LOG: Betsy and Haroun - Unwanted Visitors

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As a side-effect of the Butterfly Effect, one of Medical's two coma-patients receives an unwelcome visitor. Takes place at approximately 4PM on Monday afternoon.



The last thing she remembered before the skies went dark was Jean, telling her about the others. Then she was gone, they were all gone, and Betsy watched as the storm overtook the Manor. She walked out of the study and found herself someplace entirely foreign.

The city burned. Alabaster walls lit with the angry red of fires raging unchecked. The sky above was a stinking combination of smoke and chemical residue that completely obscured the sun. A grey ash had settled over everything, coating the environment like snow. Here and there, stubborn bare patched showed through the ash. But there was one place untouched by fire, although it seemed a near thing. An unassuming building in white stone with a crescent moon mounted atop of it.

Taking in the visual clues, Betsy staggered toward the mosque. It was beautiful against the backdrop of fire and ash, as if God and the Devil were entrenched in battle. She reached the main door and propped herself up against it. She felt so ill. Weak. She couldn't tell where she was but Betsy realized this was not someplace she created. Pushing against the door, she banged on it, hoping it would give way.

The door gave ground reluctantly, but it did open. Inside the mosque itself was empty, save for one man - or a half a man, as it was obvious that he'd suffered grave injuries indeed, knelt in prayer. When the door opened, Haroun looked into Betsy's eyes. "Do you know which way it is to Mecca?" he asked desperately. "I don't know the way!" Indeed, the mosque had no windows, and the door was a solid block without crack or seam.

She sat down heavily next to him. "East," she replied. Tilting her head up, she was sought out the cresent but it had disappeared from the inside. "Though I could not tell you which way that is from here." She frowned at him. He looked like she felt. "Can you tell me which way it is out of this mindscape?"

Haroun looked at Betsy with disgust. "I _knew_ that." he said. "And I have to keep praying. Praying keeps the dust out. The dust _kills_, Elisabeth. I am dying. I do not know if I am in Paradise or in Hell." he admitted. "But I do know that the dust is killing me. Slowly, by inches. Let me die in peace."

"You're in neither," Betsy said, tiredly. "You've locked yourself in your own mind to keep the shock of what's happened from killing you. Smart choice." Her head throbbed and she let it rest in her hands. "The Spore is the dust and by the looks of things you're right, you're not doing so well." She leaned back, sizing him up. "But you aren't dead and from the looks of things won't be for some time. Though being a vegetable isn't the greatest way to spend the rest of your life, you know."

Haroun looked at Betsy. "Why are _you_ here? I would expect Nathan, if not the Professor himself, to come in here. If what you say is true, and this is not some trick of Shai'tan." he said. "The body is a temple. Mine is broken, and yours is soaked in gin. Perhaps that is why you came to me here, now." He twitched and spasmed as the malfunctioning cyberwear sent him another cascade of impossible instructions, directives, feelings. But through the entire fit he continued to mutter his prayers in Arabic, asking a merciful God to either grant him his place in Heaven or to send him back to be his sword upon the Earth.

"Yo, purple lady! You shouldn't be here." said a figure who stepped out of nothingness. "My boy here's all kinds of fucked up, and it should be a private one. Unless you brought Alison in here with you?"

"There's no need to yell," Betsy said, rubbing her head, gingerly. She looked up at the manifestation....man with a rueful expression. "Does it look like Alison is in here with me? Mindscape, this may be, but my jacket is not posing as a cirius cart." Turning her attention back to Haroun, Betsy looked down at his lower torso, or the lack thereof and grimaced. "I don't think I can manage a change of scenery but I can try and......"

Betsy closed her eyes and winced as she dug deeper in her mind, pulling out the image of Haroun from her memory. His exterior morphed into a gnarled body as Betsy tried to force his thoughts around the damage. "Come on, Haroun. Stop being so stubborn."

Haroun wasn't listening, as his self-image, never the strongest to begin with, was fraying under Betsy's attempt to remake his image. "Yo, I _told_ you that this is private! My boy Harry here's on his way to Paradise. A good little warrior for the Lord, he's got his virgins or his raisins or whatever-the-hell-it-is waiting for him. He's had a good run, but it's time for him to _let go_."

"You wanker," Betsy gasped out loud, falling forward. "That. Hurt." Looking up at him from under the veil of matted purple hair, she began coughing. "Virgins, my arse. As bull-headed as you are,I can't believe you're listening to this shite. Wake up, Haroun. You're sick, not dead or dying." Not yet.

"You ever lose a body-part, little girl?" sneered the projection as Haroun continued to pray for salvation. "You ever have a piece of hardware grafted straight to your nervous system decide to drop a few tenths of an amp up and down your spinal cord? I didn't think so. You got no idea what he's been through, how much he's had to fight even to get this far. Not everyone had the silver spoon and the posh estates."

"I've lost plenty," Betsy said, wiping the side of her mouth with the back of her hand, looking tiredly at this obscenely loud man. "And I have a clue you, whoever you are. I'm in his head, am I not? I can see, feel, and understand it all. Though I'd rather be on a beach front right now instead of the land that Haroun built."

She looked back at the half-man and sighed loudly. "What am I doing here?"

"What, you lose your trust fund? Spend it all on gin and trashy lingerie?" the projection sneered. "You came barging in HERE, sister. He had _nothing_ to do with it! Of course, he's a little busy right now taking care of business."

"Will you shut your gob!" Betsy shot back. "I don't care if you're a mental projection. You're still apart of him and I don't need reminding that the bastard doesn't like me. I know that well enough walking the halls and seeing him sneer everytime I come near." God, her head was killing her. "If Alison didn't....."

"If she didn't what?" said the projection. "If she didn't love him you'd ... kick his ass? That's a laugh. He could break every bone in your body." he said coldly. "But instead, he's got to work with your useless drunken ass. So tell me, did Remy want you in Intel for your mind or are you just whoring for him? He does like 'em any way he can get 'em..." the projection hissed. "And now it's time for you to go! Go on, get out of here! Now!"

"Don't you dare think to underestimate me," Betsy said, heatedly. She stood up, walked through the projection, and sat down unceremoniously in front of Haroun. "Look at me," she ordered. "Look at me. Whatever I am to you, don't you ever presume to know a bloody thing about me. Because no matter how much I fuck up, I'll never be an unrelenting, judgemental bastard like yourself. Go to hell."

Haroun paused his litany of prayers to look at the English telepath in his head. "I judge you _wanting_. Get out." he told her, before pain obliterated both of their worlds.

Back in the real world, Haroun's EEG readings fluttered back towards consciousness before stabilizing. Whatever had happened, it had jarred him somewhat from his healing coma.