and wastes energy on the already fallen.
The zealots begin to surround him, covering him. They start punching-their orders are to hurt, not kill. As attack after attack fall on him, he falls to his knees. His fathers laughter intensifies into a howl of excitement. The light cuts, the blows stop, and he drops to his hands and knees. He hears shuffling, as the zealots silently collect their fallen comrades, and leave the room. He clenches his teeth. He can almost recite what will happen next.
His father stalks in, his bones creaking with age. "Fifty-three minutes. Eighty-two dead, two mortally wounded, one still battle capable at the end. Out of one-hundred and thirty two, you killed roughly sixty-eight percent."
"Facts and figures. One and one is two."
He whispers it out. His father responds with a curt nod. Despite him seeing it coming, he cannot block Davis' kick to his ribs. "Focus, my son. Don't let it all crash into you. Your mind is strong enough to see what it must, what it used to before the first treatment." He is referring to the removal of the amigdela. "Thiry shocks. One point nine-eight joules per pulse, six seconds each, nine second intervals." Davis shudders internally-he hated this. "Now, Second Power."
Davis removes the small prod from his suit coat, sets the parameters, and snaps the rod around his wrist. Both leave silently, as Slight begins to scream with every shock, his body jolting when his nervous system surrenders control.
Slight turned over in his bed, grabbed the wastebasket, and very promptly retched, the sweat running in rivulets down his body. After two heaves, he was empty, his synthetic organs compensating for the psychological requirement. The DeepRED registered the mental balancing, and Slight could hear several of his organs whine as they realigned.
He took a few heavy breaths, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and crept to the bathroom. Sligh turned on the sink, sighing. Cupping his hands, he poured water into his mouth, rinsed it, and let the water pour back out into the sink. He put his hands on the counter, and hung his head, still breathing heavily. The crystalline sweat was already fading from his skin.
His head snapped up. He could hear it-a crush team. Four zealots, with a priest to coordinate their attacks. Must be a sniffer team, got lucky. They were down the hall, two on either side with the priest bringing up the rear. Then his mind webs, and he knows it's worse-a Vampire and Drake, coming down the other end of the hall.
Long night ahead.
Slight reviews his options-he's five stories up, fire exit to the left, where the Drake and Vampire are. Guest elevators are to the right, on the other side of the crush team. He can move through the crush team, but not before the Drake and Vampire catch up. He could survive the drop, but so could the zealots, and they would use Blackout. There's a civilian hovercraft on the roof, another twelve stories up. He can't scale the wall-it's smooth brick, and the sticky-gloves he's got won't handle the dust of a border planet. He's gotta go through the two on the left, but he'll have to move. The fire exits can be sealed, to cut off the oxygen supple on a single floor once all the tenents have gotten out. That should slow down the crush long enough for him to get to the hovercraft, and get to the Cortex terminal, find a ship that's close enough and get the hell out of there. With smooth, already-rehearsed movements, he dresses in the bloodred canvas outfit, outfitted with all his needed weaponry. He puts his back to the wall next to the door, and hit the sliding mechanism. He tosses the flash grenade at the crush team with his left hand, his right pulling the six shooter from his coat and as he spins around to his right, putting his back to the door opposite his, he fires wildly at the two down the hall. The Drake had been ready-he snaps at the Vampire, "Down!" as he summersaults to one knee, pulling a twelve-shot clip pistol out and firing back, the silencer cancelling the sound. Slight had opened the door opposite his room, and now slapped an energy burst mine against the wall to the left. The burst rippled along the wall, giving it the structural integrity of paper machete.
He shoulders through it, as the crush team recovers and chases after him. He uses another mine, and punches through the wall into the Drakes jaw, allowing himself a nanosecond of satisfaction at the crack. The Drake drops, unconcious. Six left.
A zealot leaps through the hole between rooms-must have been a track runner before he was a believer. Slight has two shots-he uses one, straight into the left eye of the zealot. His strings cut, he drops to the floor, dead. Five left.
The Vampire had not been ready for this rapid of an attack. He was against the wall, lost without his partner. Slight swiftly clicks another flash and snaps it into the room where the remainder of the crush team is catching up. He then uses the remaining shot in his pistol to shoot the Vampire a grazing shot along his skull, knocking him unconcious. He suddenly has an idea, and lifts the Vampire up on his shoulder. Sprinting as well as he can, he dodges to the fire exit, holstering his pistol. Another zealot catches up to him, flying past him as he ducks onto the concrete landing. Grabbing the Vampire by the collar and belt, he swings him latterally into the zealot, slapping the door seal as the zealot is fouled up. He drops the soldier onto the landing, and snaps a kick into the gut of the zealot. The zealot grunts as he's knocked into the upward stairs, his veins already darkening as the Blackout order is heard. Slight walks towards the stairs even as he impacts, and shoves his heel downward, crushing the throat of the zealot. He's dead almost immediately. Three left.
Slight picks up the Vampire again, and starts to jog up the stairs.
* * *
Slight keeps his smile, as the Cortex terminal chimes. The twenty-three guards were either groaning or gone, having run from the ghost that tore through them.
His father has his own smile, but this one holds no real joy. For a moment, they duel with their eyes-both fighting equally. Slight finally speaks.
"Why, father, I'm disappointed. Sending me Just one team of two?"
"That crush team was the best we had." His father responds. His smile remains fixed, forced. "How many are left?"
"They caught up with me here. Clever, having them keep horses. You can still recover the bodies. The priest won't stop screaming, though."
"To be expected. What of the Drake and Vampire?"
"The Drake will come around in about an hour. He had a nasty crack on the jaw. So why this paltry little nudge? I would have expected three crush teams, at least, and four of the Elite, instead of two."
"I figured you needed reminding. There are more coming, you know."
"I do."
"Come home, Brink." That stops him. It wasn't an order. Was that. . .a plea?
"Can't, pops. Miles to go before I sleep. Taking down the biggest corporation in the history of the 'Verse is gonna be a while."
"You don't understand, Brink. You have a sister, and she's been taken from me as well. Some ragtag terrorist group took one of my children, Brink. My child is out there in the 'Verse, terrified, because the Academy-"
His father stops. Slight stares. "You've taken outside children? The devil that is my father. . ."
He cuts the transmission, and grabs the Vampire. He removes the cloth inside his mouth. The Vampire has been adequately bound, and glares with all the smoldereing rage of a cage animal. Slight takes him by the back of the head, and digs his fingernail into the open wound along his skull. "You and I are going to have a very serious conversation. I'm not going to have any lies, and I won't tolerate incooperation. Where are these children?"
The Vampire closes his eyes, racked with his betrayal. He opens his mouth. "It is called the Academy. . ."

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Monday, February 28, 2005 10:22 AM

RAVENWHYTEWING

"Hello, sir. Welcome to FarTell. What planet is your birthplace?"
"Osiris," Slight lied, hoping Coyote had kept to his word.
"Name?"
"Jonathan Krypto."
"Allright, sir, give me a moment. We'll have a representative to talk with you in a moment."
Slight nodded and sat down. Across from him, two businesspeople were having a quiet conversation. "You're right, Lizzie, opening up a location on Persophone would be risky. Maybe something closer to home. . .Greenritch, maybe?"
"No, Jack, we already went through that. Let's just wait, and maybe. . ."
"Mr. Krypto? We're ready for you."
Slight breathed a little easier. Coyote had done it. His identity was complete, or enough so that the company had accepted it. Now, maybe, he would get some answers.
"Hello, Mr. Krypto. My name is Eric Morrison. How can I help you today?"
Morrison was typical of the type-middle-aged, beerbelly, and the grace of a fish; quick, darting movements that were all function, no grace. "I'm hoping you could help me on a private matter. There's a school, on Osiris, my hometown. This school is for the exceptional, and my son has been accepted. Before I let him go, I'm hoping to review the school grounds."
"Of course."
The lawyer took out a memory stick, slid it into the computer. The office darkened, as the screen taking up a quarter of the wall to their left lit. Within moments, a voice came on, female, as it began to give an overview.
"The Federal School for the Exceptionally Gifted has a beautiful campus of two square miles. Generously supported by the Blue Sun Corporation. . ." the woman continued to highlight the impressive structure of stone. Slight was less interested in the Versal Games-sized pool, and more so on the basic layout of the grounds. As he could see it, there were twelve security booths, small windows on the ground floor up to the fifth. Up to the tenth, they became wider and taller. He mentally tripled the security measures-which were portrayed imressively-and began to calculate where records were. He smiled and rose. "Thank you, Mr. Morrison. You've been very helpful."
He put on his blue gloves, took out the sticky, and pushed it on. The walls were typical plasteel, and absorbed the mans screams well enough.

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Monday, March 7, 2005 7:11 AM

RAVENWHYTEWING

Slight stepped off the hovercab, sliding in the plat. When he wandered towards the campus, he could see the children walking around, smiling and laughing. Suddenly, he realized there were a couple things wrong. First of all, the children were all exceptional. All of them were discussing the most intelligent of things, but most were twelve to fourteen, not the sixteen to eighteen peak of prodigies. Where were the highest classes?
He wandered to the front of the campus, around the four foot walls of granite. Willow trees swayed in the gentle breeze, and the sunlight burned brightly. Slight felt like he was in hell.
The guard smiled easily, and tightened his grip on the automatic rifle. He was the only one on guard. "Hello, sir. May I help you?"
Slight merely locked eyes with him. Within seconds, he dropped the rifle, seeming confused. A trickle of blood appeared under his nose. He started to stumble towards the entrance, slapping the access panel. His fingernails burst at the impact, as blood started streaming out.
***
Slight stalked past the guard, the pool of blood and body fluids streaming from his mouth. The children all stared at him as he started running past them, towards the center building. Many of them glared, openly hostile of the albino streaking into the bui8lding. Four guards were waiting, each with an assault rifle trained on the door. he twirled to one side, ducking behind a massive potted plant as bullets whined past him. He crouched with his back to the pot, pulling a grenade out from his coat. He tossed it over his shoulder, and waited for the explosion to blast them away. Jumping from behind the plant, he waved his pistol from side to side, scanning for any more hostiles. Clear.
He hustled to the lift, and tapped the button with the barrel of his pistol. When the lift got halfway, he sanpped an EPG on the floor, and lept up as the shockwave ripple the floor away. He dropped through, and used the snaplock grapple system undder his sleeve to latch onto the wall, zipping straight to the door. A few seconds later, he rolled through the door, right into a squad of security. The sirs were locked and loaded, and Slight was officially welcomed to the Academy by a thirty-pound shockwave into his shoulder, nearly spinning him out back where he came. He grabbed the nearest sir, launching it into the face of the Fed. His head snapped back, as the ghostlike Slight continued to spin around them, doing what he did best.

Wizards Eighth Rule: Deserve Victory

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Thursday, April 14, 2005 4:43 AM

RAVENWHYTEWING

Slight dropped heavily. Various guards lay unconcious and dead at the door of the administration. He'd killed forty-two, and left the sixteen with families alive. They simply weren't getting up anytime soon.
The terminal's upload was rapid, all considered. Student files. Family "enhancement," helping along the family without their knowledge. Standard.
Below him, an explosion jarred him out of his search. Not even leaving his chair, Slight glanced out of the window. Abruptly, five men-well, four men and a boy, it seemed-were running from the Academy, half guarding, half carrying the young, black-haired girl in a hospital gown. The reinforcements had arrived, jumping out of the Alliance hover-bus, sirs pumping enrgy burst after burst. One of the men fell. The boy grbbed the girl, hauling her behind one of the massive potted plants. She looked up, and somehow, she saw Slight. He was ten stories up, behind reflective glass, but she looked at him. And Slights world tore at the seams. An explosion seemed to rip through his skull, as he felt the immense power and confusion of this girls mind. Through the myriad of memories of the tortures she had endured, he managed to find a two names, and a plea.
Simon! Help me! It's your sister, River!
Slight could feel it, right in his gut-she would never say her own name again. And he knew something else. This girl was special. Just like he was to his father, she was important, part of the sick ultimate plan of his father.
He looked up the name River. The she was a part of Project Lily. The rest he dropped into the memory stick. He had a really good book to read later, he was sure. He decided to drop down, help the kidnappers. Then behind him, he was slammed.
He turned around and cursed himself for forgetting. Blackout was called such not just for the lck of control-it also cloaked another from direct emotion contact unless he was trying.

OOC: If you could give some feedback, I'd love to know how I'm doing.

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Saturday, April 16, 2005 3:10 AM

MERZEDESTROY

I rather hated to interrupt you.

Interesting indeed. You have something here and I am certainly watching to see how it plays out. Not my style, but not bad ...

Feel sorry for the boy I do.

DeeDee

If justice is the dish, then I am your waitress.

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Wednesday, May 25, 2005 11:02 PM

RAVENWHYTEWING

Slight wandered out of the dirty hospital. The doctor had stopped asking questions after the fifty thousand plat he'd greased palms with, and had been told what he expected-he was gonna be fine, just slow down for a while.
Yeah, right.
The two zealots had knocked him out the window he'd planned to jump anyway-only difference was, he wasn't prepared enough to make a correct landing. So instead of rappeling down, he ate pavement.
He started to walk around aimlessly, keeping a trained eye around him for anyone following him. It was nighttime on Osiris, but from streetlevel you'd never guess. So brightly lit, the Core's central metropolis planet was home to many busybodies doing just that-keeping the bodies busy. As a result, there was no real "night" time, but the tradition of humanity kept the populace down at about three in the morn.
Still, he bumped a few shoulders on his stroll. He needed to find somewhere quiet to lay low for a while. Maybe Greenleaf. He could use a little vacation, and it was the border planets.
"Obs deck, senior?"
Slight looked down to see a twelve year old in front of some sort of platform. "Que?"
"Observation deck, sir. Ten plat an hour. You can float up, watch the whole planet, senior!"
He doubted it, but the kid looked honest enough. Slight did a little digging. Kid was just trying to make an honest buck. "Sure thing, chico. Twelve plat, you said?" The kids eyes widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Si!"

A minute later, Slight was seven hundred meters up and indead, he felt like he could see the whole planet. It was like an ocean of light. He lit a cigarette, and pulled out the bottle of tequila he'd bought. He'd bought a coupla hours, and he planned to enjoy them.
Swinging his feet over the edge, he sat, watching the city. Then he hit a button to bring the platform a little lower, until he was only about twenty stories up. He watched the people there, walking about with their busy lives. Two in particular caught his eye.
Lovers. He watched impassively as the sat on a patch of grass and laughed, both making body contact without hesitation. Without thought they entwined their fingers together. They gave each other a slow kiss, nothing of lust but of comfort, and joy.
Slight felt a tug. A small twinge. Briefly he wondered what it would be like, having someone to share yourself with, and knowing that they shared themselves with you. He wondered what it meant to be without judgement from one person.
With one fluid motion, he twisted off the cap of the tequila, and drank steadily, fluidly, until it was three quarters gone. In a minute or two, gone too was the sudden sense of lonliness, of sorrow. He was a monster inside, a machination of evil. What right had he to want such a thing as love?

He landed, stepping off with the slow,k steady steps of someone drunk and trying to seem sober. "Senior?" The kid was there, looking concerned. Slight pushed past him, without thought or desire. We had only one instinct-keep moving. Keep going.
He pulled out his other bottle for the night-sake. He chugged down some more of the rice wine, and felt his world slant. He began to stumble. He turned down an alleyeay, and heard laughter again. It was the two lovers. He saw them, and felt a sudden wrathfulness. "Bastards!" The scream echoed along the alleyway.
So did the two gunshots.

In the office of Blue Sun Headquarters, Davis and Helsing watched the footage. The scream, the shots, the look of horror, the sudden terror.
"It's interesting," mused Helsing, voicing the thoughts both had observing him. "He's attempting to redeem himself. And yet-" He trailed off.
"This experiment. . .I'm still not sure what the goal is with this, Hal."
"It's simple. This is teaching me what can hurt the most. And what a person is capable of and incapable of. We both know that even as drunk as he was, he should have been able to kill both of them. But he missed. He's scaring them away. He still believes he's some sort of vile creature, and he's giving them a warning-here, there be dragons.
"He's also struggling with newfound emotions. He's learning that the 'Verse is more than what I taught him to think it. You say the chips read two different mental processes?"
"Yes. His left side of the brain registered immense, primal rage. Simply put-he was pissed. His right hemisphere registered need, desire."
"So, on the one hand, he hates them. The real struggle, though, is not that he loves these two women, who are in love. It's that he wants to have such a sense that they do. He never encountered that in the lower levels. Enigmatic, really. . ."

Our scars remind us/That the past is real

I'm awake/But my world is half asleep.

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Wednesday, July 13, 2005 12:29 PM

RAVENWHYTEWING

Well, I think that's about it. It's the great drama cliffhanger I am so fond of. Questions, comments, concerns, suggestions? I do this for the people. Let my people speak! (Yeah. I coulda been Moses. That's right)

Our scars remind us/That the past is real

I'm awake/But my world is half asleep.

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