Dulfer Deoradhan

The dull thud of the bass pounded throughout the song. The song vibrated the molars in my skull. I hate that song. A quick glance to my left, just a slight switch of my neck, revealed the same mass of bodies that normally lines up at the steel double doors of this club. Luscious, golden, fake as hell tans highlighted through the thick waves of designer threads, neon lights, flashing cameras, and of course, their own bling.

A quick twitch of my jaw released my tension as I let two more giggling, too-young-for-this-type-of-club, young ladies through the ropes. "Of course they use fake ID's, Double D, but I didn't hire you to check that, did I? No, no I didn't," the boss looks me over as I explain to him the uncomfortable feeling it gives me. That was two months ago. Now I am just numb. Just do the work, get paid, go home. Start all over again.

As I glance to my right, into the shadowed entrance of one of the hottest new clubs in Chicago my eyelids lower into a sort of lazy haze. God I hate this job. My mind clicked back to the line. Even with the heavy doors clamped shut the music came rolling out. Wave after siren's wave to the elite of Chicago's best. The songs would lure them into the glitz and glam atmosphere and swallow them up. It is just what they crave. Me? I crave a good hot dog, a great game, and my janitor's job during the day. At least my mop doesn't complain about having to wait in line...

"Deoradhan!"

I turn to see the fake people before me, and their skins and their silks begin to blend and blur together. What the..?

"Dulfer," the voice growls loudly in my ear and I feel dizzy. My brain suddenly feels as if it was dribbled in a bad basketball game. "It's time to get up. You're fixed."

A hazy feeling turns to a fog-like appearance all around me. The club is disappearing, fading away with the smokey textures. The club, the music, all drift off...

"Dulfer, seriously man, get up," the voice is familiar. Why is that so familiar? My eyes flutter swiftly open again and everything is clear again. The fuzz is gone. The ceiling above me is too familiar now. The metal and odd bolts, the strange glowing lights, and the sounds of the medical unit nearby. The current of sound that was once the club is now a part of some machine nearby. Oh yeah, this place.

The light finally breaks my dream completely and shatters everything into reality. No more Earth. Just here. No more family. No more friends. Only this. My head turns to see others also on tables. They are being worked on as well. Revived. Fixed. Back into the field and battle. I sigh and close my eyes just one more time, wishing to be back at the club, even just for another five. "Dulfer, get the hell up I need the table." The medic's voice is a growl, so I do what I am asked.

I glance over the medic as I stand. He has healed me and countless others for what feels like decades. "How bad?" My voice is broke. My throat is dry. My eyes drive to my graviton armor. Oh, definitely bad this time. More repairs. Maybe new armor. The worn out maroon-like color of paint was now chipped, cracked, torn. Metal over metal patches. Several areas will need some deeper work. Static jumps out of one hole. It is torn metal and looks as if I was stabbed from behind with something sharp. It broke through leaving metallic waves of damage and skin. I flicked off my own skin from the hole and studied it. Lots of repairs.

"Damn."

The medic glances over from his location and a smirk comes and goes, "You're fine, but you'll need some work on that gear." He shifts to put some gauze on a spot before grabbing up some kind of mending tool. "Look, I'd appreciate it if you'd take a day off before going out again." He didn't meet my eyes. I didn't meet his. We both knew that wasn't going to happen.

There's a tight sensation in my chest as I move gingerly away toward the door. "Thanks, Doc," I shift and move carefully out of the building. As the door shuts behind me I can feel his eyes on me, but he knows I won't listen. Who does around here?

With my mind still on the club I glance around the Control Point with a sense of loss. The crackle from my damaged armor seems to agree. I close my eyes gently a moment as I continue to walk. Remembering. Even the smells were so real... I open my eyes, realizing I had walked automatically to the armory. My eyes glance toward the barracks. I sigh.

"No. No day off for me. I want to forget. It all helps me to forget."

I step inside the armory to another familiar face and more familiar proceedures. Within an hour I'll be back out there. Killing and battling my way through my enemies. As long as it keeps me from remembering...I'm ok with that.