ZCorp Tower B2 Subway Station

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Noon Reilson

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The dull and starless cosmos was floating a distance above a pressing, black and wooly blanket of quiet rain clouds. It seemed like every day of the year was the dullest day on that particular date, as they say, since records began. The very aging of Ayenee Capital City was accompanied by an ever whispering song of this awful drizzle; this city was awash with the kind of uncomfortable dampness of the bones that just sneaks up on you. The rain just won't fuck off right now.

Unassuming and neatly dressed, Noon and his professional garb were both contained drly in the arched halls of an ornate subway station. A subway station constructed especially for the corporate employees of the former chief power holders of this city -- Guy Karde, Sledge Rivers, Reese Jarrek. This stop was for those working in ZCorp Tower. While peering over his shoulder Noon's eyes became fixed on the flashing exit sign that lead out of the subway and up onto the streets outside. Each step upwards was wetter and wetter until the shower could be seen beating onto the reaches -- water was pooling. Mr. Reilson thought to himself that he hoped no poor old dear would slip on her way down. Then, with regret, he remembered that nobody came to the towers any more.

As such he clutched his briefcase as if it were a doll and pondered the downfall of his employers. The railway line below began to sing a wailing blues as the graffitied SR1308 electrical locomotive, once the height of technology, laboured up along side the platorm. Our redundant Reilson boarded the rickety old thing when the sliding doors finally decided that cooperation was well advised. He was the single passenger making use of the station this evening. Looking for a seat took a moment, and as he sat he had an angle to glance into the driver's cab -- the two working men exchanged a sombre sort of eye contact, written in their eyes was a sympathy for the insecurity of their respective roles in this receding city.

The engine pulled the carriages out of the station, roaring like subways do, into a dark tunnel. The ZCorp Towers subway stop in Ayenee Capital City would receive no more trains.

"How am I going to tell her?", he mouthed to himself with his hands covering his face.
 

Noon Reilson

New Member
Noon had made it home for midnight. His railway ride ended abruptly in the city centre, a fault on the line caused the termination of his service beneath the main shopping street in ACC. The neon of success was dim behind him, he was now in his neighbourhood with clothes were soaked through. The ailing Zero Corporation employee tapped in the door code for his building, pushed back the metal door and stepped in and onto the depressing grey tiles inside. Reilson did not check his mail.

A rickety elevator ride later and he was home--he kicked off his shoes the second he was in the door. Suit jacket was placed careful on a chairdrobe; wardrobes were for people who had a reason to maintain reality inside their living space.

His role in the Zero Corporation was propaganda; lying to people to make them think reality wasn't what it was. Noon was feeling maybe he'd been lying to himself. He was still trying to tell a lie that was getting more and more difficult to swallow... name on all the bills, sure... but this wasn't home. Home was another town, in another country, with other people.

Fuck Ayenee Capital City... fuck it all.
 

Noon Reilson

New Member
Employment at ZCorp towers was over and now had begun the perilous process of finding a soul in the churning waters of anger and resentment. It was a good time, time to celebrate, vacate and germinate.

"People who talk in metaphors can eat my shit."

Noon peered rudely into the establishment. The breakfast place before the pier was prepped to serve the eager tourist stomachs; and life on the beach had weathered the happily weary faces of the waitresses. They were happy and all were jealous of their bold decision to make ends on the coast. Worse than that, the food was "good as fuck". Noon had made the remark to his friends just yesterday, but today he was alone at the shore. A violent storm, a metaphor and a virtuality, had passed through yesterday and left a dour drizzle hanging in the air. This particular type of precipitation seemed to mirror old Reilson's feelings of hopelessness.

It would be the last time he'd see those dear ones.
 

Noon Reilson

New Member
Noon shimmied onto the railing at the end of the pier. Lurching forward, he tied the laces of his left shoe together with those from his right. It was early morning and the last of the fishermen from the night before were cleaning their catches at the far end of the structure. His hands were clasping the material at the bottom of his pockets as he waited for a moment when nobody was looking. The moment came, and with a final thought of those that were gone he leaned backwards tipping himself over the edge...

The distance between the rail and the water was long enough for a flush of regrets, lungs filled with tears and then he was gone.

You gotta go, you gotta go...
 
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