Demon World

Mack listened carefully to Meav's assessment. It was an interesting phenomenon, and Mack wondered what sort of life a human being would have had to live to make one like this. Void of outward expression of emotion; understanding only machine-like instructions; lacking knowledge of the most basic concepts of life...

He shook his head.

"What sort of thing would make a chlid grow up that way?" He asked rhetorically, pausing.

"I wonder...if perhaps speaking to her; addressing her like one might a machine...if we could find out more about her."

Fransisco frowned at her responce. "You know little about what god truly is then." He said matter of factly. He paused wondering what the best way to discribe god to her was. "God is the creator of everything. The world around you, the air you breath, even yourself." He said softly. Pausing to give her a chance to ask any questions. God was something she needed to understand.

Alison watched as Joseph attempted to recharge one of her power cells. Best of all, she didn't even need to ask him to do it. After a slight strain, he poured his energy into the small cylindrical container. A tiny green light indicated that the energy transfer was a success and the cell was ready to be used again.

Unfortunately, he seemed fatigued. Either he was a very weak mage or her gun had a greater appetite than she'd imagined -- prototypes are rarely built conservatively. She made a mental note to be a little more careful how much power she used in the future. Recharging those cells wasn't going to be as easy as she'd anticipated.

Of course, it was also possible that Joseph was just a weakling....

"They hold quite a bit of power," he said. "I'm sure that I could charge a few more after some rest, it has been a long day after all."

"Yeah, sure," she said nonchalantly. She was using this gun to save their sorry asses; the least he could do was keep her stocked with ammunition. Just keep the bullets coming and I'll get them to their intended targets. I promise you that, she thought, remembering the demonic voice that had spoken to them an instant before the plane's wing was ripped off. If the demons had a leader, she wanted to be the one who put a bullet through his head.

“Aye, perhaps,” Meav considered thoughtfully.

Briefly she glanced back the child, and hoped if the priest was trying to convert her that he wouldn’t confuse her too much. Thinking back on her own interactions with the girl, she tried to pick out any specific patterns in Ava’s responses.

“She seems to respond best to direct, specific questions and instructions,” she said to Sean. “If we formulated a question in the right way, she’d probably just tell us.”

Ava believed him. Why shouldn’t she? He said god was the earth, she believed him. He said god was the air she breathe, she believed him. He said god was HERA, she believed him. Since she had no reason not to. And not the faintest notion of what it meant to lie or deceive. Everything one stated had to be so, even if it seemed unlikely.

So God was Arthur. He had created her, or so she had been told.. And God was Vivian; Vivian created her food and sandwiches. But Arthur didn’t create everything, nor did Vivian. But together, they were God. Together, they created the world Ava had lived in all her life. And Arthur and Vivian were members of the Human Evolution and Reproduction Association. So God was HERA.

The man had stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly. Waiting for an acknowledgement, most likely. Pale face devoid of emotion, she stared at him. “Ok.”

Fransisco smiled wider. She seemed to have accepted that easily enough. "Good, now let me continue. God created everything, expecially men and women. He created them all so that they all have a soul. A soul is your true being, what is behind the flesh and bone, your heart so to speak." He said. "And that soul is what god cares about the most. It is the part of you that you need to protect no matter what." He said pausing again.

“She seems to respond best to direct, specific questions and instructions,” she said to Sean. “If we formulated a question in the right way, she’d probably just tell us.”

Mack nodded slowly.

"It'd be somethin' to try." The priest was handing her the basic concepts in bite-sized pieces, but Mack wondered if she'd truly grasp the ideas as they were meant to be grasped. If she was a machine, she was associative, matching words to concepts she recognized. Did she really grasp what love was? Or sacrifice? Both were essential to the faith.

Mack personally thought it was too soon. They needed to understand her better before they could communicate properly. He turned his attention from the girl and focused back on Meav.

"So, how about before all this? I can tell well enough that we share a common island." He smiled. "Where's your hometown?"

Although the mystery that was Ava fascinated her, both medically and personally, Meav was relieved to move on to an easier topic of conversation. Relaxing, she leaned back on her hand as she replied, “Well, I was born in East Kilbride, just south of Glasgow.”

A fond look flitted across her as she remembered the sleepy town she had run around as a child, the place she associated with the few memories she had of her parents. “Then when I was eight I went to live with my gran in Fortrose, on the Moray Firth.”

With easy smile she focused back on Sean. “And yourself?”

Mack gave a delighted chuckle.

"Well, you and I grew up barely thirty miles apart. I was born in Edinburgh, but moved with my family to Falkirk before I was a year old. Lived there until I was Eighteen then moved to London for training." He paused, still wearing a smile.

"I miss home, though. Another reason I'm here I suppose." He looked back up at her.

"Funny how we needed to come all the way to America to meet."

“No kidding,” Meav laughed lightly. “Yet here we are.”

Funny, indeed. She knew Falkirk, had been there a few times with her grandmother to purchase more obscure ingredients for traditional Celtic remedies. There had been one small shop, nestled between a bookshop and a dressmaker’s in a narrow back alley, that was filled with an assortment of objects and paraphernalia.

Whether or not she had genuinely believed they contained mystical properties, Meav remembered being fascinated by the glittering array of charms and talismans hanging in the windows and from the ceiling. And there had been the treasure trove of ingredients, brightly coloured and richly scented, from all over the world, that her grandmother had wrapped up in little paper bags to take home with them.

“So, tell me, how does a Falkirk lad become an SAS rep?”

“So, tell me, how does a Falkirk lad become an SAS rep?”

"Probably by being crazy enough to apply to start his career on the bomb squad." He leaned back slightly, now relaxed finally after the brush with death. Meav was excellent company, and it was a great relief to speak of home and life, rather than focus on whatever uncertainty waited for them outside these walls.

"I went originally to join up with the UK's regular military. Figured it was the best way to try and live a life that'd make a real difference. At eighteen I was a cocky, amibitious little skunk; proud of being the only Scot in the class and competitive as hell. I made a game out of basic training, attempting to outdo everyone else in the classes. I even purposely got myself into trouble a few times just so I could say I'd done more push-ups than everyone else." He chucked at the memories. Those were hard, rough days, but some of the best of his life.

"At the end of basic, my instructor says, 'Mack, you're spec-ops material. I'm putting you in some special courses, and then we're gonna apply you for the SAS.' It was another step forward, and I took it. I approached learning like I approached physical training; my job was to be better than everyone.

"When I took a course in explosives and electronics, I got a perfect score. Only a handful of recruits before me had achieved that. Combined with my high marks in weapons training, the SAS snapped me up in a hurry.

"Since then, I've seen a decent tour of duty; learned some things that killed most of my cockiness; and damn near killed myself a few dozen times." He paused, considering.

"That, I guess, is a big part of why I believe the things I do. When death is hovering outside your front door, it's a comfort to believe your soul's prepared for it." He reached up and touched his crucifix gently as he let out a breath.

"How about you, Meav? How does a smart, pretty lass from Kilbride make her way up the ranks to doctorhood?"

She was created to have a ‘soul’? ‘Soul’. Soooooooooooul. Another inconceivable word. Like ‘death’. Like ‘sick’. But this one, perhaps she could deduct; her function was surveillance and support. She was created for that function. What did she have to carry out that function? Her butterflies. That made her butterflies her ‘soul’. Did it? She wasn’t sure. The butterflies did not need to be protected. They could be remade with a thought. Less than a thought. So what was her soul?

Did she even have a soul?

Her frown deepened. She was slightly worried now; what if she had no soul. She stared at her hand briefly, as if, should she look at it long enough, she could see her soul. She grew bored of it rather quickly, though, and instead turned to the man. “Ok.”

She did not understand, but she had heard the words. The seemed prone to talk for a bit, then remain silent, only to resume his story when she acknowledged she had heard him.

Head tilted slightly to one side, Meav listened with interest to Sean’s description of his training. An amused grin flashed across her face when he described himself as a teenager; he sounded much like every other adolescent male she had known. Even lads she had treated back in the emergency room often competed to see who would emerge with the best scar. A guy thing, she surmised.

When he mentioned his perfect score for explosives she raised her eyebrows, impressed. That certainly explained the speed with which he’d conjured up the bombs aboard the ship. Though she knew little enough about explosives, she knew it must be a complicated and precise speciality, reinforcing her perception that he was an intelligent man.

Religion she already anticipated, and nodded in understand as he raised a hand to his crucifix. She had treated a few soldiers back at the hospital in Scotland, and most of them had retained a strong and fervent belief in one higher power or another; there were surprisingly few whose faith had been completely shattered by their experiences. Sometimes Meav felt she and her fellow doctors wavered more often.

“How about you, Meav? How does a smart, pretty lass from Kilbride make her way up the ranks to doctorhood?”

“You flatter me,” she smiled, “But you can blame my gran for my career choice. She clung to the old Celtic ways, and was a self-professed druidess.” She pulled a face at the title, but there was a lingering fondness in her eyes.

“People who didn’t like the doctor or didn’t want to take pills used to come to her, and she’d treat them with various holistic, traditional remedies. Some of them are really quite effective, but there’s no real magic in it. I used to help her out, particularly when I was in my teens and her arthritis limited what she could do. I’d always found it mildly interesting, but when I actually got involved I realised it was fascinating.

“It became something of an obsession. I started helping Gran more and more, got books from the local library and it just kind of grew. My biology teacher was well pleased.” She grinned; never would she forget the look on stuffy old Mr. Andrews’ face when one of his students actually started paying attention in lessons.

“Gran taught me all her methods, all the ‘old ways’. But I wanted to know about modern medicine as well, you know, have the in-depth scientific knowledge, so I could better understand how the body works and why it responds better to some cures than others.” She shrugged. “So I started studying. I was the swot in school, small and pasty with glasses, always with my head stuck in a book. And it paid off - I got my place at university.

“Four years later I graduated. Gran was pleased for me, but she wasn’t overly happy. She thought I was going to become another soulless, faithless doctor who scoffs at the idea that nature might have anything to offer. That’s why I got this,” she rolled up her sleeve to show him the Celtic symbol tattooed in a twisting emblem on her left arm. “It means ‘life’. It was my promise to her that I’d remember everything she taught me.”

She paused for a moment. “Since then I’ve been working in a hospital in Inverness, close to home. I’ve learnt a lot about life and death apart from the medicine of it. Part of what motivated me to come.

“And now,” she finished with a smile, “I’m going to hope that what I’ve learnt will be of use to you lot.”

Mack found he had leaned forward at some point in her story, and was listening intently. He admired and understood her drive to learn, and her deep respect for her grandmother. Family was a very important thing; especially in times like these where futures were so uncertain. But even more than the respect she had, he admired her ability to still retain the knowledge of humanity's most basic needs; care, compassion, and love.

Living a more active lifestyle, Mack understood the value of many holistic methods. After all, God designed nature to produce everything the body really needed.

Even if perhaps their beliefs differed in exact details, Mack couldn't help thinking he'd found a really good friend here today.

"From what you've told me," Mack said, returning her smile, "I don't think we could have asked for a better caretaker."

Danny had thrown himself down into the hidden room and once sure they were secure and hadn't been followed and also that their new group wasn't a threat he allowed himself to lean up against one of the pillars his breathing was ragged and he needed a moment to compose himself again. If they had decided to open fire on them he probably would have fallen in the first hail of bullets without taking any with him. It was a good job that they didn't decide to do that. Forms could take a lot out of him at points and combined with the running he could feel its toll. He remained leaning on the pillar until all theo thers had been given their portion of what he decided was gruel and then he helped himself and swallowed down the substance before allowing himself to taste to much of it.

Some seemed to have engaged themselves in conversation and while he listened to interesting snippets he analysed the new found "allies" and if they possessed anything that would be of use to him or his government he concluded his current team had the best assets and dismissed any plans involving them. It was good to have some food inside him even if it wasn't exactly high calibre it still did the job.