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Description
Within the dusty, dim room, drafts jingled the gold plates around the dark man's neck. Lust red ribbons writhed in his black eyes. His trance was complete. Ceasar's mind was linked with his own. The room's atmosphere held a presence heavier than was evidenced by a single soul. Spiritual powers were at full force. The spiritist felt lifted beyond the physical plane. He enjoyed his sphere of complete control.

He felt that Ceasar's weakness led to his own destruction. However, the spiritist could not let the valuable information disappear with Ceasar's demise. He had to bring Ceasar away from the ledge.

"Okay, I'm not going to send anything. I just need to come down from this ledge. It's crazy that such a logical person should think such things. I feel good. I'll see things differently tomorrow. Everything will be alright. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. I miss my home. I have many things to live for."

The spiritist was losing his grip on Ceasar's resolve. His back was against the wall. He couldn't let slip this opportunity, for those in power, to recognize his excellence and cunning. This pathetic little mind stood in the spiritist's way. The dark man hated Ceasar.

"I'm so fearful to be up this high. The wind may push me too hard. My legs are getting wobbly. The fall will be too painful. I'll probably have a heart attack on the way down. I may hit something before I get to the street. It will be horrible. What if I live? I'll be a vegetable. I can't do any good work then. My job needs me! Nothing and no one is worth this. I'm still young. My mind feels free now. It was just an aberration. I've been stressed. I need to go home and rest. Take a vacation."

Why wasn't Ceasar listening to the spiritist's promptings? He could find no easy way to latch onto Ceasar's thought train. The dark man knew human psychology, and could effectively manipulate Ceasar through his fears, hopes, and beliefs. But at the moment, none of these tactics worked. The dark man was losing. This enraged him to murderous resolution.

His eyes began to emanate a crimson glow. Ceasar would understand the importance of listening to a higher intellect. The game was over. The dark spiritist began to speak his thoughts. Something like a mixture of his own and Ceasar's voice spoke, followed by whispered echoes. Paper and dust whipped around him in escalated gales. His long beard and hair whisked with his expensive, golden gown. His jeweled turban seemed a king's crown. A low hum accompanied the spiritist's slight levitation.

He went deeper into Ceasar's psyche. The brain area for motor functions came into the spiritist's understanding. He physically moved Ceasar away from his position.

Ceasar was shocked as he watched his rebellious limbs. He felt like a puppet.

"I'll just walk away from this situation, and go have a drink. My body is responding to what I really care about. Life is good."

As he listened to this line of thought, Ceasar began to doubt that he had the will to escape. After all, if even his body was fighting against him, perhaps these foreign thoughts were right.

"I remember all the good times I've had in my life; the sunrises, my childhood, my family. I'll just go call one of them now.
(This voice will never go away.)

I am calm now. It's my voice now. Thank god that's over.
(I'm not convinced, but I'll submit.)"

Ceasar had enough. He opened the concrete enclosure to the stairwell.

"Good, I'll see how good things will be from now on.
(Yes, I will accept whatever you say.)"

Defeated, Ceasar forced himself back to the office. He dreaded what he had to do. He could think of no other action. It was painful for him to even think about it. To somehow cope, Ceasar shut his eyes. He knew the way well enough.

The appeased spiritist set his feet onto the ground, and prepared for the next round.

"These simpletons always underestimate my power. I do what I want, and I get what I want. My mind is big enough for two minds. For years I have studied what others could, but I have gone much farther than them. I innovated the dark arts into something more than any imagine. Soon all will understand."

Ceasar slumped in his chair with eyes still closed. He shook his head, raised his eyebrows, and sighed. This was it. He would miss his former honest life. He would hate himself for his betrayal. He couldn't live with that. This was the front lines, and he couldn't let the enemy succeed. Traumatized, he began to breathe very hard and fast.

He started to hyperventilate. His head was dizzy. He didn't help when he suddenly and quickly rose from his chair. His blood went to his feet, away from his already oxygen deprived brain. Then, he opened his eyes.

Ceasar was on the building's high ledge again. He could see the sky, the other buildings, and the street below. Ceasar sent vengeful thoughts to his mind's other occupant. He moved forward to the edge, and stepped over it. He began to fall.

"What! No! How? You tricked me! Stop! Wait! OH! FOOL!"

The frantic spiritist vainly tried to stop Ceasar with his outstretched arms. However, his limited power only extended to Ceasar's mind. The spiritist hated feeling powerless. He wanted to kill Ceasar.

He felt a presence. "What do you want?" The dark man turned to see the Captain's quick movement. The Captain looked insulted. The spiritist felt his wet chest. He looked down at a spreading red stain. He noticed the thin sword in the Captain's hand. He thought, "Was it so sudden, that I didn't feel it?"

Indignant, the Captain ranted, "Olafa was my nephew! He was working for us! You didn't have to kill him!"

The spiritist countered, "Foolish man! I make the decisions here! What have you done to me? This is a big mistake! I am going to punish you for your impudence!"

The accusations overlapped, as the Captain advanced and the dark man stumbled backward. The Captain paused at a sudden migraine. He quickly assessed the cause, and slapped the spiritist in the head. The Captain's pain abated.

"Your silly magic won't work on me!"

"You have no right! They will come and take you to prison! You cannot hide!"

Ceasar's head hurt, as he began to see white. Though he sacrificed himself, he didn't feel victorious. As he fell, he wanted to vomit. The emotional and physical trauma was too much for him to bear. He knew the fall would only bring a tragic end to his troubles.

He abhorred the interloper's selfish intentions that brought him to this point. He knew they wanted him to give up military secrets. Throughout this ordeal, he pieced together the facts. Ceasar knew they were powerful, and were willing to go to any lengths for what they needed. But Ceasar wouldn't let them, if he could help it. They couldn't break Ceasar.

The spiritist stumbled backward into his books. As they fell, he fumbled for support and knocked items off his desk. His mind scrambled to find an escape. The dark man wheezed, "Know this, I will return and make you pay!"

"How will you do that if you are dead? You're through with your feeble magic and threats! You will die a traitor! I'll make it look like an accident or a thief!"

"You cannot do that! I will not allow it! I am your superior! You have no idea of my powers! You know nothing of what I know! My experience far outweighs your pitiful thoughts! Look at what you've done! This only shows your ignorance! I will kill you!"

The spiritist mustered what little strength was left, to approach the furious Captain. The Captain could only laugh in derision at the dark man's outstretched hands.

"Die already! At least you get to see your assassin! Olafa did not have that option! Olafa died a hero!"

"NO!"

Ceasar hit the street with a small bounce. He submitted to the extreme pain, into unconsciousness.

The evil spiritist's eyes bulged as he coughed blood. His body convulsed, and then stiffened. The dark man was now a statue. His eyes remained fixed at the dust that slowly fell. The Captain turned, in revolt, toward the bright doorway.

***

With a slight headache, Ceasar opened his eyes to his monitor. He was slumped over his desk. Everything on it was either in disarray, or on the floor. He wondered how long he was unconscious after he had passed out. Ceasar regained his bearings.

Memories started to activate. Ceasar listened to his thoughts. Yes, he was finally the only one in his mind. His plan must have worked. On his monitor's screen was what he had seen last, when he had imagined that he was the first person in the game. He had sent the character to his virtual death. Simultaneously, Ceasar had tried to pass out, to fool the enemy into believing that he was dead. It had been a desperate gamble.

He had prepared the game in advance, before he had gone to the roof. He had closed his eyes as he returned to his desk, to confuse the enemy. He wasn't sure if he could have made himself faint, but he had to try. Also, Ceasar remembered the difficulty of convincingly pretending to be the person in the game and falling to his death, especially while going unconscious. For effect, he had placed a fan near the monitor to simulate wind. The entire ruse had been very traumatic, considering the consequences, should he have been unsuccessful.

Ceasar felt relieved, as he reorganized his desk. He swallowed an aspirin. He knew it would take him a week to regain his composure. The enemy was correct, a vulnerability had been identified, and Ceasar would take action to avoid that mistake again. He didn't care so much about the possiblity of mind control, as he cared about being freed from it. Ceasar would fight for freedom.

He heard an unfamiliar tone from his speakers. Ceasar surveyed his screen to see a private message from bunnilvr2.

"so who's C.Zar, anyway?"

Ceasar typed, "someone who lied to you. i made all that up before, about the girl and bf."

"...why did you lie?"

"because i wanted to talk to a girl. i'm sorry bunnilvr."

"i'm a girl."

"probably a pretty one."

"*blush*"

Description
Within the dusty, dim room, drafts jingled the gold plates around the dark man's neck. Lust red ribbons writhed in his black eyes. His trance was complete. Ceasar's mind was linked with his own. The room's atmosphere held a presence heavier than was evidenced by a single soul. Spiritual powers were at full force. The spiritist felt lifted beyond the physical plane. He enjoyed his sphere of complete control.

He felt that Ceasar's weakness led to his own destruction. However, the spiritist could not let the valuable information disappear with Ceasar's demise. He had to bring Ceasar away from the ledge.

"Okay, I'm not going to send anything. I just need to come down from this ledge. It's crazy that such a logical person should think such things. I feel good. I'll see things differently tomorrow. Everything will be alright. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. I miss my home. I have many things to live for."

The spiritist was losing his grip on Ceasar's resolve. His back was against the wall. He couldn't let slip this opportunity, for those in power, to recognize his excellence and cunning. This pathetic little mind stood in the spiritist's way. The dark man hated Ceasar.

"I'm so fearful to be up this high. The wind may push me too hard. My legs are getting wobbly. The fall will be too painful. I'll probably have a heart attack on the way down. I may hit something before I get to the street. It will be horrible. What if I live? I'll be a vegetable. I can't do any good work then. My job needs me! Nothing and no one is worth this. I'm still young. My mind feels free now. It was just an aberration. I've been stressed. I need to go home and rest. Take a vacation."

Why wasn't Ceasar listening to the spiritist's promptings? He could find no easy way to latch onto Ceasar's thought train. The dark man knew human psychology, and could effectively manipulate Ceasar through his fears, hopes, and beliefs. But at the moment, none of these tactics worked. The dark man was losing. This enraged him to murderous resolution.

His eyes began to emanate a crimson glow. Ceasar would understand the importance of listening to a higher intellect. The game was over. The dark spiritist began to speak his thoughts. Something like a mixture of his own and Ceasar's voice spoke, followed by whispered echoes. Paper and dust whipped around him in escalated gales. His long beard and hair whisked with his expensive, golden gown. His jeweled turban seemed a king's crown. A low hum accompanied the spiritist's slight levitation.

He went deeper into Ceasar's psyche. The brain area for motor functions came into the spiritist's understanding. He physically moved Ceasar away from his position.

Ceasar was shocked as he watched his rebellious limbs. He felt like a puppet.

"I'll just walk away from this situation, and go have a drink. My body is responding to what I really care about. Life is good."

As he listened to this line of thought, Ceasar began to doubt that he had the will to escape. After all, if even his body was fighting against him, perhaps these foreign thoughts were right.

"I remember all the good times I've had in my life; the sunrises, my childhood, my family. I'll just go call one of them now.
(This voice will never go away.)

I am calm now. It's my voice now. Thank god that's over.
(I'm not convinced, but I'll submit.)"

Ceasar had enough. He opened the concrete enclosure to the stairwell.

"Good, I'll see how good things will be from now on.
(Yes, I will accept whatever you say.)"

Defeated, Ceasar forced himself back to the office. He dreaded what he had to do. He could think of no other action. It was painful for him to even think about it. To somehow cope, Ceasar shut his eyes. He knew the way well enough.

The appeased spiritist set his feet onto the ground, and prepared for the next round.

"These simpletons always underestimate my power. I do what I want, and I get what I want. My mind is big enough for two minds. For years I have studied what others could, but I have gone much farther than them. I innovated the dark arts into something more than any imagine. Soon all will understand."

Ceasar slumped in his chair with eyes still closed. He shook his head, raised his eyebrows, and sighed. This was it. He would miss his former honest life. He would hate himself for his betrayal. He couldn't live with that. This was the front lines, and he couldn't let the enemy succeed. Traumatized, he began to breathe very hard and fast.

He started to hyperventilate. His head was dizzy. He didn't help when he suddenly and quickly rose from his chair. His blood went to his feet, away from his already oxygen deprived brain. Then, he opened his eyes.

Ceasar was on the building's high ledge again. He could see the sky, the other buildings, and the street below. Ceasar sent vengeful thoughts to his mind's other occupant. He moved forward to the edge, and stepped over it. He began to fall.

"What! No! How? You tricked me! Stop! Wait! OH! FOOL!"

The frantic spiritist vainly tried to stop Ceasar with his outstretched arms. However, his limited power only extended to Ceasar's mind. The spiritist hated feeling powerless. He wanted to kill Ceasar.

He felt a presence. "What do you want?" The dark man turned to see the Captain's quick movement. The Captain looked insulted. The spiritist felt his wet chest. He looked down at a spreading red stain. He noticed the thin sword in the Captain's hand. He thought, "Was it so sudden, that I didn't feel it?"

Indignant, the Captain ranted, "Olafa was my nephew! He was working for us! You didn't have to kill him!"

The spiritist countered, "Foolish man! I make the decisions here! What have you done to me? This is a big mistake! I am going to punish you for your impudence!"

The accusations overlapped, as the Captain advanced and the dark man stumbled backward. The Captain paused at a sudden migraine. He quickly assessed the cause, and slapped the spiritist in the head. The Captain's pain abated.

"Your silly magic won't work on me!"

"You have no right! They will come and take you to prison! You cannot hide!"

Ceasar's head hurt, as he began to see white. Though he sacrificed himself, he didn't feel victorious. As he fell, he wanted to vomit. The emotional and physical trauma was too much for him to bear. He knew the fall would only bring a tragic end to his troubles.

He abhorred the interloper's selfish intentions that brought him to this point. He knew they wanted him to give up military secrets. Throughout this ordeal, he pieced together the facts. Ceasar knew they were powerful, and were willing to go to any lengths for what they needed. But Ceasar wouldn't let them, if he could help it. They couldn't break Ceasar.

The spiritist stumbled backward into his books. As they fell, he fumbled for support and knocked items off his desk. His mind scrambled to find an escape. The dark man wheezed, "Know this, I will return and make you pay!"

"How will you do that if you are dead? You're through with your feeble magic and threats! You will die a traitor! I'll make it look like an accident or a thief!"

"You cannot do that! I will not allow it! I am your superior! You have no idea of my powers! You know nothing of what I know! My experience far outweighs your pitiful thoughts! Look at what you've done! This only shows your ignorance! I will kill you!"

The spiritist mustered what little strength was left, to approach the furious Captain. The Captain could only laugh in derision at the dark man's outstretched hands.

"Die already! At least you get to see your assassin! Olafa did not have that option! Olafa died a hero!"

"NO!"

Ceasar hit the street with a small bounce. He submitted to the extreme pain, into unconsciousness.

The evil spiritist's eyes bulged as he coughed blood. His body convulsed, and then stiffened. The dark man was now a statue. His eyes remained fixed at the dust that slowly fell. The Captain turned, in revolt, toward the bright doorway.

***

With a slight headache, Ceasar opened his eyes to his monitor. He was slumped over his desk. Everything on it was either in disarray, or on the floor. He wondered how long he was unconscious after he had passed out. Ceasar regained his bearings.

Memories started to activate. Ceasar listened to his thoughts. Yes, he was finally the only one in his mind. His plan must have worked. On his monitor's screen was what he had seen last, when he had imagined that he was the first person in the game. He had sent the character to his virtual death. Simultaneously, Ceasar had tried to pass out, to fool the enemy into believing that he was dead. It had been a desperate gamble.

He had prepared the game in advance, before he had gone to the roof. He had closed his eyes as he returned to his desk, to confuse the enemy. He wasn't sure if he could have made himself faint, but he had to try. Also, Ceasar remembered the difficulty of convincingly pretending to be the person in the game and falling to his death, especially while going unconscious. For effect, he had placed a fan near the monitor to simulate wind. The entire ruse had been very traumatic, considering the consequences, should he have been unsuccessful.

Ceasar felt relieved, as he reorganized his desk. He swallowed an aspirin. He knew it would take him a week to regain his composure. The enemy was correct, a vulnerability had been identified, and Ceasar would take action to avoid that mistake again. He didn't care so much about the possiblity of mind control, as he cared about being freed from it. Ceasar would fight for freedom.

He heard an unfamiliar tone from his speakers. Ceasar surveyed his screen to see a private message from bunnilvr2.

"so who's C.Zar, anyway?"

Ceasar typed, "someone who lied to you. i made all that up before, about the girl and bf."

"...why did you lie?"

"because i wanted to talk to a girl. i'm sorry bunnilvr."

"i'm a girl."

"probably a pretty one."

"*blush*"