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stuck_mynockAtton’s sprawled out in his room when he hears the first clanging crash of a fist against metal.
He sits up in bed, sharply, lightsaber flying to his hand and igniting, casting the room in a harsh, flickering grey light. For a moment, there’s silence, save the humming of his lightsaber, and Atton wonders if it was just a part of his dream.
Then it comes again.
Three times, a determined, regular beat. Then silence.
Then again - Louder, this time, then louder, then louder still, and faster, harsh staccato beats, clanging insistantly, unrelentingly, against steel.
Atton traces it to the safe. A large box of black metal on the far side of his room. As the banging grows deafening, Atton twists two fingers, unlocking the mechanism from a distance.
The beat stops. Silence, again, as Atton pads over to the safe and pulls it open. There’s a credit chip in there - Barely a hundred credits on it - and the only other item is wrapped in black cloth.
Atton remembers finding it. Frago IX, all crumbling cities, mutants, odd creatures, mad scientists and radiation weapons. The artifact - triangular, made from some sort of black metal, inscribed with runes of a language Atton didn’t recognise - was used as a power source. Atton had never figured out what it actually was, though. He hadn’t asked, and Bob had never told him - He'd been content to just find him a few months later and torture him for its location.
Slowly, he unwrapped it, holding it up to get a better look at it. It was cold and unremarkable, with nothing to suggest that it was anything else than a piece of metal, drained of any energy it had once contained.
Atton was suddenly abruptly aware of somebody standing behind him. He could smell them, faintly, feel their body heat, hear their breathing. He could sense their gaze boring into the back of his skull.
He stabs behind him, whirling about, one hand sparking and ready to throw lightning at them. The lightsaber impales thin air. By the time he’s turned, there’s nothing to suggest there was anybody, save the lingering scent of something smoky and burnt.
Atton’s quick to bundle the artifact back up in its cloth, shove it back into the safe and slam the safe shut. Ten minutes later, he’s dressed and heading downstairs with a notepad in hand.
He sits up in bed, sharply, lightsaber flying to his hand and igniting, casting the room in a harsh, flickering grey light. For a moment, there’s silence, save the humming of his lightsaber, and Atton wonders if it was just a part of his dream.
Then it comes again.
Three times, a determined, regular beat. Then silence.
Then again - Louder, this time, then louder, then louder still, and faster, harsh staccato beats, clanging insistantly, unrelentingly, against steel.
Atton traces it to the safe. A large box of black metal on the far side of his room. As the banging grows deafening, Atton twists two fingers, unlocking the mechanism from a distance.
The beat stops. Silence, again, as Atton pads over to the safe and pulls it open. There’s a credit chip in there - Barely a hundred credits on it - and the only other item is wrapped in black cloth.
Atton remembers finding it. Frago IX, all crumbling cities, mutants, odd creatures, mad scientists and radiation weapons. The artifact - triangular, made from some sort of black metal, inscribed with runes of a language Atton didn’t recognise - was used as a power source. Atton had never figured out what it actually was, though. He hadn’t asked, and Bob had never told him - He'd been content to just find him a few months later and torture him for its location.
Slowly, he unwrapped it, holding it up to get a better look at it. It was cold and unremarkable, with nothing to suggest that it was anything else than a piece of metal, drained of any energy it had once contained.
Atton was suddenly abruptly aware of somebody standing behind him. He could smell them, faintly, feel their body heat, hear their breathing. He could sense their gaze boring into the back of his skull.
He stabs behind him, whirling about, one hand sparking and ready to throw lightning at them. The lightsaber impales thin air. By the time he’s turned, there’s nothing to suggest there was anybody, save the lingering scent of something smoky and burnt.
Atton’s quick to bundle the artifact back up in its cloth, shove it back into the safe and slam the safe shut. Ten minutes later, he’s dressed and heading downstairs with a notepad in hand.
