Rebirth

Lil’ Plisky looked around the chamber. Despite being called a chamber it seemed to be more like a club, the balcony leading off into various directions labelled with blinking neon lights- some were even labelled with naughty words that Plisky felt embarrassed even reading. Around the pit, some creatures milled about, various monsters and characters from the battle and some the Dwarfers had encountered before, a couple of ‘naked’ succubi and incubi danced in the distance to a heavy beat thumping from a couple of speakers.

<Snip>
Artemis checked himself over one more time.
"I could cry! I almost don't want to leave the game!" He said.
"Who's next?" Treaguard asked.

</Snip>
“Hey, um, Mr Used to be Scary Man,” Lil’ Plisky said timidly as he clutched the bars of the balcony, “I don’t really want to go in.”
Lil’ Plisky’s innocent voice prompted a couple of ‘awws’ from his friends and the Dungeon Master broke a warm smile.
“Why ever not, child?” he asked, puling the last of the golden bullets from his chest.
“I- I can’t swim.”
Treguard and a couple of the dwarfers laughed, not at Plisky but at his general cuteness.
“Fear not little one,” Treguard said kindly, “You will come to no harm.”
Plisky wasn’t sure if he should trust Treguard, after all had he not been the bad guy until a little while ago?
“It’s okay Bakewell,” said a sweet voice from behind Plisky, “Dad knows what he’s doing.”
Plisky spun around, almost losing his balance and falling to the floor but a sure hand grabbed his coat and pulled him back up before he went crashing to the ground, “Miss Mararizpan!” he exclaimed loudly. Marylou felt the air rush out of her as the little boy tightly hugged her. “Your hair looks nice,” he said shyly.
“And you coat looks very cool,” she said, admiring the fine deep purple coat that Plisky wore proudly. Plisky blushed.
“Now look Plisky,” said Marylou, “I think you really need to trust dad right now. Your friends are going to need your super powers.”
Maybe it was because Plisky felt easier to take advice from someone his own age, maybe Plisky just need that extra re-assurance – he didn’t know but whatever it was, Plisky nodded his head, his hat flopping over his eyes.
“Okay then, get ready,” said Treguard and he waved his hand. Plisky began to gently descend down into the great basin of blue gloop. Plisky giggled as the liquid ticked his sides and made funny ‘blop’ noises. Despite clearly being a liquid, the clothes of the intrepid little adventurer remained miraculously dry.
“Yeoman Thomas Plisken, Guardsman on the JMC Blue Dwarf,” said a computerised female voice that sounded suspiciously like the computer from Star Trek, “Retrieving Data… ERROR” the Windows Error sound played loudly, “Executing tracer program.”
“Oh no,” said Plisky as a small screen displaying the progress flashed up.
“What’s a tracer program?” asked Alex, leaning down to see Plisky more clearly.
“It is a sophisticated piece of software that traces the data’s origins, retrieves that data then proceeds to trace that data’s origins until it builds a complete data profile,” explained Artie helpfully.
“Why is it doing this?”
“Something must be corrupted in Plisken’s profile, it should only have taken a few seconds but this data profile is huge,” Artie said as he examined the streaming lines of data that the tracer program had recovered. Something seemed to have caught his eye. Artie glanced at Lil’ Plisky, who was splashing about in the blue liquid happily, and then back to the screen.
“What’s wrong?” asked Alex, coming over to read the screen.
“Plisken, he’s-“
“Data Tracer Aborted,” interrupted the computer voice, “GARNET program override.”
“Yea, Garnet!” said Plisky happily as he jumped up and down in the pool.
“Deleting Data profile.”
“Wait, what’s a GARNET program?” asked Alex, watching the streams of data disappear rapidly.
“I have no idea,” said Artie, surprised that he didn’t know something despite his plethora of PhDs.

MEANWHILE
Far away, a space station orbited a neutron star. Inside a cold man sat in his chair staring at the shifting patterns of the star below. In front of him an orange screen shone, the bright yellow text flashing as new information trickled into the station’s immense data banks. He took a sip of his drink, a dark brown colour, to wet his throat.
“6 of 27?” spoke the man, his voice smooth and round, his silver tongue darting in his mouth and as he pronounced his words clearly, “Activate the BEATRIX- we’ve got a track on 64.”
“Sir,” said a woman’s voice of an intercom, the sound was crystal clear, “Dr. Mordonis has not finished testing the module, to put BEATRIX against GARNET might-“
“I don’t care 6,” snapped the man, his voice easily silencing any opposition from the woman, “Consider this a test for BEATRIX.”

MEANWHILE
Garth lay uncomfortably on the hard bed in his ‘quarters’. The windowless room had a single bulb dangling by a wire for light and the small room was dominated by the single computer terminal on a small desk beside the bed. Brittany hadn’t given Garth the most welcoming reception on his ‘indoctrination’ to her forces. Despite being a great asset to Brittany, she had seen it fit to lock Garth away in this small dingy room, guards keeping a constant watch outside. There was little to do apart from continuing his work from the terminal, something that would usually be all to welcome to Garth’s workaholic mind but the things Brittany had Garth researching were not to his... moral standards. All that there was to do was watch the blue lines that covered his body pulse their eerie light in the dark and wait to fall asleep.
“I wonder how Plisken is doing,” he wondered out loud.
“I am sure he is fine, Master Garth,” said a voice from the terminal.
“Cicero,” said Garth sternly in a hushed voice, “I told you stay quiet here!”
“I know Master Garth but I have something that needs you attention,” replied Cicero, the AI program for the Terminal. Originally Cicero had been a simple VI for a pocket secretary that Garth had cannibalised for amusement. He had intended to destroy the VI but an idea had come to him. If he could develop an AI without Brittany’s knowledge, he might be able to monitor all data traffic in the area.
“What is it?” said Garth, swinging his legs of his bed and striding over to the computer. The seat he had to sit on was a cold and hard stool with no support for the back.
“I’ve been picking up faint traces of a program transfer in the area,” a small digitised face appeared in the corner of the screen.
“I’m sure it’s just Brittany doi-“
“Sir, it is not of Britannic construction- it is in advance of many of our own programs.”
“You don’t think it’s him, do you?”
“I’m certain.”
“Warn Garnet, chances are it’s coming for her.”

MEANWHILE
Deep within the program’s data code, Garnet received Cicero’s message. It would have been strange, to find an unknown program’s message lying on your doorstep but Garnet had received stranger things lately. And she received it just in time as Beatrix began her attack. Locking down her runtimes and setting up firewalls, Beatrix managed to only get a snippet of information before being redirected to another site (as standard, Garnet had sent her to the Big Bess’s Burlesque (large and lovely) home page). She would need to do something about this.

MEANWHILE (a lot of things happen at once okay!)
The screen that had displayed the data streams snapped shut and out of existence, leaving Alex and Artemis more than slightly puzzled. But everyone else’s attention had turned to Plisken, who was beginning to change.

Plisky was transported to a white plane, a land devoid of anything except a long mahogany table and a tall red pillar post-box. At the table sat an old man in a white cloak. Several chairs lined the table, all from different eras of time- there was a dark green leather Porter’s chair at the head of the table flanked by chairs from eras far apart. The old man sat in a high backed red armchair with short wings. The old man smiled at the little boy and beckoned that he come closer. Lil’ Plisky felt that he could trust this man, he felt like he knew him. The little boy skipped over to the old man, “Hi mister!”
The old man laughed a warm and friendly laugh. His face was wrinkled with age and his white beard stretched far. Long white hair was held back in a knot of string, the hair cascading down his back in a sleek ponytail. He wore a simple white tunic over white trousers. A long staff lay on the table, the figurehead an obscure a meaningless symbol to most.
“What is this place?” asked Lil’ Plisky.
“We have lived a long time, you and I,” said the old man, “You may be only a virtual representation of us but you are still us.”
“I don’t understand,” said Plisky, confused, “What’s your name?”
“My name? My name is Plisken the White. But do not be confused- you will understand in time.”
“In time? But I’ve got to get back to my friends.”
“I’m afraid that is now my responsibility. Your verse has come to an end, little one. But do not fret, for the song lives on,” Plisken sat up, “This is you seat.”
As Plisken the White stood up, more people arrived out of no where, taking seats at the table. They all looked the same but different somehow.
“You are a part of Plisken, just as I am and just as they are. We are Plisken and Plisken is us.”
“It will make sense in time Plisky,” said a Plisken with a short black beard and wearing an olive green jumpsuit, how Plisken was when he joined the Dwarf crew.
“Will you take care of him?” asked Plisken the White.
“Of course,” said the Old Plisken.
“But – but- huh?” stammered Lil’ Plisky Bakewell.
“Do not worry, I feel that my verse is short. Soon I will be return to take my own seat at the table.”
“Be careful,” said another voice.
Lil’ Plisky’s eyes snapped up and gazed at the man who had spoken. The man stood as there where no seats for him. The man had a long grey beard and long grey hair that was covered by a brown, tall crowned hat. He wore a tattered and battered greatcoat over a fine black waistcoat. A silvery watch chain trailed down from a button whole.
Plisken the White nodded. He saw the table, chairs, post box and men fade away. Soon the world was replaced with the Chamber of Boridium.

What had felt like minutes for Plisken had been instantaneous for the rest. Already the memories of the moment were fading from Plisken’s mind, like they often did to other aspects of Plisken.
“Good,” said Treguard, “I’m glad to see that you’ve not returned to your other class.”
“Indeed,” muttered Plisken from under a long white beard.
“So is this you ‘Uber-Class’, Plisken?” asked Alex.
“Plisken,” repeated the old man, “Yes, that was my name. I was Plisken.” The old man examined himself as if for the first time. He ran his free hand over the wood of the staff he carried, the smooth white material pleasing to touch. “You may still call me Plisken.”
“Well Plisken,” began Treguard, “You have become a White Wizard.” Despite the un-necessary explanation, it was still nice to Plisken to hear himself introduced.
“Perhaps a more fitting name is needed then,” said Plisken, “Plisken the White. Yes, Plisken the White feels correct.”
“Very well, you are now known as Plisken the White.”
“Come friends,” said Plisken, taking charge of the situation, ”The storm is coming but the tide has changed.”

<OOC - Man, I'm sad to see Lil' Plisky go>