Chapter 1: Abandoned

After the nine clockworks that had been assigned to return the Armada Captain Servus Albus to the ship, Decimus' patrol had carried on, continuing forwards through the snow and against the blasting winds.

Decimus was numb – he could barely comprehend what he had just overheard from the short worded conversation between the Captain and the officer of his own patrol –

Prima had been terminated.

The one clockwork that had saved him, the one clockwork that possessed the miraculous ability to understand the unpredictable had been lost forever.

It was strange – although most soldiers would instantly attempt to calculate the effect that this would have their forces as a whole, as she was their oldest and most knowledgeable combat officer, the Pallas Athena of the Armada, to Decimus, it did not feel as detached as that.

They had lost a goddess, yes, but he had lost a mother – and to hear such human words resulting from his own processor and the stability that did remain in his calculations was rather surreal indeed.

After all, she had saved his function – if it had not been for her, he likely would not be standing here now, even as accursed as his fate had truly was, to forever be haunted by the madwoman of Skull Island.

Even thinking of her at a comparable distance than usual sent a shiver down the marksman's spine, and he could only hope that it was not noticeable to the clockworks surrounding him, or that the other soldiers were preoccupied with bracing themselves against the vicious winds, just as they were built to do, just as they were made to do –

Just as he was and just as he would have, had he not been haunted and wanted by her.

Decimus now became aware of the presence of the oddly – shaped marking on his throat, her marking, her brand – how it seemed to have a rather detached presence from the rest of his frame, how it seemed to have a life of its own, if he concentrated hard enough upon it, much like a parasite that would slowly drain the blood and life out of a biological being –

Enough.

His own will was rather weak at most times, yes, but miraculously, it was just enough to banish these paranoia – riddled thoughts from his processor –

For now.

And so he continued, they continued onwards, marching through the snow, the snow and the ravaging blizzards of the Polarian wastelands.

It had taken such concentration for Decimus to successfully bar these thoughts from his processor that the time had seemed to pass much quicker than usual, however impossible this phenomenon truly was – and the patrol had now arrived at the mouth of what seemed to be a cave, directly carved into the face of an immensely sized risen block of ice – a glacier surrounded by snow, it did appear.

"Be on alert."

It was rather curious, how the officer's voice seemed to carry above the screaming and howling of the sharp winds - and Decimus gripped his rifle harder, just as the musketeers surrounding him on either side did as well.

After all, even if this did appear to be the cave that the Captain Servus Albus had described, there was no way to be certain of the absence of any danger.

The patrol officer had led them in silently, quietly, without making any sudden movements or snapping out any loud orders – as all necessary commands were delivered in a crude, but easy to understand sign language of sort.

Having been located more towards the center of the patrol, it was not as easy for Decimus to get a full view of the interior of this cave – but he certainly could catch a few glimpses over the heads and shoulders of the clockworks surrounding him.

The cave did not have a particularly high ceiling – in fact, it was likely that if Decimus were to extend his arm towards it, the tips of his fingers would be mere inches away from brushing it.

There were also what seemed to be the remnants of a compact wooden workstation, complete with what had once been a table, a large toolbox (of which most of the contents were scattered across the snow), and the like –

However, they were in pieces, he noticed – there were parts of them missing. The leg of the table, the lid of the toolbox and a large portion of the side of it as well – not to mention the entirety of the overhang, and one of the posts that would have supported said overhang, had it remained in existence.

And they had not just been removed from their original structure, these pieces – rather, they had been removed from existence, as they were nowhere to be found within the cave itself.

Then where - ?

Of course.

Decimus now passed by a small heap of burnt, charred wood, black from fire – after all, he had concluded, there must have been a way that the Commodore and the Captain had managed to remain functioning for such a period of time in this particular environment.

"Captain!"

What?!

"I have located - !"

"Retrieve her frame!"

And it was no later than the moment that the words had left the Captain of the squadron that the soldiers within the cave had quickly clustered towards the location of the first musketeer who had spoken, a select few remaining behind at the mouth of the cave in order to stand guard.

Naturally, they had no other method but to collectively push aside the heap of snow with their hands, the snow melting on contact and seeping through their gloves – but it was no matter now, not with the frame of what had once been such a vital officer underneath this all.

It was then revealed that the Captain Servus Albus had dug a hole of sorts within the snow here, underneath the pile, and it was only a short while before they had managed to unbury the very top of her shoulder – she was only wearing a white shirt, it seemed, which was most unusual, given –

Then again, Decimus remembered, when they had found the Captain of the White Cadre, he was wearing her coat – obviously having taken it to ensure his own survival. After all, she did not exactly have a need for it any longer.

Had the soldiers of the patrol squadron been human, had they been impulsive beings, they would have immediately attempted to grab her by her revealed shoulder and attempt to tug her the rest of the way out – but such would only damage her frame – as beings of much higher intelligence, they had knowledge of this.

And thus, the frame of the once – legendary Commodore Prima had to be uncovered little by little, inch by inch, the rest of her arm, then her torso, then her head and frozen – solid hair and her legs slowly coming into view.

It seemed that the officer of the patrol had already assigned a group of clockworks to lift and carry her frame – for as soon as the Commodore had been uncovered enough so that her frame was able to be lifted from the ground without any major level of resistance, one of the marines dropped to his knees beside her and lifted her easily, a pair of marines and a pair of musketeers then moving to flank him as he rose.

"Return to the ship."

Following the Captain's orders, the soldiers of the patrol regrouped, Decimus in the midst of them, as was the soldier carrying the frame of the Commodore – for it was vital that she was protected, even though the animation and the process was no longer within her.

A frame, a shell, all empty –

As they marched out of the low – ceilinged cave and once again into the glacial wastelands of Polaris, Decimus was only vaguely aware of his own movements, every numbing step, every second of stinging flesh (as he was not built to be resistant to the cold, much like the other soldiers in the squadron) – as he was focused on something entirely different.

On the very edge of his vision, he could clearly see the Commodore Prima – or rather, the frame that had once been the Commodore Prima.

The very same Commodore Prima that had retrieved him from the clutches of the witchdoctor Dangler, the very same Commodore Prima that had fought and argued and practically battled to keep him in function against the Supreme Commander Kane himself.

She had seemed so strong and unbreakable before, he remembered, with her numerous decades of function – and now, here she was, immobile in the arms of another soldier –

Her strength was gone, yes it was – and she was merely left as her physical being, another weak, fragile – framed musketeer just as Decimus himself was.

It was a rather shocking sight – and perhaps more so for Decimus than for any of the other surrounding soldiers, as he had seen the true extent of her influence, knowledge, and power before –

And he had been awed by it, only to see her become humbled by her own termination.

BANG!

The sound of a single shot from a fair distance away – and as if this was a trigger in itself, numerous Polarian warriors suddenly then rose out of the snow before them, seemingly appearing out of nowhere –

How were they not found?!

"Ambush!"

Decimus found himself firing his rifle before he was even fully aware of it – it was only when the dead corpse of one of the warriors had collapsed at his feet did he truly realize what was going on, did he truly now take in how they were now being attacked from all sides, for this had been planned, and their enemies had been positioned far before they had arrived.

It was clear who held the upper hand – and without being given any sort of verbal order, a group of eight soldiers formed a protective wall around the marine carrying the Commodore's frame – of course, they did not dare to fire upon the warriors, as such would draw attention to them, and such was unwanted when they were to return her frame to the ship.

Even though these nine particular soldiers were but a small fraction of the patrol, it did induce a hint of the rather eerie feeling of abandonment – at least for Decimus, who had been conquered and ruled by fear for as long as he could possibly remember.

He was then forced to yank his focus back to his present location and situation in order to dodge out of the way of the wickedly curved blade of another warrior –

Before firing a lethal charge directly into his chest in the very nick of time, sliding out of the way in order to avoid being crushed by the warrior's heavy corpse, many times the weight of his own frame.

And in the back of his mind, as he fired at other warriors from a distance to lessen the changes of them engaging him in close combat (as he was not built for such, as the marines were), the marksman could not help but compare this to the Great Demise.

It had occurred decades ago, when the Polarian War had still raged on, yes – but all clockwork soldiers knew of it.

How could they not, when it had been the single battle that had resulted in the termination of two of the Armada Commodores and the capture and torture of the third?

Such a loss had never been taken by the clockwork forces, not all at once – it was as if two of the elites had been slaughtered upon the same day, disrupting function, order, and stability, all of which were vital to such beings as the clockworks who relied on certainty as their basis.

Therefore, to draw any sort of parallel to that particular battle had a certain air of dread about it, to say the very least.

And it was then that he had seen her.

It had been what he had feared ever since he had first ran from the shattered frame of what had once been his imprisonment back in the fortress of Cadiz – that she would look for him, that she would seek him out once again –

His worst fears confirmed, his worst fears come alive –

It was just as before, and just as horribly, infinitely terrifying – she reached for him once again with those claw –nailed hands, and her shrill, banshee – like laughter and soft words of supposed affection ricocheting through the air ten times, a hundred times, overlapping upon each other and wrapping around him, smothering him, suffocating him.

And he could not move, he found, for he had completely frozen in fear, and Decimus could not truly tell if this torment was truly as endless as it seemed to be or if time had simply been stretched out so that it seemed that way – and frankly, he did not know which one was worse.

Her laugh, her cutting, piercing laugh, her hands, her clawed hands with the talon nails, the claws of a rabid crow reaching for its prey –

He could not move –

He could not move away –

And her eyes, her crazed grey eyes, unfocused as if they were patches of mist rather than circles of colors looking into him, through him and beyond as his world seemed to flip and spin beyond his control.

This was more than enough to undo him, to unhinge him, and it was ever worsened when her already – grey skin began to stretch horrifically over her face –

God no PLEASE no…!

- And it flaked off, her flesh quite literally turning into ash as more and more of her skull was revealed.

You're mine –

MINE!

You're mine YOU'RE MINE and I'll never let you GO NEVER LET YOU GO - !

Regardless of how long it had seemed to the marksman, these numerous, horrific flashes had all passed before his very eyes within no more than a few seconds.

However, these few seconds in which Decimus had remained frozen stiff were all that was needed for the Polarian gunman stationed not too far away to fire a stunning charge into his chest, only for yet another warrior to run up to him within the next instant and drive the tip of his blade sharply into Decimus' torso.

It had all hit Decimus harder than a twenty – ton ship – he could barely register where he was, and it was as if he was simply being drowned in wave after wave of shock and pain, and it was a relief when he finally felt his knees give out underneath him, sending him toppling to the ground behind what seemed to be a truly massive snowdrift.

The pile of snow was large – large enough so that it prevented any of the now – scattered soldiers of his patrol or any of the Polarian warriors from further seeing him, and after several attempts, Decimus also found that his voice was quite weak – he could not manage much more than a soft rasp which was more than easily lost to the howling winds.

In the back of his mind, Decimus could register a strangely warm sensation against his body – centered near his torso, where the blade had been thrust into him, leading him to conclude that this was most certainly a fatal amount ofhis blood leaking out from the wound.

And most ironically, he now found himself willing his own blood to leave him faster.

After all, it would be a relief – with the Commodore terminated and his disappearance likely known of within Cadiz, there truly was no safe haven from her – for even though Decimus was fairly certain that this had been her last look, there was no escaping how his impeccable memory would, no doubt, be able to recall her image, her laugh, her touch.

Yes, given all of this, death would be a wonderful relief – and it was all too fortunate that it had happened in this manner.

Decimus was not capable of suicide; his processor did not have the complexity of an officer – his core programming would, inevitably, prevent him from doing so.

How fortunate it was that this situation now had left him so helpless against himself, permitting him to finally escape.

The frigid temperatures would slow the blood flow, Decimus knew, - and it would be painful for these next few moments indeed.

But this would only be temporary, yes, it would be minute as compared to this eternal torment – and it would end soon, it would all end soon, such would be a welcome relief.

And so he waited.

And thus begins "Desperate Measures!"

I hope you enjoyed, and do be sure to leave a review.

- Severina