Unbeständiger Mond :

Lüg Niemals

K.E. Wesch

CHAPTER TWO: Mondenkind


Children. Eight of them. Mobians. With sunken eyes. Shallow breathing. Painfully thin bodies and even thinner hearts on the verge of breaking.

They all wanted to kill him.

Their desire to see his throat torn out in a glorious burst of ligament and muscle, crimson splatter and gleaming wet tissue could only compare to the innate desire Satan had to win over souls. It was an irreconcilable thing. Untouchable, unstoppable. They wanted him dead, and so be by the rising moon, that would be the end of that.

Wouldn't it?

By manner, fate was similarly untouchable, and the heavens above knew Robotnik's karma was trashed beyond compare.

Oh, it was his fault, wasn't it?

Had always been his fault.

He knew he should have stuck with robots, he knew---

"Robotnik! Would you try and focus for me here? This is a delicate process. Who knows what these robotics could have turned into over the years? After all, it isn't smart to just abandon entire projects like that."

The steely voice of the Commander brought Ivo's mind back down to earth and he stopped dreaming of hell-children, falling in place behind his superior as they entered yet another glass elevator. "It isn't a robot…"

"What?" the Commander asked, taken aback.

"…Nevermind. The floor is E-46."

How old would it be? No more than ten, because it was ten years ago that he had gained the funds, the initial sketches…but one could never be sure. Maybe it, too, had died. Forgotten and neglected like the rest. Though, even if it had lived, what would happen if he took it out of it's containment? It could die from sudden exposure. Worse, it could be perfectly fine. And if that was the case…the thing might just crave to see him…

"As you say." Shaking his head, the commander input the correct floor number on the glass elevators menu, dim eyes narrowing and cast downward whilst his companion gamboled about in his dome-shaped head and nervously played with his new, all streamlined black-and-white uniform. Then, with not the slightest warning, the elevator began to plunge. Four hours and forty-two minutes had passed since the phone call and already the two of them were off to see what the Doctor had been harboring. Small world. Now they began their descent into the bottom levels of the Egg Carrier, so old but still so very loved. He had to bring it back up. He couldn't resist. "So, Eggman, what did you mean by 'not a robot?'"

Head spinning at no less than a million miles an hour, heavyset form wavering on wobbling legs, Ivo tried to compose himself enough to look over and answer. "I meant it's not a robot. End of story." He huffed and leaned back against the wall for support, suddenly feeling the sweat dripping down his neck, tasting the growing fear on his tongue, smelling the astringent scent of anxiety. This was all too much. He couldn't reveal this project, not this one. Anything but this one. He'd give his right arm not to…

"What's wrong? You seem a little nervous over there."

"No bluff, Sherlock," Ivo said sharply.

"Don't talk to me that that." If the Doctor had not been lost in his terror, he would have payed more heed to this warning. "You know, if there's something you want to inform me of, before we arrive…Best do it now."

Click. With a breezy, gentle whoosh, the glass doors slid open, beyond them what appeared to be a decrepit, abandoned hallway: most of the florescent lights were out of commission, leaving much of the hall in a murky grey-black, the linoleum floor was cracked in places, charred in other places, and in still others utterly potholed, the walls….well, the originally white plaster walls were in the worst state of all, rust trails from water dripping slowly from above, scorched panels, haphazard stains and slimy, writhing insects in a variety of colors and shapes, crawling their way from one hole to the next.

After the duo stepped out, the Commander allotted his co-worker some time to muster up a response, but once getting nothing from him but a few, jittery bursts of breath, he simply shrugged and started to walk forward.

The door they needed turned out to be completely security-free. No system codes, no handprint panels, no lasers that traced the codes inside your irises or instantly appearing guns to threaten death. Not even a lonely padlock adorned this hunk of steel, on which two large words had been spray painted in beetle-black: Buki o Seikatsu. Ivo had originally opted for Lebende Waffe, favoring German…but was roundly brought back to focus once he realized Japan was the major exporter in the world, that mayhaps they would appreciate his sentiment…not that anything ever got that far.

Aside from a single exception, this room and the things in it had been derelict for years now. No longer trying to impress anyone or anything.

Ivo used his muscle to push open the door, relieved when it moved easily. He had worried that the rust would have stalled it by now.

"And…in we go." The human Commander chirped. He waved, implying, a lingering shine in his eyes and blatant quiver in his voice betraying his own anxiety. With Ivo now in the lead, they entered.

"Nothing less than incredible, am I right? Do you like what you see?" Hesitating at the head of a two story flight of glass stairs, the Doctor awaited a reaction. He was doing his best to gather himself to a somewhat composed manner now that their safety was in jeopardy and time had become a serious issue. A sane person would have asked for help with these things, give up the front and tell the truth…but he wasn't sane. He was a scientist, and, at that, one who liked to keep things from others until the last possible second.

A strident 'ha!' of glee escaping the Commander's lips, he rushed to the railing, hands hidden behind black leather quickly grasping the top bar and twisting, twisting, twisting. He took a breath. "Eight of them! Eight of them!" Carefully, he scanned the room below. Soaking up everything he saw like a sponge left out in the sun too long. "Now, Eggman, I thought the whole Buki o Seikatsu thing was a joke to keep idiots out. But it seems you really have been dealing in something other than robots. Haven't you?" He turned to give Ivo an expression of most joyful content, as he realized wholeheartedly what had been going on down there.

"To be honest sir," Ivo explained wryly, "Seven of them are dead. As you can see by their vitals. Though…looks like…this one's still kicking."

Below, eight steel, tan-colored isolation tanks large enough to house elephants were lined up in equal rows and equal columns, with a small walking space in between each. Each tank had it's own computer, each computer it's own readouts. The floor was concrete and icy even to look at. Water steadily flowed in minute rivers from underneath the tanks, as if they all had a leak somewhere.

Gulping for the second time that day, the Doctor hastily made his way down the stairs. He really didn't want to do this. What he really wanted to do was to go home, forget about it, keep it locked up here until it died, utterly unbeknownst for the sake of itself and everyone else.

But, around the Commander, it became obvious that that wasn't going to happen.

"Oh my, well, something is better than nothing!" the rushed general called as he ran to catch up. When he did, he found Ivo at the very back of the room, the scientist's large hand rested almost in sad reminisce against one of the tanks, rising only rarely to gently stroke the steel container.

"Her name is Mondenkind," he said.

And he turned his head to look the Commander right in the face.