Author's notes:
Thank you for getting this far. I am aware Taichi's Call and both parts of First Contact were horrendously long, but if you've gotten this far, you can expect more of the same, especially in the second story arc going forward.
I intended to limit the "exposition fixes" to merely a prologue and the entirety of chapter one, but after considering the way I ended First Contact, retaining the original material as it stood in the past would not do the new exposition any justice. So after some deliberation, I decided that it would be best for me to continue with the "exposition fix", at least until a certain point in this chapter.
You will realize you've reached or passed that point when you notice a significant shift in the writing style. And believe me, it will be noticeable. I would be surprised if you won't pick it up instantly. Even the handful of people who got to betaread this rewritten chapter agree with me on how jarring the rewritten scenes are from the original text, but I surmise this shows how much my writing has grown over time. Anyway, I don't plan on going any farther than that point. I've stopped the updates long enough, and I'm becoming increasingly antsy on heading into the climax of the second story arc.
Hope you enjoy the chapter. Once again, if you wish to skip ahead, you may go to Partners by Circumstance.
Oh, and please note the reference to the TwoKinds webcomic in the beginning scene. :P
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THE INTERLOPER
A STRANGE FRIEND
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The concept of black and white existed only in fairy tales and daydreams. They reached out to reality through philosophy, bound by political campaigns and religious tenets. Rarely were the notions of good and evil applied methodically—impartially—consistently to the acts and attitudes of the sentient.
Christopher Van Numen was a person of ambivalence. He was flawed and gray. Neither fully good nor fully evil, like any other person in the world. Far too many mistake him for either side of the spectrum, eyeing many of his choices as extreme, if not skyrocketing beyond the middle ground.
The Fifth Crusader tossed the body at the wooden floor, hurled it in front of the various human-like—human beings gathering in front of him. Some carried swords and shields. Others had their palms flared out, with colored energies swirling within the grasp of their fingers.
They backed away when the corpse landed in front of the mob with a thud. They eyed the blood tarnishing his hands, his ebony breastplate. "Who's next?" His goldenrod eyes fell on the shifty-eyed character on the corner. Christopher scowled at the suspicious—the hated gaze he sent to the only teenager in his group, who had a humanoid fox clinging to his arms.
The blond ambled towards the thug. "Don't even think about touching Joshua and Emily—
"GRAAH!"
A tall, stocky man in a full plate broke from the group and rushed Christopher Van Numen, a bastard sword as thick as a pole scraping the hardwood floor. "Die!" roared the knight and swung the massive blade at the blond's head.
Joshua yelled out. "Chri—
"I got it covered," calmly spoke the man and caught the sword mid-swing. He stopped the momentum and flexed his grip, crushing the metal into powder, to the surprise and astonishment of everybody drunk enough to watch the spectacle instead of running away.
The overconfident warrior gaped at Chris in shock. He raised his broken sword and managed to stare at it for a couple seconds before his hands—his body—his legs turned into a frightened, quivering mess. He fell on his ass when he realized what had happened, when he heard Christopher's boots trudging along the floor.
Towards him.
"Have mercy!" he pleaded, backing away until he struck the wall ten paces away. "Please! We won't bother you and that Keidran again. W-we'll leave you alone, I beg you—
Christopher eliminated the short distance between them in an instant. A blue blur raced across the room, knocking over tables and benches topped with beer bottles and empty plates. The fugitive had a hand on the helmet, his goldenrod eyes glaring at the frightened man. "I gave you a warning and you ignored it."
A familiar, female voice shrilled in his ears. "Chris, don't—
CRRMP.
She was a split-second too late. The knight's head had been blended together with the steel, crushed into sticky and malodorous paste. He tossed the second body on top of the first before glowering at the rest of these annoying cockroaches—
A hand gripped his shoulder.
Chris jerked, but any retaliation faltered when he found himself in front of a woman clad in thick, purple robes. He was lost in the woman's mesmerizingly cerulean eyes despite the apparent fury etched on her face. "Why didn't you let him go? They didn't need to die!"
Goldenrod orbs rolled. The blond gestured at the two bodies. "Yes they did! The first f*cking drunk pulled a dagger on you, and that asshole just tried to cut my head off, Sally—
"And he would've succeeded," interjected another male voice, deep and rough with age. "If you weren't… you know, not normal."
Not the time to throw in your witty crap, Ivan. Christopher ignored his other companion, too focused on destabilizing the priestess. "So don't tell me I shouldn't have killed them when THEY HAD IT COMING!" He panned his gaze across the room, meeting the dirty looks being sent in their direction.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Chris?" Sally pouted, almost groaning from frustration. "You need to control yourself!" She cast her eyes on the bodies, on Emily, the trembling fox person whose black paws were clasped around Joshua's arm, and the cowering bartender behind the counter. "Most people in general fear what they don't know. You already know this! People who are scared, who are absolutely frightened and driven to the wall will take drastic measures.
"They'll run as far as they can." She cringed at the bloody corpses. "They'll try to get rid of it. Or they'll force it into submission. There aren't a lot of ways to deal with the unknown short of embracing it." Emily's orange-furred ears wilted when Chris gazed at her, terrified by his callousness. She buried her white muzzle behind Joshua, whose face appeared uncertain, as if he didn't know whether he should back his friend or reprove him. "That's why all the Keidran we see are slaves, why the Templars here at Camp Hollow are at war with those wolves, why the Mekkan humans can't even get along with these other people. It's unknown territory to them! To both sides! Nobody wants to get out of their comfort zone and explore something they don't know."
"I," Christopher responded. He reached out to brush Sally's hazel hair, to caress her smooth, unblemished cheek. "I understand we have so much more experience when it comes to dealing with, with diversity, but you know I don't tolerate any—
The priestess pushed his hand away. "Dear, it's easy for people to see you for who you really are. Your very presence violates the laws of reality here. All the people we encounter can easily tell you're a foreigner. Every local we've met can naturally sense how much you stand out. How WRONG it is for you to even be. They don't even need to try! They only have to look at you—listen to you—or just talk to you—
Chris crossed his arms. "Well I don't see them reacting the same way to the three of you."
Sally groaned. "That bullshit won't fly with any of us. Joshua, Ivan, and I don't give off the same 'strangeness' you do, Chris. Come on, you know this. We ALL know this." The woman lifted her dainty hands. She took the blond's in hers and gazed deeply, pleadingly into his goldenrod eyes. "So please, just promise me, the next time you find yourself in another world and none of us are there to stop you and you just run into someone, I beg you, stay in control. You don't have to kill someone who wasn't out to get you in the first place."
Christopher couldn't resist those entreating blue spheres and the endearing expression on Sally's beautiful face. His tongue froze, paralyzed not only by the woman in front of him but also the morose, apprehensive stare the fox Keidran gave him as she still clung to the sleeves of the only young teenager in their group.
"All right," the traveler acceded. "I promise."
The memory—a long-forgotten one at that—played in his head as the creature in his left hand finally succumbed. Its eyes closed in defeat. Unable to breathe and suffering from asphyxiation, its struggling ceased and as it died with Christopher's hand clenched around its neck, tears broke free from its crimson eyes as it tried to stay awake for as long as it could.
Goldenrod orbs had stared deep into the reptile's scarlet eyes, where he found an unmistakable sadness lingering within. He remembered the increasingly shallow breaths it took as it observed him, the heartbeats that quickened in pace as the seconds passed. He felt the air around its blue body shivering more and more over time. All signaled its gradual surrender to the "ominous aura" that was his very incongruity, his very nature.
That it resisted the overwhelming sense of danger exuded constantly by Christopher's alien presence, even for a couple minutes, was very impressive in and of itself, for far too many succumbed to it instantly.
That the little blue creature held out for so long, demonstrating all the familiar signs in the process, evoked a memory once lost to time, of a promise he made to someone beloved. A promise he had forgotten after—
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A flash of green and red.
"Take care always."
A smile of thanks, of regret, hoping he would never forget.
"I… love… you…"
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The blond shook his head, blinked away the memory before he could replay the scene in its entirety. He couldn't think about it now. He didn't want to think about it. Ever.
Fortunately, he didn't have to. Christopher's attention snapped back to the animal in his hands as soon as the blue thing went limp. Even now, his mind still felt Sally's hand invisibly guiding him, nudging him in the right direction as she had always done.
If only she was here with him…
The promise burning in the front of his mind, Chris set to work on first aid. With his immense strength, it required no effort to pull a small rock out from the unbroken walls of the cavern. He placed the three-toed feet on top of it and lowered the lizard—the wingless dragon?—down onto the floor. He was quick to notice how soft, smooth, and warm the creature's skin was, betraying Chris' expectations of something more rugged. Rough and cold-blooded, devoid of internal heat.
"Okay," he told himself. "Need to open the airways again."
Its muzzle was agape in front of him, but Christopher felt no breathing. He vividly recalled something collapsing in its throat. Shit, he chastised himself. He hoped he didn't cause that much damage to begin with.
The Fifth Crusader reached forward with his right hand. Without hesitation or disgust, he plunged it into the open snout and instantly took note of the copious volumes of drool pooling in the mouth. Coupled with the lack of breathing, this denoted the existence of pharyngeal trauma. Chris snaked his hand deeper into the mouth, fingers sliding along the red, slimy tongue.
Still no breathing.
The throat split itself into two, equally viscous passages. Chris paused. "Which one's the trachea again?" He shut his eyes, mind speeding through what he knew about anatomy offhand. As soon as he compared and contrasted the blue dragon in front of him with all life he had encountered in his travels, he realized he'd have more than enough time to rectify any mistakes.
Thus the question itself was pointless.
Acting on his instincts, he guided his fingers into the opening at the rear of the throat. The fluids were concentrated here, and they felt especially gluey. No revulsion appeared within his goldenrod eyes as he pushed—gently pushed his hand deeper inside—
Jackpot.
He came across a collapsed section. Chris did the only thing he could think of and wedged his fingers into the tighter path and expanded it outward. Simultaneously the blond clutched the dragon's body and rotated it so it lied on its side. The awkward, uncomfortable position was getting to him, and he needed a better position with the body to give the unconscious animal an actual airway to breathe out of.
With his free hand, he reached for the mouth, clasped the tongue, and pulled it outward. Not too much to tear it clean off by accident, yet not too little that he would still feel it resting on his other arm, negating everything he'd just done with it. "Alright," Chris exhaled. As soon as that was in position, he pressed the arm lodged in the dragon's trachea towards its back. If God smiled upon him that afternoon, the cartilage that kept the airway open wouldn't be damaged enough to be a critical danger. "Now hold."
Two seconds passed.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Forty.
The blond had already started worrying—deliberating on other methods of resuscitation when the little blue dragon miraculously started breathing around the eighteen-second mark. But Chris neither released its tongue nor removed his arm from its slimy airway as soon as it did. He held his position for far longer still, perhaps for another five minutes to make sure the airway could remain open on its own as he paid attention to the undulating movements of its own breathing. He needed to find any abnormalities, any residual damage from what he had done, and luckily, Christopher Van Numen had the extraordinary sense of touch to accomplish this.
The blond smiled at the progress he made. This little dragon would live to see another day again, in spite of the way he choked it out. He kept his promise. How could he forget about it? Chris chastised himself. Certainly there had been countless dead-ends, one after another, since he and his group departed the world of Mekkan. But how? How could he forget such an important moment—a promise he swore to Sally long before they found the Second Fragment?
Even though he still honored the terms of that oath—to only kill if there was no other recourse—to give those he met in his travels a few chances before writing them off forever— in perhaps a variety of degrees, the fact Christopher forgot it terrified him. Did Sally ever realize that? Could she forgive him for it? Had she?
Tears dripped out his eyes. For the sake of his own sanity, Christopher's mind refused to replay the memory, to relive the minute details of the turn of events that led him here to this place, to this mountain. Yet Sally was dead, that much he knew. She wasn't coming back. He would never hear her voice again. Never find out if she knew he forgot, if she had forgiven him, if she…
The blue dragon coughed and gagged. Chris withdrew his right hand from its throat. His left still clutched onto that tongue, so it was absolutely certain the sentient animal had an open airway. His eyes landed on the baldric strapped across its body, specifically the eight pouches on it. Ignoring the holster for the very gun Chris destroyed minutes ago, he flicked off the slobber and rummaged through each one in the hopes of finding something useful for the two of them.
Two ammunition clips, presumably for that handgun.
Two ammunition clips, for a different weapon.
More of the latter.
Empty.
Empty.
Three pink capsules the size of his hand, opaque but embossed with the MRE symbol. Ready-to-eat meals. A small canister of water.
Disinfectant. Some cloth. Elastic bandages. Liquid bandage. Topical anesthetic. A packet containing scissors, a needle, and some thread.
Relieved at the sight of medical supplies, Christopher Van Numen emptied the last pouch and placed the items down next to them. He closely inspected his body first and cringed at the massive hole on his abdomen. Multiple cuts and bruises still stained his arms and legs, however much his unnatural regeneration healed them. His black pants sported holes in various sections. In fact, the same could be said for his blue coat.
I still have some extra textiles uploaded into the Scanner, so I can still fix my clothes. But the armor was different. Even if Chris had the raw material on him, at this point in time it would be impossible to fix it. Though the metal from which it was made could still be uploaded into its special place, it had exceptional resistance to its internal machinations.
Exactly the reason why he wore the breastplate in his travels, even if it meant repairing the thing was hell to do.
Before proceeding, he examined the dragon's body as well. Only then did he realize how much it needed help, and it needed it much more than he did. Among a multitude of cuts, bruises, and minor wounds, the pitiful thing had a long opening on its soft, white belly, running from left to right. Blood still trickled from the wound, which was presumably caused by a knife.
Now that he had a closer look at the animal, it seemed a little familiar. Wasn't this creature a part of that group trying to ascend the mountain a while ago? He recalled seeing it with another dinosaur, that pathetic stone golem thing that ran away, and maybe four of those large, bronze robots.
None of those things were close. In fact, none of them were within a kilometer radius of the cave. Chris could sense the air flowing around the mountain and the forests of this plateau. He felt no disruptions of the circulating air currents, commonly generated by animals and persons trudging through the environment, at least within this tiny area. Evidently, this blue dragon must have been isolated from its friends, and the blond did not need the Scanner to corroborate this.
Something clearly happened between then and now. An oddity, considering there weren't any of those human soldiers loitering around the upper levels of the mountain. Christopher presumed a team of specialists went behind enemy lines and ambushed the group. No other theory he conceived had the probabilities in favor of it.
His goldenrod eyes scanned the rest of the body. One look at the genitalia confirmed the dragon before him was male. (Chris was ashamed it took him a minute to find the damn things; they weren't as exposed as he expected!) Proceeding down, he found two bullet holes: one in the leg, and another in the tail. Both appeared to have healed, but...
Chris grasped the foot and raised it up and down. He did the same to the tail. He detected some unnecessary heaviness in there. Surely they still contained bullets within. He grumbled. Chris needed to get rid of these, too.
The man released his hold on the creature's tongue and pinched his own nose, eyes shut in frustration. "Damn, you are going to need a lot of work." he sighed.
Regardless of the workload ahead of him, it ultimately did not matter to the Fifth Crusader whether the dragon lived or died. Its life was inconsequential, for it bore no value at all to the blond's mission. Christopher had to admit, as much as he wanted to give it the second chance it deserved with him, he had very little time to dote on this beast. He had yet to discover if this new world held any promise for him—if he had hopes of finding the Third Fragment here, or at the very least some guidance from the Governors entrusted with holy dominion and oversight.
If first aid did not help the dragon wake up by the time he was ready to leave, then he would have no recourse but to either leave it to die, or simply euthanize the blue thing. A sad turn of events, certainly, though he hoped Sally could forgive him for merely trying.
"But first…"
Christopher reached for the disinfectant, popped open the bottle, and poured two spoons' worth into his hand. He gazed down at himself, at the gaping hole in his abdomen. The blond traveler took a deep breath.
And another.
He took a third one before finally slamming the cupped hand into the hole. "Rrrrrggghh!" Chris hissed, palpitating for an excruciating minute before his breathing stabilized and the agony of disinfecting the most critical injury on his body subsided.
The needle and thread were next. But Chris knew he couldn't do it to himself. The stainless steel needle wasn't penetrating his skin. Something that weak, no way it could.
A bright, azure glow consumed his goldenrod eyes. With his left hand on the armor and coat, one thought disintegrated both pieces of clothing and sent their molecules into the gemstone on his bracer, vanishing without a trace. Chris seized the elastic bandages and wrapped his abdomen with it, being the least he could do for that.
Another thought materialized the armor and coat back into existence, as though he had never taken it off. Certain the rest of his body can cope with just rest and copious amounts of time, Christopher Van Numen looked over the creature lying down in front of him. That slash wound had to be taken care of first, before everything else. It lost so much blood coming here, to this cave. If he wanted it to stay alive, he couldn't let it die from blood loss now. Chris couldn't.
He picked up the cloth. A few droplets of disinfectant went on it before he wiped it across the massive wound and cleaned it up. Blood flowed freely again, but this time the dragon had someone willing to help it. Christopher Van Numen edged to its side and prepared to stitch it closed.
"All right, little guy. I have no clue how todo this, but it's the effort that counts, I say…"
Veemon awoke to a storm shredding his body apart. The flames of agony seethed all over, and there was a characteristic soreness in his throat. It hurt to swallow; it would probably hurt more to speak, he considered. Exhaustion still nagged at the Chosen, yet…
Yet it didn't seem to be as pronounced as it had been when he all but limped and hobbled his way into the Spire of Courage.
Yes, he said to himself. Something felt off. As a matter of fact, he felt better. Loads better. Only now did he realize most of his wounds were dressed, covered up in bandages and antiseptic. Even the knife slash running straight across his body throbbed numbly, not nearly as horrible as it had been earlier.
His body suddenly twitched involuntarily, and his leg jolted at the same time the sting of a massive needle plowed into it, into the exact spot where he had been shot by that female soldier. Something, no, someone leaned on his lower body, presumably working on the bullet lodged within.
Praise Qinglongmon, he celebrated this sudden reversal of fortune. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead! Despite all the odds, he survived the man with the black sword and those haunting, goldenrod eyes. Harmonious Ones knew how long he laid in the cave, unconscious, alone, and gradually bleeding to death. Perhaps some stragglers from the Spire have finally caught up to him, miraculously eluding the sweeping onslaught of the DSI and just as providentially discerning the scent of his blood and following his trail all the way here.
The Digimon of Miracles had done "that thing" again, invoking immeasurable good luck without thinking about it. Veemon might have released a chuckle then and there, if his larynx didn't feel so SORE. Instead, he simply smiled, finally pried his scarlet eyes open…
…and discovered he still remained at the mercy of the blond stranger who just expended plenty of effort into killing him. The stunning effect of this unexpected punch to his gut rendered Veemon unable to even notice how the man with the black sword had brought his face close to his foot, his hands fiddling with the bullet hole dangerously near what humans called an Achilles tendon. Unable to control his own instinctive reflexes, the dragon gasped at the reality set before him.
The blond terminated all movement. With a turn of his head, he peeked at him. "So, finally awake, huh?"
The deep voice alerted him. Dread rose in him as he beheld the man's two eyes. To his horror, they still glowed. Whatever hue they naturally had was overtaken by this radiant shine. Veemon's tongue held no answer, frozen by the sight. The soreness in his throat sharpened, as if his very body still had to remind the digimon of the danger he was still in.
Heart palpitating rapidly, his hand shot out. "F-Four Gods!" he blurted. "Get off me! No, no, no, no!" Veemon didn't realize every one of his words came out as whines and whimpering, muffled by the injury this cretin mercilessly gave him. The blue dragon struggled to get away, risked reopening his own wounds to escape from the blond's grasp.
He heard too many horror stories how some of these non-Chosen humans enjoyed their digimon captives, how they sadistically tore them limb from limb, playing with them until they were finally dead, torturing the prisoners-of-war with a vengeful and discriminatory glee. Veemon didn't want to live through any of that.
"Stay still!"
His other foot slipped past the man's weight. Still enraptured by panic, the blue dragon followed his instincts and slammed it into the man. Veemon had to escape. He possessed sensitive intelligence on the location of the Fortress. He was a Chosen, a digimon who had played a highly visible role in the Digital Revelation, the chain of events that eventually led to digimon appearing all over the Real World. Surely someone who wanted to torture him must realize how symbolic it would be to publicize his suffering and anguish before the eyes of the world, promulgating his broken image across the Internet and the variety of media invented by humankind.
The Digimon of Miracles, in a rare moment, prayed to the Harmonious Ones and placed all of his hopes into this one final kick, aimed at the man's face—
Only for a hand to suddenly catch them in midair, followed by the blond monster himself pressing his weight on Veemon's chest. Oh no, he completely forgot about his unnatural abilities! Too late to do anything else, Veemon found himself pinned to the rocky ground. "Goddammit, I told you to stay still!" He held his breath, and gaped directly into the cerulean light illuminating the eyes of this abnormal human. It was unnerving. "I'm not yet done, you! Don't make it harder for me to—
It was so unnerving he unconsciously broke eye contact.
"Oh for the love of—Look at me," his captor said. "Look me in the eyes."
His throat gave another pitiful whimper. "I don't want to," it protested wordlessly.
A hand clutched his muzzle. All five fingers held his snout by the jaw. If Veemon didn't already know it was futile, he would have gladly chomped down on the digits sitting between his teeth.
Monochromon's destroyer forced the blue dragon to look directly at him. Directly at that hauntingly illustrious gaze. Veemon couldn't help but squint; strangely enough, there seemed to be text and other symbols and imagery embossed all over the blue light. What the…
"Look at me," he demanded, "and just listenfor a second. Settle—
He stopped. A second later, the blue light illumining his eyes died, allowing the return of their natural color. Moving far too fast for Veemon to follow, the blond slipped an arm underneath him and grabbed the dragon in a tight, restrictive hug. Rather than clutching the Chosen's jaw, he clamped it shut this time around. Then the stranger backpedaled. No, he leaped back several feet, far beyond the ability of most human beings, without the same energy that aided the three veteran soldiers.
Veemon's captor and potential tormentor went prone, taking the dragon down with him. "Restoration." Crimson spheres widened at the black blade lengthening in the blond's free hand. Frightened, he flinched at the way the sword did not gleam in what little light entered the cave from the stars visible through the openings above. His throat once more released another whine, and if he had to give it his best guess, he was probably on the brink of literally defecating from terror.
Was this it? Was he going to be slaughtered right here? Harmonious Ones, he never felt so helpless in his life. He had nothing else to do but accept whatever the man did to him. He could only wait for his fate. Wait for death. A permanent death at that. Fighting back was evidently a losing proposal, he conjectured. Faced with these insurmountable odds, Veemon wilted from resignation, anticipating what anguish would consume him and bring him before death's embrace.
It felt like hours before the hold on him clenched harder. He could feel every muscle in the human's body tense, readying for a kill.
Thoughts bidding the Digital World farewell and the deep-seated regret and yearning for what had happened between Veemon and his partner, Daisuke Motomiya, were in the midst of resurfacing when soft, foreign footsteps killed his thoughts. A familiar scent wafted into the chamber. Veemon, wanting a better look, strained to get his head around the gold medallion dangling from the aberration's neck.
He did not expect the blond to give him purchase.
Neither did he expect to see a DSI soldier shamble quietly into the cavern, assault rifle on the ready. Sights up. Ready to shoot anything that moved. His dark blue uniform and unusual skin color gave him away, with Veemon recognizing the man as part of the trio that had ambushed his group in the middle of their ascent.
Horror caused the Digimon of Miracles to tremble, for he realized just how fortunate he was to take the contrarian route and head for the cave, rather than making a break for absolute safety within the Great Forest. The fact one of these "evolving soldiers" tracked him down specifically to this location corroborated the futility of using the trees and shrubbery to hide, to obfuscate his trail. Sure, he already knew this in the back of mind, but anticipating this scenario was one thing. Seeing it for himself was another.
An irrational fear—fear for his own life—froze the blue dragon. He no longer moved—he no longer breathed, not wanting to risk anything that could bring attention to the fact he was there and so was the man who wished to find him and finish him off.
Veemon shrunk back, only to realize he's been pinned to one spot. To be reminded the Chosen was no longer alone this time around. He turned his head and glanced at the strange man holding him in place, just as the latter glanced at him in turn.
Both locked eyes with each other for the third time throughout this entire encounter. For the second time, Veemon's gaze landed on those goldenrod eyes, their natural color. He still felt the wrongness, the incongruity simmering within. And with the dragon literally right next to the man, the scent of death and blood still wafted into his nose.
In spite of this, Veemon instinctively knew the unease that gripped him earlier—the very discomfort that compelled him to pull out a weapon on a human being he already knew possessed abilities bordering on the absurd—no longer had so strong a command over him. The Digimon of Miracles couldn't fathom how the sway of this blond's exogenous nature dulled after he woke up again.
Perhaps it was because the man didn't kill him.
Perhaps it was because the man clearly spent a lot of effort to resuscitate him, even help him recover.
Whatever the underlying reasons were, Veemon successfully quashed the feeling of doom that—he would someday learn—afflicted every single person who laid eyes on the blond aberration, digimon and human alike. Veemon looked at him in the eyes and shook his head, pleading without words. Don't turn me in, he asked. Please don't hand me over to him.
Daisuke's surrogate brother didn't like the way those goldenrod eyes glared at him, gawking at him like he was poison. "I shouldn't interfere," he heard the blond mutter. Almost too softly, even for a digimon's ears. "Mustn't get involved with locals."
Veemon's hand moved on its own accord and clasped the man's arm. Please.
The man with the black sword whispered his reply, "I'm not supposed to help you. I—I, I-I don't belong here. I must—I got to surrender—shit, I can't even do that. I'm not supposed to interfere. Can't meddle with local affairs. Can only watch, observe…"
Veemon did not understand any of his reasons. Why couldn't he help more? Why couldn't he get involved more? Why merely sit on the sidelines and bear witness? He's already dipped his hand into this. He might as well go all the way!
His blue hand clutched tighter; that gesture alone arrested the blond.
Acknowledgement.
Veemon recognized acknowledgement when he saw it. It was something he had never received from another human being other than Daisuke and the other Chosen Children, not in the years after the Shinjuku March, after the Fourth of July Massacre.
"Oh God, don't do this to me," his captor actually begged him, much to Veemon's surprise. "I'm an outsider. I can't just—
"A-HA! And what is this?"
Both the strange human and the blue dragon turned at the sound of the voice, dreading at the possibility the DSI soldier had heard them—had found them skulking behind the mound of earth. But the dark-skinned human still lingered farther back, right by the entrance, where Veemon's blood still dried and where the two halves of his SIG P239 laid.
The soldier picked up what was once the handgun and, for a moment, brought both halves together. He hummed in contemplation. "Yes, yes, I remember seeing this on its holster." He kneeled before the bloodstains concentrated in this area. "So it definitely was here." Veemon perked at the small machine—no, the digivice clipped onto the bald man's wrist.
With watchful, scarlet eyes, the dragon watched his confirmed enemy flip it into his hands with a button on some catch-lock mechanism and a single flick of the wrist. Veemon had a second to see the screen light up right before its user brought the digivice forward, face-down towards the blood on the walls, on the floor. Veemon felt nauseous at the sight; all that leaked out of his body?
"Okay, so it's definitely the SCAI's blood," the dragon's flawless hearing picked up. "And—hmmmmmm. Strange, it's mixed with something else's. Huh. It's human?"
The man with the black sword suddenly went rigid. Had Veemon blinked, he wouldn't have glimpsed the flash of blue that invaded his captor's goldenrod eyes, but only for a moment. An instant. Something materialized underneath him, held by the very hand that had him pinned down, kept him close to the outsider. An uncomfortable weight, it poked at his stomach. Curiosity pushed him to find out what it was, but with only starlight trickling into the cave from above, Veemon's minimal night-vision rendered him blind.
"Someone had been here," the soldier concluded. "And whoever it is killed the lizard. No doubt about it." He stood still and panned his digivice across the cave, still murmuring his own observations to himself. "But… where're the data particles? There's no trace of it... Permanent deletion maybe?"
The Digimon of Miracles may have been blind at this point, but numb he was not. Held so closely, even Veemon detected the blond's muscles stiffening. His legs and arms hardened—and the Chosen's mind sparked from abrupt recognition. Like a predator backed into a corner, the aberration bared his fangs, readied his own tools of death, and prepared to pounce on the soldier, to overwhelm him the way he conquered Monochromon and a team of five Gotsumon.
"Evolving soldier" or not, there was no way he'd stand a chance, especially not in a surprise attack. Veemon was relieved he had this stranger on his side, at least for the moment. If he'd been alone and without help, this moment could have spelt the end for him, and Daisuke's partner would have faced deletion. An ironic end, considering the location.
Then a question mark popped in the dragon's mind. Wait a minute, he thought. How did the blond know he was fleeing from this guy? From these soldiers? Crimson spheres ogled his captor. The two of them haven't spoken a word yet. Not to each other at least. So why—
Oh.
Ohhhhhhh.
He was a fugitive, too. The man had his own problems to run away from, and discovery itself led to pricey consequences. Experience must have taught him how inadequate a cover the darkness was. Was this why the man reacted the way he did earlier, when they first met?
Footfalls interrupted Veemon's postulations. He stared at the DSI soldier. "Jesus, I don't like where this is heading. Damn, I need more clues," the Black man's lips moved. "Maybe there's something further in the back."
Further in the back waited death. An instant death at that.
No! Veemon didn't want that. Misguided as he was, working for an organization devoted to conquering the Digital World and permitting mankind to reshape it however it wanted to, he felt killing—he felt murder was simply too final to consider at this point.
Veemon reached out one more time, testing his beliefs once more, hoping to perceive the acknowledgement—the acceptance in those goldenrod eyes. The Digimon of Miracles seized his captor's forearm, and feverishly shook his head. Don't kill him, he wanted to say. He wanted to shout.
Once again the act broke the blond's focus. Goldenrod eyes looked at him, glaring angrily at the rude interruption of this preemptive strike. Veemon almost withered under the vexed eyes, almost again succumbed to the dulled wrongness screaming for his attention. But this time the Chosen held his ground, glaring back at the hardened murderer with an indignant gaze of his own.
The nonverbal exchange lasted for a scant two seconds, but it was pregnant enough for the blue dragon to get his point cross.
"Alright already," he lamented. "I'll leave him alone. I've meddled enough as it is anyway." And just like that, the weight under him vanished. The black sword in his hands shrunk, its blade shortening more and more until the weapon was merely a shaped ingot of unknown metal. "Tch." Curiosity aroused, Veemon filed these away in his memory to revisit later if he could.
Their voices unheard from the other side of the cavern, both Veemon and his unnatural captor followed the human soldier with their eyes. The latter still tensed at his approach, still prepared to make a quick kill if he had to—a scenario that became more realistic the second the DSI veteran increased the brightness on his digivice's screen during his approach.
He was clearly a seasoned killer. A man who had no qualms butchering anyone who dared cross his path. The Digimon of Miracles did not doubt the man still keeping him safe wouldn't hesitate to end the soldier's life if it came down to it.
And luckily for the DSI veteran, he stopped a couple paces before the mound—a couple paces before the two of them entered the flashlight's line of sight. His silhouette discernible in the dark, the Black man lowered his assault rifle, raised a hand to his ear, and spoke with a derisive finish. "Why, if it isn't the Colonel."
A short pause.
"Yes. Yes. I'm done with my search. I'm currently at the Spire. Can you see the stars, sir?"
Two seconds passed. The soldier released a grumble. "Whatever, man. Look, the SCAI's probably dead, alright? I can't find a trace of it on my digivice."
The conversation switched gears a second later. "Damn foo', you still don't trust me after I saved you earlier? Twice?" He groaned. "Jesus Christ, Albert, I'm not f*cking Lucy—No, I don't give any shits about rank and "respect" after the bullshit you've been giving me all morning!"
The Child digimon strained to listen, hoping his excellent hearing made out the Colonel's side of the conversation. Unfortunately he was simply too far away.
"Okay. Apology accepted, sir. For now. Anyway… I did find that missile that Guardromon shot over the plateau, as per Lucy's report. Bits and pieces of it, though. I scanned the surrounding 300 meters with my digivice, but there weren't any data particles belonging to a SCAI, other than a blood trail leading away from the crash site.
"I followed it, of course. It led back to the Spire—into this massive cave. I think it even reaches the top of the mountain."
One second passed. "No, the target isn't here either, but I did jot down a couple strange things."
Another second.
"The SCAI had a SIG P239 pistol in its possession. For the most part, the lizard had to work with the FN FALs it scavenged from our fallen men, but during its fight with Lucy she stripped that assault rifle from it pretty quick, and for a few seconds it relied on just the—hold on, I'm getting there. I am getting there. So this handgun it had with it? It's in the cave, and it's been cut in half."
Radio silence ensued for five seconds.
"Colonel?"
The soldier waited for another five seconds.
"Hello, Colonel?"
Nodding, "You heard me right, sir. The handgun's been cut clean in half. There are also bloodstains on the wall, and the DNA recognition software on the digivice tags them as either human or SCAI. It also doesn't detect any floating data particles. As much as I want to say the lizard died from blood loss and its own injuries, it could've also been killed outright. Permanently, I'll add."
Then he shrugged. "Can't say, honestly. I have no idea who else would want to kill the SCAI, other than us."
"All right. Yes. Yes, sir. I'll head back right now. See you later."
Stretching his arms, "Finally! Now I can get out of this f*cking dump." He undid the catch on his digivice. "D-Modify!" Veemon, with much awe, observed the blue lines of energy caressing the soldier's legs as it cast some rudimentary illumination in the darkness. Enough to actually make the Chosen wince and blink a couple times.
The evolving soldier—no, the Modifier bent his knees and made a giant leap for one of the two holes in the ceiling.
A second later, he was gone.
A second later, Veemon felt all the anxiety and stress that accumulated in the blond's body ebb away as he visibly relaxed. For some reason, the man did not release him. In fact, he never let him go. Content to hold him like this, maybe. Veemon still smelled the blood and danger permeating his character, and he still distinguished the foreboding sense of doom the man constantly emitted from his person. But rather than deflating him, rather than pushing him into a state of depression or distress, the events that had just transpired buoyed him. They propped him up. They heartened the dying hopes for humankind smoldering within him.
In one automatic movement, the blue dragon shifted his position and tried to be as comfortable as he could. If they were going to remain like this for a while, so be it. No longer did the exogenous aura of the blond disturb him. Because he didn't kill Veemon. Because he dressed his wounds. Because he didn't turn the digimon in. Because he even considered his requests, listened to him—even argued with him, one might call it that.
Perhaps this human, despite the absurdity of his capabilities, wasn't as bad as the Gotsumon insinuated.
Perhaps he wasn't that hostile to digimon, as they initially believed.
Veemon lost track of time, lying down like this, with only his thoughts to keep him busy. He didn't notice—he couldn't remember how long they remained this way. But it was still dark when he snapped back to reality and realized they haven't moved an inch since they eluded the Modifier. What happened to the stranger? Did he fall asleep? Or was he so buried in his thoughts as well?
The Digimon of Miracles was uncomfortable. He felt awkward. He didn't know what to say. But after a few more minutes of silence and an utter lack of movement from his captor, Veemon finally decided to break the silence. "Ummmmm, are you, going to let me go anytime soon?"
The man himself quailed at the sound of his voice. Did he completely forget about the dragon he had in his arms, embraced so tightly there was no wiggle room at all? How could someone—
"Oh crap," muttered his… captor? New friend, maybe? "Uhhh, sorry about that," he apologized sheepishly. A surprising reaction, considering how emotionless he seemed this afternoon. The tone did not suit the deep voice. "I actually forgot about you." He sat up, releasing Veemon in the process.
A little more than an hour ago, Veemon would've taken this chance to bolt away, or more realistically, cower in the wall, shrinking back as much as he could due to the injuries slowing him down.
A little while ago, perhaps the Child-level wouldn't have talked at all, paralyzed by the incongruity that exerted itself around the man, again and again.
But this time around, Veemon rose above his instincts. He pushed himself away but sat down no farther than a pace off, ogling the blond with plenty of curiosity, and some distrust, simmering in his gut. Though he did not know this at the time, days later the outsider would find this action as the most confounding thing Veemon did in the beginning of their friendship. An action he judged remarkable in light of his history with the people he's met throughout his travels.
The Chosen bit his lip. He had so many things to ask, yet it took Veemon more than a minute to come up with the very first question. The one that bothered him the most from an objective, rational standpoint. "Why, why didn't you turn me in?"
"Like hell I'm going to do that," the stranger huffed. "All the effort I put into cleaning you up would've gone to waste! You've no idea how hard it was for me to disinfect, sew, and bandage your wounds. I even had to use one of the three wound salves I had left. Why would I go through all that trouble when it would've been much, much easier for me to finish you off?"
"And why didn't you?" Veemon asked, deeply and intently scrutinizing the man's facial expression and body language. "You had me dead to rights—forget that. You actually choked me out. I thought I died!"
The blond fidgeted, backing away a little from the intensity of the dragon's stare. A finger scratched his temple, and he released a nervous chuckle. "Errr, how should I explain this?"
"I'd understand why you would kill me or leave me for dead." The blue dragon sagged in front of him. "I pointed a gun at you. And I'm also a monster. I'm not human. Don't you find me hideous? Unnatural? Aren't you freaked out by the fact I can talk? Or I'm—
"You were crying at the end," the blond disrupted him. "I saw the regret in your eyes. Plain and clear. And you acted out of fear. You didn't know what to do and tried to gain a little leverage, that's all, but only after you really put a lot of thought into it. I, I can't… I won't kill a person for something like that!"
Veemon was stunned. Did he just refer to him as a person? Just like that? Harmonious Ones, why couldn't the rest of humanity accept him the same way so easily?
It took a little work to get his tongue moving again. "But you killed five of my friends," he said. "You murdered them. Monochromon and those Gotsumon. You, y-you destroyed them. Brutally. Without mercy."
He hoped the man wouldn't decide to kill him now, right then and there.
"Wait a minute! You're with them?" the blond retorted, his attitude switching gears. "You're friends with those assholes?"
The Child digimon cringed from the sudden hostility. So much for that hope. He quickly went to their defense. "Don't call them that—
"I have all the right to! That dinosaur thing…
"Monochromon."
"That bastard Mokomon lunged at me unprovoked and didn't bother giving me any explanation. He tried to me. He tried to run his horn through me. When reinforcements arrived, they all attacked me just the same. No questions asked. I'm sorry, but they are assholes. All of them. Whatever I did, if you ask me they had it coming."
Veemon countered—
"Thanks to them I knew you were sentient." The man with the black sword thrust his finger at the Digimon of Miracles, who flinched from the scare. "And you were different. You gave it a shot. You didn't pull your gun out on me the instant you saw me. I imagine the one f*cking mook that got away…"
Veemon bristled at the insult directed at the last surviving Gotsumon. That digimon died valiantly, protecting the Chosen from a DSI Modifier. But the blue dragon said nothing. He wanted to hear the outsider out, to understand his point of view. He was honestly relieved the man did not become hostile enough to threaten his life once again, even after admitting his relationship to the people the blond murdered callously.
"…told you what I did, what I'm capable of. Maybe you wanted to reason with me, and I probably would've talked to you if you just didn't freak out and pull your gun on me. I reacted on instinct and I… I, I almost killed you." He bowed his head, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I really am."
Veemon was quiet. He didn't speak, not yet. He understood why the blond, despite all his power and preference for brutal but effective methods, apologized to him, to someone whose neck he could easily snap if he wished. But as the Chosen put more thought into it, to his delight this alone showed he was not dealing with a heartless monster of a human, if he could even call him that.
"…Are you even going to say anything?"
Veemon had another reason to ignore the foreboding sense of doom enveloping the blond's very person, and if he wanted to truly squash it, he knew the one thing he needed to do.
In response to the stranger's question, the blue dragon raised his hands—slowly. A cheerful grin appeared on his muzzle a split second before he sprung forward the best he could and pinched the human's cheeks. "I don't really have anything to say about it," he spoke. "But I panicked. You can even say I died for it. And even then, I'm still here. I'm still alive. You went out of your way to help me after what you did, and you brought me back." Commandramon was wrong. Everything he said about the stranger was wrong. Nothing more than misplaced assumptions.
His grin widened at the thought and his tail unconsciously wagged from happiness. He clutched the blond's shoulders, noticing the armor immediately, and with much appreciation, gave the pauldrons a solid pat. "That's what matters the most, and I'm very thankful for what you've done."
The man with goldenrod eyes released a breath he didn't realize he held. He slackened in front of the dragon, posture loosening from a mild form of anxiety to one of ease. "Thank God," he heard him mutter.
Was he worried he wouldn't be forgiven? Veemon did not plan on forgetting the fact the man slew his comrades and did not regret deleting them in cold blood. Not anytime soon. But if his genuine apology indicated anything, it was the willingness to atone for things he was sorry for and the fact he saw him as a person.
Veemon had to be certain of this, at the very least. "So... you don't care I'm a talking dragon?"
"NO!" he unexpectedly snapped, peeved at the way Daisuke's partner put himself down. "People like you clearly inhabit this world. I understand you're not human, but there's nothing wrong with that. It's not like you're a mindless animal, and you're not. I'm not new to this diversity. I've seen this all before. I don't care if you're a talking dragon. I'm not a stupid bigot. You shouldn't even think that way. Why did you bring it up in the first place?"
"Because all the untethered humans I've seen here don't like us. They don't think of us as equals. All they see are beasts, and most of my friends started hating them for it." He recalled the grunt he knocked out that afternoon. He remembered how frightened he was of him, how stupefied the DSI soldier was the instant Veemon went out of his way to defend him from his own friends. "To be honest, among all of them you're the first I've ever got to talk to like this. And…"
Veemon choked from mirth. A few tears dribbled down from his eyes and he wiped them off, a little shamefaced at the way he opened himself up like this. But Golemon was wrong. Commandramon was wrong, and so were everyone who told him none of the humans beyond those related to the Chosen Children and the other tamers would ever give him the time of day to listen to him and give him a chance to make friends. "And you, you wouldn't believe how long I've been waiting to actually talk to a human." A pause. He felt gauche and scratched his muzzle. "I, I mean, y-you know, as a real friend, not an enemy..."
Or a teammate, for that matter, Veemon reflected miserably. None of the Chosen Children stranded in the Digital World would devote that much time to him even if they could. Of course they would help him if he truly needed them. They were teammates. Comrades who fought on the same side and won. But his relationships with them would never escalate to something similar to his inseparable brotherhood with Daisuke, his close friendship with Jun, and even the decent friendships he's developed with Taichi, Hikari, and Takeru over the many days—the many months he spent at their homes to visit Tailmon and Patamon. Not when Ken, Iori, Koushirou, and Joe were all so busy they barely had enough time to even be with their own partners.
Who was Veemon, then, to get in the way of that?
A few awkward moments passed, but the blond fugitive responded with something that surprised him. He reached forward and pulled the Chosen into a hug. "That's okay. It's nothing to be ashamed of." It lasted longer than it should have between two people who were practically strangers to each other. The Chosen wondered if the man had read him like a book, discerning his forlorn thoughts without asking about it.
Veemon almost missed the extended hand. "Soooo, my name's Chris," the blond introduced himself. "Christopher Van Numen."
He beamed. "And I'm Veemon!" he said, agog, as they shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Chris! Glad to be your friend."
"The feeling's mutual, Veemon," reciprocated his strange friend. "Thank God I didn't accidentally kill you."
"Ehehehehehehe," the Digimon of Miracles laughed awkwardly. "Leeet's move on from that, okay?"
"If you insist," Christopher assented. Then he tugged the dragon's hand, refusing to let go. Gently pulling him in instead. "Now that we're both friends, I need you to get over here and lie down. I'm not yet done fixing you up. You interrupted me before I could get the bullet in your foot out and I still have to get rid of the other one in your tail."
"Sorry. When I woke up and saw you on top of me I—
"Probably thought I was going to mess around with you. Understandable. I thought you didn't want to talk about this anymore?"
"Ehhhhhh..."
Chris carped, "Then just shut up about it and lie down. On your back. I need to start working before I start feeling lightheaded again."
"'kay," complied Veemon. He hobbled forward, the pain thankfully no longer as horrible as it had been when he first entered the Spire. Christopher eased him into position, did everything he could to keep the blue dragon comfortable. "Lightheaded?" he pondered, staring at him. "I know you're not doing well yourself, but didn't you take anything from my med pouch?"
"Of course I did, but I have a hole on my waist. You've got nothing I can use to sew it closed and besides, the needle's too weak. It'd snap if used on me. I only need a place to rest and lots of time, maybe also have something better than your ready-to-eat meals." Oh, so he found those, too? Chris must've gone through his pouches after he knocked him out.
"Okay," began the Chosen. "I, I can help you with that."
"What do you mean?"
"I live nearby. I'm from a base in the Great Forest. After what you did for me, I bet I can get you some help, or at least a bed to sleep in. How did you get hurt like that in the first place, anyway?"
"Got it from a battle," Chris stated in a tone that indicated no desire at all to elaborate. Oh well. That would come in time, Veemon conjectured. "Anyway, the 'Great Forest'. You mean that gigantic—
"Yes. Did you just ask me that?"
Christopher groaned and ignored his question. "I'm going to work now, Vee," he said, inadvertently giving him a nickname. "Just don't freak out again."
"Why—
An azure light overtook his eyes. The shine was weak and was not at all directed into Veemon's crimson spheres, but it still startled him. To his credit, though, the Chosen did not flinch as badly as he did the last time.
"Am I scaring you?"
"It's creeping me out," Veemon remarked, brutally honest and straightforward as usual. "A LOT."
"Sorry, but I need it. It's the only way I can see what I'm doing."
"Then why can't I see anything?"
"You should be happy for that. Infrared vision plus super sensitive vibration response imaging will drive you nuts." The aberrant human chuckled as he grasped the ball of Veemon's injured foot. "Luckily for you, the Realm Scanner doesn't work that way."
Christopher lost Veemon at "infrared" and "vibration response imaging", but the dragon digimon latched instantly to the last thing he just said. "Hold on, you—
If Daisuke's surrogate brother had anything to say, his words sizzled on his tongue as it went out. "YOOOOOW!" He twitched violently, reached out for the blond fugitive next to him and dug his fingers—dug his stubby claws into the arm that had pinned him down once again. "Stop-stop-stop-stop! It huuuuurtssssssss!" He shut his eyes, though that didn't stop teardrops from leaking out.
"There we go," Christopher's voice drifted into his ears, gliding between the Chosen's wheezing and the overwhelming drumbeats of his throbbing heart. "Finally got the little f*cker out."
Veemon didn't feel the least bit thankful for the bullet in the middle of Chris' fingers. Agony still fresh in his mind—fresh in his foot, the digimon lashed out with same and smacked the man's face with it. That he struck the human—no, that the blond was a little comfortable enough to allow this in the first place never registered, not until a few days later. "Four Gods, you could've warned me!"
"Warn you that I was about to pulla bullet out of your foot with no anesthetic?" The blaze in his eyes died away, allowing Veemon to barely discern their natural, goldenrod hue in the darkness. "You couldn't relax when I tried to calm you down! If I did that, you would constantly nag at me; make me stop every other second even if it doesn't lessen the agony any bit. We would've wasted loads of time and you would've suffered all the more."
Irritated, the Digimon of Miracles crossed his arms, blushing slightly. He didn't want Christopher enjoying the satisfaction of being right. Veemon knew himself well enough and how he responded to certain things and what the blond said described exactly how he'd act if he knew what was coming. "Hmph, that's what you think!" He puffed out his chest in false bravado. "I can keep my cool when I have to, you know."
"You say that right after kicking me in the head?" Chris jeered, letting the sarcasm ooze into his words. "What are you, a child? You're acting like a freakin' ten-year old; you even sound like one!"
Veemon rebutted quickly and walked right into it. "That's because I AM a ten-year old!"
The blond smirked. "So now the truth comes out."
"Yeah!" crowed the Chosen. "See, Chris? I can be levelheaded and serious and all that, if I gotta be."
"Err, Vee, are we on the same page here?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"A ten-year old's a young kid," he clarified. "A naïve, immature child who doesn't know anything about the way the world works—
Veemon responded, his voice patronizing. "Only applies to humans and most Child levels." This was common knowledge today, determined by a variety of scientists during Hikari's Golden Age and recorded into Wikipedia and various factsheets across the globe in all the years thereafter. "But I'm special. I'm one of the Twelve. One of the Chosen. We saved the world once or twice, and went through a lot to do it."
"You're joking," Chris scoffed. Odd how all that boasting went over his head. Veemon supposed his new friend wasn't one to care.
"Nuh uh! Look up 'Digital Revelation of 2002' and 'Chosen Children' when you get the chance."
He sighed out of acquiescence. "Haaaaaay. Okay, okay. But if you're truly as mature as you say you are, then why are you so—
"Puerile?"
"Um, yeah." He scratched his head and muttered to himself, unaware of Veemon's strong hearing. "Didn't expect you to know what that even meant…"
"Because that's just who I am! I'm easygoing, very playful. Always was, always will." Veemon's muzzle formed a rictus as he chuckled. "And if you don't like it, well that's not my problem now, is it?"
"That's true," Chris agreed. He smiled. "You're adorable."
"Yup-yup-yup," Veemon nodded. "I get that sometimes."
A brief sadness glazed Christopher's expression and as the man stared at the blue dragon, he released a long, defeated outbreath, as though remembering something—someone. Veemon recognized the melancholy anywhere. He was the same way himself, when it came to Daisuke Motomiya, to the memories they created and shared together as family. As partners.
As brothers.
"So how old are you?" Veemon asked in hopes of snapping Christopher out of it. He could ask him for the details a little later.
It worked. "Oh. Uh, I'm twenty-three," he said.
"Twenty-three?" The blue dragon gaped at him in the near-darkness. Thank goodness for the little light trickling in from the open sky above. "You don't look twenty-three... more like eighteen. Maybe younger."
"It's not something I like talking about." Veemon felt the blond's melancholy flare a little more. The digimon wanted to lean forward and give Chris a hug for good measure. Veemon would've done it, but before he had the opportunity, Chris turn from him. "All right, no more small talk. I still got to get one last thing out." He felt the man's rough, calloused hands move down his waist and up his legs. Both approached his tail.
Wait a minute.
His tail? That's where…
That's where that DSI grunt shot him, before Commandramon and Guardromon G341 saved him from certain deletion.
"No, no, no! Not yet!" Veemon yanked his tail away before Christopher Van Numen gripped it tight. He sat up and wrapped his arms around it, hugging its girth protectively. "Not yet!"
"Arg," the blond grumbled. Chris ogled him sternly, his eyes once again illuminated by a blazing, azure light. "Veemon, you can't do this after bragging how much you can take it."
"Not until you tell me how in Qinglongmon's name you're taking those bullets out!"
Without a word, Christopher raised his arms and presented…
Nothing.
"Y-you don't…" Veemon stammered. "You're n-not, you aren't u-u-using…"
"No tools. Just my bare fingers."
Absolutely horrified, "Couldn't you find, I don't know, ANYTHING in my med pouch?"
"Sorry, it didn't have anything for an operation. Besides, lack of equipment isn't a problem when it's effortless for me to reach in deep and take out that bullet without a problem."
"But—but, what if you do something and accidentally—
Christopher tapped one of his temples. "That's why I have this," he said, referring to the glowing light.
"E-eh? I don't get it. How can you even see with those?"
"It's a little complicated."
"Give me the basics then. You said something about a 'Realm Scanner', didn't you? How does that fit into this?"
Christopher Van Numen stiffened the second Veemon mentioned "Realm Scanner". His goldenrod eyes ogled him far longer than he was used to, subjected him to the same enigmatic scrutiny as they had first met. Though Veemon no longer worried for his life, he hoped he didn't upset the blond for any reason. In retrospect, the blue dragon couldn't see how he could offend Christopher when he spoke only the truth.
The man had nothing on him that looked like state-of-the-art technology, beyond the collapsible black sword and the gun that violated the most basic rule of the Digital World. Everything else he wore appeared ordinary—unassuming at first glance. Even the white staff, despite its bizarre, anachronistic design.
So Veemon probed a little more. That Chris stayed silent encouraged him to go on. "C'mon," he prodded. "Just tell me something! I don't want you messing with my tail when I don't know what you're even doing."
He was still noiseless. Those goldenrod eyes still stared at him, but they were unfocused. Chris spaced out once again. Retreated into his thoughts, where the Digimon of Miracles couldn't read him, couldn't understand—couldn't anticipate what he'd say, what he'd do.
"Chris?"
The sound of his name awakened the aberration from his daze. Veemon caught the blond shifting his glance to the bracer clasped to his left arm. Crimson eyes blinked at the lone gemstone embedded in the base of the silver gauntlet. It was small, implanted into an inch-thick plate of metal curving along the length of Christopher's forearm.
It sparkled brilliantly.
It exuded the same wrongness as Christopher did. No, on further scrutiny, Veemon realized it emanated a stronger aura of incongruity. The gauntlet was another artifact that didn't belong, and this one felt more unnatural than Chris himself, as if rejecting the digimon's eyes—refusing to acknowledge his attention.
The blue dragon unfurled a finger and poked the gemstone. No fingerprints lingered in his wake. "Is this it?" he asked.
"Hmmm, I…"
"Well?"
"…I guess there's, there's no harm in telling you, is there?" Chris conjectured.
"Isn't that obvious? It's not like I'm an engineer."
"Just keep your mouth shut about it, okay? I don't want word about it spreading around your friends later on."
Veemon ran a finger across his snout. "My lips are sealed!" Now go on, he urged him silently. His curiosity's been killing him long enough.
"It better be." Christopher brought his arm forward, thinking it would give Veemon a better look at it despite the low light conditions. "All right, sooooo, yes, this bracer is the Realm Scanner. It is an incredibly advanced supercomputer, attached to my arm, linked directly to my nervous system, and can interface wirelessly with nearby surroundings using the 'aether' particles in the natural environment." Most of it blew Veemon out of the water and he tuned out even the basic description. Chris showed no signs of noticing this. "It has so many utility applications I don't know them all—I haven't used them all and I don't have time to learn them all, either. One of them enables me to see infrared. Another processes my sense of touch into images. The Scanner superimposes these into a HUD encompassing my entire field of view.
He pointed at his illumined eyes. "That's how I can see you clearly in the darkness and why my eyes glow every time I turn it on. And before you ask, NO, I do not know exactly how it works, and NO, I don't know what the R-Scanner's made of. But, after all the abuse my journey's put it through, I believe it is absolutely invulnerable. You cannot imagine how many times I could've died if it wasn't for that. It's why I call it the Ultimate Shield, sometimes."
Veemon was skeptical of this claim. "I don't believe you." He gave the apparent 'Ultimate Shield' another couple taps with his finger. He scraped his nails on it, taking note of the fact he didn't leave any marks. "This thing really can't be destroyed?"
"Not so much resists damage as it rejects the reality around it. The R-Scanner can't even get dirty."
"Oh! Really?"
"Believe me, I've tried. Whatever you use on it, it either slips away or comes right off when you wipe it."
"This I got to see!"
"Heh, be my guest—
The blue dragon interrupted Christopher, hawking, coughing. He reached for a spot deep in his sore throat and spat a thick globule of phlegm on the R-Scanner. Right on the blue jewel. Bull's-eye!
"Veemon!"
"What? I'm testing it!"
"That's gross."
"Aaaand that goes right back at you!" Veemon's tail wagged as he delivered his reply. He saw the arched eyebrow and added, "I can smell myblood and my spit all over your hands." Christopher never told Veemon what he'd done to revive him, but his sore throat, all the drool in his mouth when he woke, and the faint recollection of something collapsing in his airway pointed to a solution most people wouldn't do for a stranger. "That says something 'bout you too, doesn't it?"
Chris twitched, annoyed. "That's because—
The blue dragon playfully stuck his tongue out at the man.
"Ugh, fine. Whatever. Just do what you want."
The Chosen neither saw Chris rolling his eyes nor heard him grouse and grumble at the digimon's childishness. Scarlet spheres instead widened in amazement as the glob of phlegm fell cleanly off the bracer and splattered on the ground. Curiosity stoked, Veemon slid his finger across the metal and—
"Harmonious Ones."
Completely dry. Smooth. No traces of saliva, no lingering fluid. As if…
"As if I never hawked a loogie on it." The observation left Veemon struggling in indescribable awe. "Rejecting reality, huh? Wow, you were not kidding."
"Pretty much."
"Can you show me what you see? Is it possible? Pleaaaaase?"
Chris stifled his laughter. "Adorable," he murmured under his breath. "She would've loved you."
The words passed right through Veemon's ears. If only he paid more attention. He leaned closer, still ogling the silver bracer. "I don't need to put it on, do I?"
"No, you don't," The blond chuckled. "And it's better off staying on my arm." Veemon nodded. "I can show you the HUD, but after this, I need to start on your tail here…"
"Works for me."
"'kay." Chris went silent. His eyes still burned a bright blue in the darkness of the cave, casting enough light to illuminate the next few meters. Like a smartphone's flashlight app.
Five seconds passed. Veemon made a sound. "Uhm…"
"Hold on, hold on. I'm browsing the settings menu. The R-Scanner does respond to my thoughts, but it's so high-tech there's hundreds of parameters I don't bother touching—ahh, there we go!"
At the last word, the blazing light in Christopher's eyes suddenly faded, revealing their natural color just as the gemstone Veemon crudely spat upon a while back shone brightly. Holographic images popped up above it, depicting a variety of small windows overlaid on the central image of Veemon himself, gaping awestruck at the hologram generated by the Realm Scanner. Black and white, in infrared.
One of the smaller windows also had another image. This one showed the calculated topography of the ground next to Christopher's fingers, produced in real-time by mathematics and an unparalleled processor within the Ultimate Shield.
"Whoa." The blue dragon poked one of the virtual menus, causing the display to ripple and shimmer. "That's so cool!" Then he noticed something strange. "Hey, why are some of the options grayed out?"
"I don't know. I'm still figuring that out."
He focused on the corner of the menu. It was huge. No wonder Chris' eyes glowed blue. He needed the visual real estate. "And what's this thing called 'Assault Mode'?"
"Something I hope you'll NEVER get tosee," replied the blond. "Luckily for you, the option's also grayed out." Based on his expression though, it wasn't so lucky for him. "So are we done now?"
"Yeah."
The holograms vanished from sight and Christopher's eyes once again radiated that bright blue light. But before the man could finally return to work, Veemon beat him to it with one last question conceived on the fly.
"I'm wondering… where did you get this? I've never seen anything like it before." Never heard of anything like it either. The more the Chosen ruminated on it, the more he postulated this sort of technology should've been in the hands of a powerful or technologically-inclined digimon, or maybe someone from the Order, after Gennai's countenance magically popped into his mind's eye.
"It was given to me." A simultaneous deflation accompanied the aberration's reply. "By a… precious friend, in complicated, unforgiving circumstances." The Digimon of Miracles saw the turmoil in those goldenrod eyes. Recognized it by sheer empathy alone. Chris wilted from the agony of a memory he did not want to revisit. "I, I paid a very, very high price for it."
Out of concern, Veemon probed, believing Chris would feel better if he told the story. "Christopher—
The blond turned into ice. "That is none of your business." His voice froze over, callous and unfeeling. In a split second, he transformed into the Christopher who slammed him into the wall, who crushed his throat and suffocated him with blatant disregard for his life.
A cold, terrifying, and pissed-off murderer.
Veemon liked him better—much better—when he seemed more like a normal person. At the very least he needn't worry if the blond would suddenly renege on his intentions and hurt him.
"Got it," he gulped. "I understand."
"Glad we're on the same page, then." Chris reached for the tail, and as the Digimon of Miracles promised, grasped it with nary a protest. "Finally I get to do this. I need to remove this bullet or it'll keep messing up your sense of balance."
"What're you going to do?"
"First, I need to widen the hole enough to get my fingers in. Second, I'll squeeze the little f*cker up and out as far as I can and pluck the bullet out of your body when possible."
Veemon paled. An expression of anxiety washed over him. It may not have been the same sort of dread or horror he felt when he walked to this cave, gambling his life on a human stranger's willingness to befriend a monster like him, but the alarm was all the same anyway. His ears drooped. "That sounds painful…"
Chris halted and stared at him. "Hmmmm." Then he reached into his coat and brought out a black ingot of metal. The very same item he used to call upon the black sword. To his astonishment, Chris shoved the deadly weapon in Veemon's hands. "Here, use this."
"W-w-what?"
"Ordinarily I'd have you bite on my fingers, but I need both hands to work on your tail properly. So just use that instead."
"…You are weird."
He shrugged. "You're not the first person to say so."
"You, are, weird."
Chris ignored the emphasis. "So you ready?" One hand clenched his tail in his signature, ironclad grip. The other hovered above the bullet wound, waiting for action.
"Are you sure about this?" Daisuke's surrogate brother asked, indicating the collapsed sword. "I don't want to suddenly kill myself." Veemon was too ashamed to suggest a scenario where the weapon expanded into the blade and punched one massive hole through his head.
"It's fine. The sword won't come out without certain neurobiological inputs, plus a specific codeword."
That must be why Chris said 'Restoration' every time he called the black spatha out.
Daisuke's surrogate brother steeled himself for the blond's messy operation. I'm so going to regret this. He swallowed as much trepidation as he could and, with a trembling hand, placed the ingot in his muzzle. His tongue laced across it easily, coating the weapon with his own saliva and allowing Veemon to discover the finger grooves along one side and, all over its form, quite the number of scrapes and various wear and tear from heavy use.
Remembering that Chris still waited on him for a signal, the blue dragon raised his fist and flashed a thumbs-up to the man sitting beside him.
In moments, searing pain flared to life in his tail. The agony surpassed the hellfire that earlier razed his leg. Veemon could do nothing but muffle his screams and bite down on instinct, adding his own personal touch to the hilt of Christopher Van Numen's blade. He resisted the natural urge to slap away the two hands fondling his tail and bit harder, digging his back into the cavern wall as far back as the rock wall allowed.
The Chosen looked over the blond next to him. He confirmed the three fingers inserted into the bullet wound, like a bowling ball grip, seconds before Chris spread them outward and—the torture continued anew, and this time Veemon couldn't help the loud, aggrieved whines echoing past the metal ingot practically gagging his snout. Thank the Four Gods he hadn't completely lost control. He didn't want to deal with the embarrassment of soiling himself.
Even so, his hands reached out. One hugged an outcropping from the wall and clenched tight. The other found Chris' right forearm and—Harmonious Ones, the pain!—clutched it and wedged his fingernails into the unarmored skin, expending enough force to, had the blond been a normal human, fracture the man's bones or at minimum draw blood.
"You finished yet?" the blue dragon tried to say, but with Chris' sword still in his mouth, the words came out slurred. Barely intelligible.
Chris understood him regardless. "I'm getting there. The bullet's not far from your tailbone, where it's thickest. Once I have enough space, I can start the next step."
There's more? Veemon gasped, red eyes dilating from the surprise. He expected this to go quickly, for the pain to be tolerable instead of the horrible agony it actually is. Experiencing this torturous approach reminded Veemon of his appreciation for the medical disciplines. He preferred to be sedated, asleep if someone had to poke inside his own body.
And with the Satellite Base a few hours away, why bother with this basic, first aid treatment when the bullet in his tail posed no threat to his life? When it wouldn't take as much effort to withstand the inconvenience and discomfort of a compromised sense of balance? He wasn't alone anymore.
With Christopher willing to go out of his way to help him, to do more than simply clean him up and dress his wounds, he probably wouldn't mind letting the blue dragon use him as a crutch if it meant getting to a real medical facility where he can be given real help.
Besides, Chris needed the very same himself, no matter how much he insisted he only required ample time and rest. Daisuke Motomiya had been a stubborn one back in the day. Dealing with the blond shouldn't be any more difficult, he thought.
The Digimon of Miracles guided his hand down the human's forearm, fingers curling down on the hand.
"What's up?" replied the blond.
Veemon couldn't talk. He still clamped down on the expandable sword collecting drool and teeth marks in his muzzle, channeling continuous waves of agony into the resilient weapon. He couldn't release it. Not yet. Not while Chris had those fingers idling in his tail! "Mmm, mmm," he hummed and shook his head for good measure.
"You want me to stop?"
The Chosen nodded.
"You sure? If I don't take this out, you won't be able to walk or stand properly."
Veemon nodded vigorously. Very vigorously.
Christopher Van Numen sighed. "Suit yourself," he said and pulled away from his tail. Far away.
The act made Veemon jolt one last time before he went limp from relief and slumped down on the wall. He wilted on the spot. The anxiety and tension gone from the rest of his body, the blue dragon retrieved the black ingot of metal from his mouth, rather than spitting out unceremoniously and possibly offend or disrespect his first human friend in three years.
"Here's your weapon back," Veemon said. He tendered his hand, returning the compressed sword to its owner. "Thanks for letting me use it." He winced at the thick layers of slobber coating it, not to mention the impossible-to-hide marks his incisors scratched onto it. "Ummm, sorry. It's all covered in—
"Don't worry about it," Christopher disrupted. "I'll wash it later." Without any sign of reluctance or disgust on his face, he took the black ingot from the blue dragon. One sweep of the hand flounced majority of the dribble off of it. Evidently the man deemed this enough, for he stowed the sticky thing in his coat's inner pocket. "But you are sure about this?"
"Yeah," he reaffirmed. "I can get this done properly at the Satellite Base."
"I see." To Veemon's surprise, Chris then poured disinfectant into his hands, rubbed his fingers together, and proceeded to massage the Child level's injured foot. Chris did it automatically, without a single prompt from the digimon receiving this.
He asked, "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Chris retorted, not looking in his direction.
"…you're giving me a massage, why?" Daisuke would never do something like this for Veemon. Even if he asked kindly, Daisuke would typically respond with a flat-out refusal, not unless he promised something in return. This applied no matter who made the request, unless it happened to be Hikari Yagami or someone else he doted on. "You don't have to do this," Veemon said. What game was this guy playing?
"Yes, I do," the blond answered while spreading the disinfectant all over the ankle, the three toes, and everything in between. "It's got to be cleaned and bandaged." He also squeezed the ball of the foot, pressed it a little, here and there. "Besides," he chuckled, "I think you deserve it after all the stress I've been giving you."
Veemon's blue tail wagged a little. "If you put it that way, I guess you… you won't mind if you do my back too?" With the outsider so willing, not bothering to ask for anything in return, he may as well take advantage and throw in another request.
"No problem."
But in spite of all Christopher Van Numen had done—was doing for Veemon, one last irrational worry rose from the inner depths of his mind. From the fears urging him to doubt the outsider, to suspect he wanted something more than a place to lay low in. Even believe he held malevolent intentions, concealing them under an assault of kindness, a veil of good deeds. "You are bringing me to the Satellite Base, right?" he asked after some moments of silence.
"Yep."
"Even if you, uh, may not get any help from my friends there?"
Goldenrod eyes ogled him. Chris paused for a brief, tense moment, before returning to the injured foot and the bandages being wrapped around it. "Why do you say that?"
"Almost all of them hate humans. I got a little pull 'cause of who I am and what you did for me, but it may not be enough…"
"Will you tell them I killed your friends?"
"Only if they ask. Sorry, Chris, but I can't—I won't lie about Monochromon and those Gotsumon."
"That's fine," he brushed it off. "I don't give a damn about it anyway."
"You're not worried?"
"Why should I? They can't kill me. You know what will happen if they try." Christopher's straight, no-nonsense tone unnerved Daisuke's digital half. The blond aberration knew precisely what he was capable of and could recognize true potential threats to his life. The impassiveness he just displayed towards the prospect of facing multiple, hostile Adult and Child level digimon revealed how far below this was on his priority list and the ostensible wherewithal to brutally maim and slaughter anyone who dared to cross him.
"I hope it won't come to that," Veemon mumbled.
"That makes two of us." Chris moved, massaging Veemon's back as he had requested. The digimon turned a little to accommodate the blond, who pressed between his shoulder blades. "Hope for the best and prepare for the worst," he spoke. "You know that saying, right?"
"It's common among humans, but personally, I don't like it one bit." Only humanity would say one thing and prepare for the complete opposite. The Digimon of Miracles still lived for his ideals, treated everyone with the benefit of the doubt, always seeing the good—the best in others. He hoped for the best and trusted those he knew would always choose for the best. That was something he and Daisuke had in common.
Then again, the two of them had plenty in common. Their brotherhood went beyond some of the relationships the other Chosen had with their own partners, second only to Ken Ichijouji and Wormmon. Those two were virtually inseparable.
Christopher continued, "Way I see it, Veemon, helping me is yourdecision. So either they respect you for it or they back off after someone di—uhh, gets hurt, I mean. I won't care if they don't help me out because of what I am and what I've done. I told you, my needs are simple: food and lodging, nothing more. I'm just there to make sure you're going to be okay. Got that?"
Veemon grunted in the affirmative. He didn't have anything to say in reply, however touched he was by the concern his new, strange friend had for him. "So when are we leaving?" the Chosen queried after ten minutes of silence. He found it bizarre how the time passed so quickly. He almost jumped when he noticed Chris had focused on his hands and fingers.
Since when did he space out like this? How long was he—oh, it must've been the massage Chris was giving. Seems like I needed the time to kick back and chill, huh?
"In a few hours." Christopher eventually answered in an air of finality, wiping both hands on his own clothes. "All right, I'm done. I'm starting to feel a little lightheaded again and I'll need more rest, maybe a quick nap before we go."
The blond's gaze jerked to the ground nearby, where Veemon's baldric had been set down. He observed Chris saunter over to it, rummage through the pouch containing the ready-to-eat meals, and pull out one of the small capsules. He twisted it open, revealing a large sandwich. "Split with me?" Chris offered, walking back.
As Chris dropped the utility belt next to them, Veemon said, "That's mine to begin with, you know…"
"Yeah," Chris shrugged. "But so what? Do you still want—
"Of course I want some!" He licked his lips. "It's been a while after I last ate. Now gimme!"
The blond sat down next to him and handed Veemon the other half. "Here you go."
A week from now, the blue dragon often found himself looking back at this moment. He wondered how he managed to ignore all the signs pointing to Christopher's origins, all the strangeness, all the bizarre objects he possessed. Had he craved so much—no, had Veemon been so starved for authentic human contact he simply accepted Christopher Van Numen for who he was at the time? Absorb everything about Chris at face value and without question?
"Veemon? You mind if I ask you something?"
Veemon would not chastise himself for this failure to recognize the sign, the glaring dissonance that divided his expectations from his facts, his hopes from his reality. How in the Four Gods did the Chosen overlook Christopher's ruthlessness, neutrality, or even the blond's unparalleled determination to defy the winds of fate?
"Sure," said the blue dragon. He chewed on his sandwich, tongue relishing the taste happily. "What's on your mind?"
Then Christopher Van Numen popped the question. "Tell me about this place. Where exactly are we?"
"We're at the Spire of Courage. It's—
"No, no, no. I don't care about that. Let me rephrase this." Chris shook his head. "What world am I in? Is this a planet?"
"Wait—WHAT—URK!" Veemon choked on his sandwich. He bopped his chest twice until he felt his (still sore) throat push the bolus down. "Are you for real?"
The goldenrod eyes rolled. Chris struggled not to sigh. "Just answer the question."
"D-don't you know where we are? Can't you tell just by looking at me?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just think about it. You're talking to me, a dragon, in what's the middle of nowhere to you!"
Christopher shrugged.
Veemon resisted the urge to facepalm. "I'm a digimon, Chris. A digital monster. We're in the Digital World!" How couldn't someone—a human of all people—recognize something so simple, something considered common knowledge on Earth? They were nowhere near a modern human city, and they were in a forest populated by Gods knew how many digimon, of various shapes and colors.
The man with the black sword looked like every word that just spewed out of Veemon's snout went into one ear and out the other end, with little to no comprehension in the blond's eyes.
"'Digital Monster'? 'Digital World'?" he reiterated, his tone skeptical and disbelieving. "Digital? As in computer digital?" A short pause. "Naaaah," he drawled. "That can't be right. I'm talking to a living, breathing dragon in a starlit cave in the middle of nowhere."
His sarcastic boomerang was not lost on Veemon. "I'm serious! We're really—
"This can interface with electronic networks wirelessly," Chris gestured to the Realm Scanner. "It's a freaking supercomputer. So if you're a 'program' and all this is some sort of virtual reality, then try it. Connect with the R-Scanner."
The dragon cringed. "I, it—digimon don't work like that. We—
"So you can't connect to it?"
"Ehhhh…"
He motioned at Veemon. At the cave. At the open hole in the ceiling. "Explain to me, how this is all a 'digital world' when I'm seeing all this in front of me. When I can smell you. Still feel the stickiness in my fingers. It can't be. It's all real! It's another world. An actual world! And you're telling me we're in a f*cking Internet?"
His mouth hung open slack-jawed during the awkward silence that followed. The Digimon of Miracles had no answer for him. Christopher Van Numen already stunned the blue dragon with his inability to grasp the truth behind the Digital World's existence, however improbable—however ridiculous—however impossible it sounded to the sane mind. Where had Christopher been for the past ten years?
Who hasn't heard of digimon in the 21st century? Ever since the Digital Revelation of 2002, ever since the Twelve Chosen Children went public with their status well into the subsequent year, even those in the remote reaches of human society had heard of digimon and accepted the new normal as it was. Computer scientists wasted years just wracking their brains conceiving a theory—any plausible theory, really—behind the physically impossible existence of the Digital World. A theory that, to Veemon's limited knowledge, had never been found and was considered no less unreachable than many of the other unsolved problems in theoretical physics.
"Chris, everyone knows about digimon and the Digital World. How come you don't know? Why? Where'd you come from?"
"Vee, I travel a lot," he replied in an instant. Like he's been asked this countless times. "I constantly move from one place to another. I just don't have the time to fret over—understand whatever's trending unless it concernsme directly."
The Chosen suspected he was hiding something. Who was Chris? Where was he from? Why was he in one unending rush? Always moving and worrying about some gargantuan problem that relentlessly plagued him?
He couldn't come up with any answers on his own, but he was leaning on something like a clandestine, unethical government experiment gone wrong, with the main subject going fugitive in a world full of monsters he had known nothing about until now. To Veemon, that was the only probable explanation, as that conjecture explained his technology, explained his furtive responses, and maybe his abilities, too.
"Okay, so forget that question. I'll do some digging on my own." Chris continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Do you… uhm, 'digimon'… have gods you revere?"
"Yeah—
"Can you tell me about them?"
That last question threw Daisuke's surrogate brother for a loop. Why did he suddenly ask about the gods of the Digital World? Chris had voiced his query with the cadence of someone who wanted a somber, no-nonsense introduction, not useless trivia.
Confusing.
Veemon bit into his sandwich. He had about a couple more left, he estimated. "We have four gods," he said after swallowing. "We've given them some names of our own: Holy Beasts, Four Gods, Digimon Sovereigns… but they really call themselves the Harmonious Ones."
"Go on." Chris fished out a small bottle of water from the baldric. "By the way, you want some?"
"Sure." The blue dragon gladly drank a couple mouthfuls before resuming his crash course on Digital World mythology. "The Digital World is divided into four quadrants, you see, and the Harmonious Ones, uh, act as guardians for these regions." They kept the Digital World balanced, Veemon further explained. They preserved its integrity, ensured the life cycle of digimon from the Baby level to the very top went on regardless of what happened, and offset the tides of darkness flowing in from the Dark World.
The Digimon of Miracles chose not to delve into many of these details. Explaining something as complex and mostly unknowable as the roles of his own gods and the intricate workings of the world was not Veemon. In fact it was beyond him. It required the expertise and nuanced language of someone intellectually his better. All he could give Chris was the macro overview, but that was it. "So there's Xuanwumon in the North, Zhuqiaomon in the South, Baihuimon in the West, and Qinglongmon here in the East." Christopher did not need to know about Huanglongmon in the Center, who supervised the Four Gods. It would simply add too much to this and honestly the blue dragon was exhausted talking about boring, stuffy trivia.
That's the problem with useless information. Their entertainment value depreciated quite fast.
"Sounds like quite a bit to take in," muttered Chris. He drank a swig of water from the only water bottle in their possession. "Hmm, first time I've ever heard of a place run by four Governors…"
Veemon easily dismissed Chris' murmuring, his head far more stoked by the mystery behind Christopher's identity. In hindsight, prodding the man with one question after another wasn't smart, not when he could kill the dragon if he ever got pissed off at him. Still, whatever fear Veemon may have had for the blond has all but vanished. It had no chance of resurfacing so long as he didn't breach certain subjects.
But even that constraint failed to damper his optimism. A few days—maybe a few weeks with him, give or take, and by then Chris should be comfortable enough with their relationship to open up to him. And who knows? Perhaps he'd willingly help him with the one desire carved into Veemon's heart.
Reuniting with Daisuke Motomiya.
"My turn with this game of twenty questions!"
Christopher said nothing, but the look on his face showed the direct attention Veemon was being given. Being treated like an actual person by a human being during this time of war and speciesism buoyed him. It never got old. "So tell me if you've heard of these people."
No response.
"Ken Ichijouji?"
"No."
"Hmmmm… Taichi Yagami?"
Chris shook his head.
"What about Takeru Takaishi?"
He shook his head again.
"Koushirou Izumi?"
Another negative answer caused Veemon to sag, to wilt from this growing disappointment. He threw out another name, and openly groaned in frustration when Chris replied once more in the negative. "Meeeeeh!" he mewled. "Forget it! I'm done."
"Are those names Japanese?"
"Yeah," Veemon retorted. At least the blond wasn't that clueless about the nations in the Real World. He finished the last of his sandwich. "But why bother? You don't know any of my friends…"
"That's odd."
"What's odd?"
"Those are human names, right?"
"Yeaaahhhh…?"
"What you told me a while ago. Don't you… already have human friends to begin with?"
"No!" clamored the dragon, only to double back. "W-wait, yes! But… ugh, you just don't understand! They're too busy leading our defense."
"Hold on. How can humans manage a group filled with violent, man-eating anthropophobes and misanthopres?" Christopher seemed more befuddled with every emphasis. Veemon would have found it hilarious if he hadn't been so shocked by the man's astounding ignorance. "That doesn't make any sense!"
The dragon digimon pushed on the brakes for this conversation, just for a bit. He scratched his head, eyes shut as he tried to figure out how to briefly give the blond the rundown. Christopher knew his basics about humanity, he was certain of that. But he was so utterly clueless about certain things in the modern world today he might as well have been living under one huge rock.
"Because they're special humans, okay?"
"Special?"
"Yeah. All the names I gave you? They're all part of a group called the 'Chosen Children'. There're twelve of them. People the Harmonious Ones handpicked at a young age, to become the bridge between my world and the Real World, and guard the Digital World on their behalf.
"They've been chosen," he elucidated. "And each Chosen Child had a digimon to help them fulfill their destiny, to fight together with. Through thick and thin. Partners. For. LIFE."
"Destiny." Chris deadpanned, a scowl gracing his face. "Always the same damn thing wherever I go."
Waves of anger swept Veemon, emanated by the man with goldenrod eyes. "Huh? You all right?"
"Don't mind me. So are you also a Chosen?"
"Yup. Didn't I tell you already?"
"And you have a… a destined partner, too?" The emphasis carried some subdued anger, directed not at him, but at something evidently hounding his thoughts.
"What do you think?" The Digimon of Miracles already expected what would come next. All the little details were there, and it did not take much to put two and two together.
"Where's your partner then? Why are you alone?"
Veemon could not answer. Despite anticipating the question that came out of Christopher's mouth, he still failed to stop the rush of memories flowing to the forefront.
Years of happiness and joy with Daisuke Motomiya.
Buoyant from the thrills of combat, from the brotherly love between them.
Culminating in the image of the Chosen Child pushing him away.
Daisuke staring back at him, a forlorn gaze in his eyes and a determined expression embossed on his face.
The man vanishing into a digiport, never to return even with Veemon screaming for him not to go.
Days of separation.
Weeks of waiting.
Months of silence.
Years of doubting.
Years of loneliness.
Ken and Wormmon's refusal to discuss Daisuke properly.
Everyone's inability to give him a straight answer when it came to his partner, best friend, and brother.
A hand plopping down on his shoulder snapped Veemon before he could fall into that rabbit hole. The blue dragon ogled Christopher, whose touch comforted him a little, even if he still felt apprehensive, having that hand so close to his neck.
"You don't need to tell me anything," the man said. "I'm an outsider. It's none of my business either."
"Yes," spoke Daisuke's digital half. "That's true." He locked eyes with Chris, his scarlet eyes ogling his, as if daring him—challenging him to follow Veemon's lead. "But you know what? You're also my friend now."
Christopher gave only a solemn silence in reply. His goldenrod eyes averted from Veemon's. He knew who was better between the two of them, yet he held his peace. Said nothing.
"His name is Daisuke," started the Digimon of Miracles. Context had to emphasize how important the Chosen Child was to him. "Daisuke Motomiya. Likes to make trouble, likes to goof off, likes to see the best in people… kind of like me, really." This time Veemon turned away from Christopher, his crimson eyes gazing up at the stars above. They were fake, all of them. Mere imitations of the swirling, brobdingnagian masses of hydrogen and helium in the Real World. Even so, such knowledge failed to dilute the awe and smallness those celestial bodies inspire within.
Veemon took comfort in that awe, in that feeling of insignificance, and in perhaps the infinitesimal hope that even the stars themselves would someday become reachable. "He found me right here years ago, in this cave." One blue finger was thrust at the mound of earth in the center of the chamber. "See that? I was sealed beneath it for centuries, I think, waiting for my partner to come and find me."
He did not talk about the Digimental of Courage. A clueless Christopher would not know even a little bit about that right now. "I don't remember anything from those days, and when Daisuke found me, all I saw was light." Bright, orange light slowly parting to reveal an eleven-year old boy, blinking up at him with the egg-shaped artifact in his hands.
"But Daisuke wasn't just my partner." They did so much together. They played video games. They challenged each other in stupid contests. They wrecked their bedroom with mock wrestling matches, made a mess of the toilet every time they went in together for a bath, and tried various ways to win over Hikari (or in later years, some other lady in school. "He was more than my friend."
Countless memories over the span of ten years. "More than my best friend. We were brothers, and we loved each other more than anyone else. I bet any girl would've had a hard time competing with me!"
Christopher's next question shattered the nostalgia slowly worming its way into his heart. "So where is he now?"
To Veemon, it sounded no differently from Golemon's own words.
"Then tell me, Lord Veemon," grumbled the Adult from the depths of his memories. "What is this 'Daisuke' doing for you? Why isn't he here with us? What is he doing right now that's worth depriving you your ability to evolve?"
And just like before, the blue dragon went silent.
His mind went blank, and from the outside Daisuke's surrogate brother appeared to stop breathing altogether. His bright, lively gaze drifted away from reality and retreated inward, as far away from the blond and his impossible question, from the world and the remote, no, the real possibility Daisuke Motomiya, Chosen Child of Miracles and Veemon's human half, could have simply abandoned him despite their relationship, tricking him with a promise he never intended to keep.
Christopher Van Numen refused Veemon his desire for respite. Against his will, he forced the blue dragon to face the truth. "Do you actually know where he is?"
"No." A haunted, despaired whisper sputtered out of his muzzle, in a plagued voice that should've never come from Veemon. "He's in the Real World. He's somewhere out there." He clenched his fists. "Iknow he's still fighting for us—for me, but…
A muffled sob dug its way past the dragon's aching throat. "B-but, he, h-he… he hasn't reached out to me since he left me here. In the three years Daisuke's been gone, he never contacted me. He NEVER did anything to say he's still thinking about his partner—his brother."
Digimon had exceptional memories. Perfect recall, almost every one of them, even though the Child and Adult levels tended to require more effort to dredge a memory from years of stagnation and dust. Veemon's love for his human half ensured memory lane was a familiar road for him, paved and well-traveled.
Even now the man's face remained vivid in his mind's eye. He recalled the Chosen Child of Miracles staring down at him. "I know you want to be with me." An eighteen year-old Daisuke, a young man who answered to a higher calling, who would never experience the beauty of normal life. "I know you can protect me and my family. I know you and I always do things together but…"
The warmth of Daisuke's embrace still felt warm, three years after the fact. The dragon remembered his partner pressing his blue head into the human chest, in one loving gesture. One final show of affection between two people destiny brought together. "But I'm your partner too. I also need to protect you."
Veemon did not need to remember Motomiya's exact words on the day he left him in File Island to refresh his memory. He knew them by heart now. "He promised to keep in touch with me. Send me messages through the other Chosen Children. Keep me updated on things happening in the Real World, so I'll know how soon we'll see each other again. Fight together again."
"He didn't follow through," Chris observed, his very disposition impartial. Neither judging nor sympathetic. He only listened.
The Chosen shook his head. "My brother never kept his side of the bargain. But you know what hurts the most?"
"What?"
"It's not what he did to me. It's what he did to all of us. Ken—one of the Chosen Children here in the Digital World—Ken says he stopped talking to them one day. Give or take a year after he left me. He stopped talking to them. He stopped showing up to their meetings. He stopped helping out, and, a-and, all I know is, he's become totally unreachable."
Veemon turned to Christopher, his red eyes glistening from the feelings he's kept bottled up for so long, from emotions he couldn't tell anyone about. None of the other digimon understood what gave the Chosen their joys and burdens. The non-Chosen couldn't comprehend what it meant to have a human partner. Beyond that one time Gomamon sought him out, the blue dragon hadn't had another opportunity to talk to his friends and colleagues among the few Chosen in the Digital World.
Not when they themselves had to spend all their free time to comfort their human partners, desperate and depressed over the state of the world. To be their anchor as they led the fight, stranded forever in the Digital World due to the ruthlessness—the relentlessness of an omnipresent humanity.
He couldn't exactly see Christopher's goldenrod eyes. He didn't know if the blond listened to him because of empathy or simply because he had nothing else better to do than sit here and rest. He couldn't even tell if the man even cared.
But Veemon didn't care, too focused on the silver lining. He had someone to talk to. Someone who listened without judging, heard him without dismissing his yearning for bygone times or debasing the broken emotions concealed behind the veil of cheer and childishness seen by almost every digimon who worked with him. And so he kept pouring, throwing at the blond much of what festered within him for three years and running. He let it out, hurling towards the only person willing to hear him out every single, negative emotion he had accumulated for days and days with no end to the loneliness, to the mounting despair.
"Every digimon I talk to in the Satellite Base says he gave up on me. They all insist he doesn't care anymore—he's doing absolutely nothing out there." That his own friends among the non-Chosen could so easily doubt Daisuke's loyalty and the value he placed on his brother angered him. "But they're wrong! THEY'RE ALL WRONG! Daisuke isn't like that. Daisuke would never, he, he'd never break a promise! He wouldn't just lie to me.
"Harmonious Ones, there's no way Daisuke would do that. He wouldn't throw me out that way." He shuddered at the thought. "No, not after all we did, after all we've been through. Not after seven years being family. We're brothers…" The blue dragon lapsed into silence.
Veemon would have never known how long it had been since he leaned on Chris if the man did not recognize the anguish—the painful catharsis arising from the dragon's decision to tell him about his personal situation, and do something about it.
Anyone, even the socially obtuse, could easily grasp the fact Christopher Van Numen was a weary and jaded traveler. Veemon did not know how long he had been "traveling", to use the man's words, but the demeanor alone hinted at someone devastated by the worst the world could throw at him. Someone like him would have no problems dismissing the blue dragon and his brand of suffering.
In spite of that Veemon's confession moved Christopher, one way or another. Even if he was at this point a mere acquaintance to him, someone the blond shouldn't even give a damn about, something in the digimon's story—some ambiguous detail made its way past weeks, months of ennui and profoundly struck what little humanity the man had left.
Barely visible, the man's goldenrod eyes neither shimmered with sympathy nor appeared apathetic. Christopher Van Numen said nothing still as he reached for the blue dragon and pulled him close into one of the tightest hugs he's ever been given. The instant Veemon realized what he was doing, he discarded everything he feared about the man and launched himself straight at the hole of wrongness and incongruity in the world.
He wrapped his own arms around Chris, appreciating not just his respect and acknowledgement but also his kindness, his compassion for a complete stranger. Veemon needed no words to express his gratitude and heartfelt thanks.
Some time passed.
Chris was the first to speak. "I, I'm sorry."
"Huh? Sorry for what?"
"For yelling at you earlier," the blond clarified, his voice still apologetic. "When you asked me how I got the R-Scanner. I'm sorry if I scared you, but I, I've been through a lot and…"
He sighed. A tired sigh. "Someone special died in front of me, not too long ago." Veemon gazed up at Chris, noticing he too had the same clouded glaze over his goldenrod eyes. "You'd think, with all the power in my hands, I could have saved her, but I…"
He exhaled again. In him, the Chosen sensed that familiar refusal to revisit a painful memory. "I have countless regrets, Veemon. It's why I don't like talking about myself, if I can help it." Chris shut them and ground his teeth. "It's also why I'm with you now. I, I don't like seeing other people suffer, and if there's something I can do to stop it—something within reason—I'll do it. At the moment, I don't think there's anything I can do for your problem with your human partner, but, this... this is the best I can manage."
"Chris, it's more than enough, if you ask me." The blue dragon hugged the man tighter. "Thanks a lot," he said.
"You needed it," was all he received in reply.
"Murrr." Veemon nuzzled his snout into the blond's shoulder. "How I miss Daisuke…"
"At least he's alive out there," Chris mumbled, reciprocating the gesture. The kindness the man was capable of surprised Veemon, and he felt happy knowing the blond was not so cold-blooded and murderous as he gathered from first impressions. "You'll be together again someday, Vee. Just don't lose faith. Maybe he needs help too, but he's only too proud to admit it. "
Daisuke's surrogate brother chuckled. "Hmmm, maybe."
"Hey, why not tell me some stories about him? This 'Daisuke' guy? I bet you have plenty."
"Plenty?" Veemon's muzzle smiled at the suggestion. "No, I got hundreds!" He leaped away from Christopher, his spirits recovering somewhat after receiving the affectionate support. "Four Gods, there's so many, I don't know where to begin."
Chris groaned a little, slouching on the wall as he watched Veemon's tail sway to and fro. The digimon guessed his fatigue was talking, requesting for some well-needed R&R. "We have some time," he said. "I'm not planning on leaving this spot for a few hours, and I'm willing to listen."
Veemon started—
"Just remember that I don't know the guy, okay?"
Veemon decided to go with the adventures they've had when they first met, ten years ago in 2002. That would be perfect. He would get to understand Daisuke from his point of view at the very beginning, and as a bonus, the dragon had an opportunity to educate the ignorant blond a little on the Digital World and the way things worked around here.
"Okay!" the blue dragon chirped. "But before I start, you need to know what digital monsters are, because I don't think you've ever heard of 'digital evolution'."
"No, Vee, I don't."
"Well let me tell you…"
The storytelling lasted for at least an hour and a half before Veemon's own wounds exhausted the dragon and fell on top of Chris asleep, snoring like a log with a river of drool trickling out his muzzle.
In a different world now lost to speculation and mere what-ifs, Commandramon noticed the DSI Modifiers long before they approached. The military dinosaur responded with one hard decision after another, sacrificing all the Adults to protect Veemon's life, every deletion a blow to the Chosen's morale and to his hopes for escaping this gods-forsaken battlefield.
Yet even here, the world seemed bent on forcing Christopher and Veemon to cross paths. Sergeant Aldo Kikuchi employed every ounce of his sharpshooter skills to snipe the Chosen's legs, and successfully tore off a chunk of flesh, rendering him incapable of walking. With no choice but take an enormous gamble with the very man who murdered allies and friends, the three Child level digimon would be all that remained of the Escort Group, the rest staying behind to fend off the DSI Modifiers.
Gotsumon died first in this possible First Contact. Veemon intervened immediately before Commandramon followed suit, and introduced a ceasefire that, thanks to his innate curiosity and intrepid desire to realize his ideals, evolved into an amicable relationship no different from what was forming in real life, in the here and now, even as the Japanese-American took off after Veemon's trail, intent on succeeding where the gutsy female failed.
Commandramon did not have the luxury of watching Veemon defy his expectations—his prejudice against the Chosen digimon and their naïve ideals, for he had been captured by the DSI veterans. The red-haired soldier, this Albert Reeves, may have healed the leg he mutilated, but only at the surface, so the military dinosaur did not bleed out.
Other plans, he said. A messenger, he said. That meant one thing, but Commandramon did not trust these humans to follow through with their words. Deceit and treachery were as common among human men as truth and loyalty. The soldier digimon did nothing but swallow his anxiety and pushed it down. If he was going to die in the next few minutes, the next few hours, he would leave this world with as much dignity as he could muster.
"He's taking a little long," grumbled the female soldier. Commandramon recognized her Hispanic features. One of the foreign nationals working for DSI Global. His orange spheres kept darting to her hair, an unnatural bright yellow. She looked at the sky, her FN SCAR at ease in her grip. "The stars are starting to come out."
"The bitch is a Modifier, Lucy," retorted Colonel Reeves. "He's proven himself after helping me take down this motherf*cker here." A boot slammed into Commandramon's injured leg, causing him to yelp, hunch over in agony, moaning. "Believe me, he'll get through. Just keep your eyes out for any survivors. Shoot to kill. Raijin or Kagutsuchi if necessary. I've only just received word from Spearhead: the cannon fodders are all busy cleaning up the mess downhill. For sure we'll see a handful of SCAI making their way up here to retreat. Grunts never do their jobs right."
Palpitating and sweating profusely, Commandramon forced himself to gaze at Albert, to look at him directly in the eyes. All he saw was hate. An irrational hate, and a sadistic yen for tormenting those he considered beneath him.
"I should know," added the DSI veteran. "I was a grunt once. We all were."
"Can't argue with that," replied Lucille. "So what happens now?"
"When the bitch gets back, we'll prepare this animal and deposit it close to the Great Forest." Commandramon felt violated from the malice fueling Colonel Reeves' smirk. "We're sending Mr. Ichijouji and the other race traitors a present. One they'll never forget until the day we put them all in front of a firing squad."
"What about our debriefing with Divine Assault—
"That's where you come in, Major Diaz."
"What are you—aren't I coming with you and Aldo?"
"After your failure to bag the Veemon?" jeered Albert. "You and I are friends, Lucy, but if you screw up in one thing, you got to make up double for it. I need someone to COA down there while the bitch and I do our thing."
"Cover our asses?" the female soldier pondered. "We report directly and only to Divine Assault. We're a completely independent unit from the chain of command."
So this division of DSI Global called themselves "Modifiers"? Commandramon saw how the moniker fit the combat ideology they've shown so far, using digivices to manipulate the surrounding digital particles the same way digimon utilized them in battle, in evolution, and in everyday life.
"Even if we're technically under Divine Assault's direct supervision," countered the red-haired, "we're not fully independent from Major General Zhao's or General Satsuma's chain of command. We're still using their resources, their infrastructure. I know you and Yamaki had a thing before, but that doesn't mean any—
"I get it, Albert," she cut him off, a tinge of red on her face. "I get it. How's your battery power going? I'm at 56% right now."
"43%," answered the Colonel. "I don't know what he did, but the bitch left us with 87%. I reckon he'll be down to the mid-40s when he gets his ass back here. Hopefully he'll find the SCAI and delete that dragon for good."
Commandramon balked at the thought of the Chosen falling into enemy hands. What hope would there be left to the digimon at the Satellite Base, if this tragedy ever happened? An uncontrollable urge forced the injured dinosaur to speak. To ask. "Why do you want Lord Veemon dead so badly? Dead or alive, it doesn't matter. He's next to useless without that human of his."
Reeves kicked him in the snout and by Qinglongmon, it hurt bad. The Child level reeled back, stunned, eyes shut tight as terrible squeals escaped him. He felt like the red-haired bastard had just driven his knee into Commandramon's "crown jewels" five times in a row. "F*ck. Four Gods…!"
"Doesn't matter, it says!" laughed the DSI veteran. He hawked a loogie and spat right on the military dinosaur. "You would've been dead now if it didn't matter, you stupid beast. Believe me, I want to kick your godf*cking mug 'til it goes inside out, but DSI rarely catch or kill SCAI's like you, and our intel presumes Commandramon are a little closer to the top than most.
"So instead of killing you or absorbing your data for my digivice, I'm giving you a job. In exchange for your life, you're going to relay a message to your human controllers: we won this mountain, we massacred every Rookie and Champion in the vicinity, and we bagged one of the Twelve while we're at it."
The Child digimon glared. "Ain't happening, you ginger monkey."
Lucille barked in amusement from his response. "Oh, we have a feisty one here!"
Whatever else Commandramon had in his mouth died the moment a purple-faced Albert Reeves scowled at him. He undid the catch on his left wrist and sent the digivice into his hands. Without skipping a beat, cerulean energy enveloped his arms.
"Animals should be seen and not heard," declared the veteran soldier. He reached for the Child's muzzle and clamped it shut just as he pounded Commandramon's injured leg…
"MMMGH!"
…and hammered it so hard the bone also snapped. "GGRRRRRUGGHHHLL!"
Commandramon thrashed and flailed, arms flogging everything within reach. The soil. The rocks. The roots. The soldier's boots. Tears flowed freely from his orange eyes. If he saw himself now, he would immediately think how pitiful he looked, weak and pathetic, on the verge of soiling himself.
Unlike Christopher Van Numen and the empathy he felt for Veemon , neither Colonel Albert Reeves nor Major Lucille Diaz was moved by his pain. It was a great misfortune, too, that the Colonel seemed to relish his screams. Sadistic bastard.
Next thing Commandramon knew, his hands were bound and the Modifier was busy wrapping cloth around his muzzle to silence him. "We're not giving you a choice, SCAI, but this is the last time I'm letting you disgusting things talk."
Gunfire from the other Modifier, followed by the telltale explosion from Kagutsuchi. Colonel Reeves glanced at his comrade's direction. "Lucy! What's going on with you?"
"Nothing much," the blonde hollered from a short distance. "Spotted a couple stragglers coming uphill. Dispatched on sight."
"Good." Albert stepped away from the mostly incapacitated Commandramon and ran a hand across his puffy afro. "Goddammit, what is taking that bitch so long? It's been twenty minutes." He raised a hand to his earpiece, yelling into the air. "Kikuchi. Sergeant Kikuchi, this is Colonel Reeves. Do you copy?"
He walked some ways away, leaving Commandramon to suffer. "F*cking hell, bitch. Answer me!"
"Why, if it isn't the Colonel," the military dinosaur picked up, and barely at that. Notwithstanding their status as Child levels, good hearing combined with active camouflage and alertness ensured the Commandramon species excelled in guerrilla warfare, on-the-spot tactics, and open combat against humans and other digimon alike. A formidable enemy for the typical soldier to face.
But between the wind in his ears, the throbbing in his leg, and a lethargy borne from his injuries, Commandramon was no longer at his best. He had to concentrate, to tune out every alarm bell ringing in his body to catch Colonel Reeves' conversation with the Black man he sent ahead. He needed to hear this, to learn what happened. Did Veemon survive Guardromon G342's last gambit?
Scratch that. Of course Veemon did. Why not? He was a Chosen. The Chosen were hard to kill, and that childish dragon in particular possessed a knack for pulling through when pushed to the breaking point of his courage and grit. Commandramon knew for a fact Veemon survived G342's final Destruction Grenade, but what happened next?
"The lizard won't get far," the Modifier named Lucille Diaz had torn down his burgeoning confidence. "It's bleeding out. It's got a couple bullets in it—special bullets, of course."
From what little Commandramon knew about human weaponry in the Real World, "special bullets" meant bullets with built-in programming language designed to exhaust a digimon's stamina and ability to fight, or to defang a digimon and hijack their ability to fight back. Even flee. The military dinosaur shuddered at the thought of Veemon dying to these, these fakers, but what scared him more…
"You little—I'm your commanding officer, goddammit! As my subordinate, you're obligated to treat me with the respect due my rank, 'cause if you don't I'll…"
Harmonious Ones, if he could only hear what was going on! Colonel Reeves had moved so far, it strained Commandramon to hear, to catch even the few words coming from the soldier he sent ahead.
"…blood trail leading away from the crash site."
Reeves barked. "And then?"
"I followed it, of course. It led back to the Spire—into this massive cave. I think it even reaches…"
Albert walked away, oblivious and indifferent to the tremors flowing through his prisoner's body. The thought of Veemon meeting the man with the black sword terrified Commandramon so much more than the scout catching up with the Chosen. For sure that dumb idiot went ahead and did just that.
Out of necessity? Out of curiosity? The Child level wasn't concerned about any of Veemon's reasons, as both were bad enough. The former implied he had no choice but to make one of the biggest gambles in his life. Conversely, the other corroborated his immaturity, revealing it to be something so ingrained in his very personhood that Veemon simply couldn't relinquish any of his ideals, his dreams, his longing for the past. For that gods-damned battery he called his brother.
Lord Veemon, you didn't… you didn't just…
"You heard me right, sir." The military dinosaur picked up Aldo's voice again. He peeked at the Colonel and saw him strolling back, wearing a perplexed expression. Good. Now he could hear parts of the conversation. "The handgun's been cut clean in half. There are also bloodstains on the wall, and the DNA recognition software on the digivice tags them as either human or SCAI. It also doesn't detect any floating data particles. As much as I want to say the lizard died from blood loss and its own injuries, it could've also been killed outright. Permanently, I'll add."
"At least we know the unknown's human," cackled Albert. "Your thoughts on the weapon? Possible motives?"
Commandramon tuned him out, wilting at the news. Blood trail leading to the cave? Veemon's SIG P239 cut in half? Bloodstains on the wall? The utter lack of digital particles floating around the murder scene? All clues pointed to the worst case scenario: Veemon approached the man with the black sword and, out of desperation, tried to befriend him or at least gain safe passage, and failed during the attempt.
The blond probably killed him the instant they saw each other. Commandramon grimaced from his conclusion. The naïve Chosen had it coming to him, he told himself. For so long the Digimon of Miracles clung to his flawed beliefs, that humans were worth befriending—that a free, liberated digimon could approach a human being and start a lasting friendship. He refused to accept the signs, rejected every time reality reared its ugly head. He endeavored to accomplish what was now impossible and paid the ultimate price.
Now the Chosen Children—now the Digital World would fall because of Veemon's stupidity, costing them all an experienced fighter, a source of cheer and morale, and one of the most powerful digimon among the Twelve.
All because of his inability to give up his dogma on humankind and accept the harsh reality of life.
"Huh, the SCAI seems to know something." Commandramon recoiled at the voice and looked up. Colonel Reeves squatted in front of him, eyes boring into his. Oh shit. He loosened the cloth muzzle just enough for the digital monster to speak. "Spit it out."
The Child-level growled. "Ne, never."
"I hope you didn't forget you are at our mercy," rejoined the red-haired Modifier, gesturing at the plastic handcuffs and the cloth muzzling the military dinosaur. "Even if you had the strength to break free of your restraints, the three of us can go toe on toe with Champions. You're only a Rookie. We can f*ck you up in a heartbeat. Understand?"
"Albert!" Major Diaz called from her position. "What's going on over there? Why're you talking to the SCAI? I thought you wanted it to shut up."
"It knows something about the unknown that offed our target, Lucy," the DSI soldier hollered back. A hand on his earpiece, "Hey bitch, you here yet?"
With Reeves so close, Commandramon heard the response emitting from the tiny device. "Give me a couple minutes, sir. I'll be down soon."
"Good, 'cause I have a special lesson waiting for you."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see when you get here." As soon he terminated the brief conversation, Colonel Reeves leaned closer to the military dinosaur until their noses almost touched. "Here's the deal, you little bastard. You have two minutes to tell me whatever you know about this unknown. You get a safe trip home if you do and I'll even heal you up. If you don't, I will subject you to more torture, until you f*cking croak."
Commandramon did not take the bait. "Humans can't be trusted," he said. "You'll stab me in the back. I know you will."
"I'd start talking if I were you," the Colonel spoke coldly. "Ninety seconds."
After the suggestion he got up and veered for Lucille Diaz. "Major," he accosted his comrade. "How are things on your end?"
"Nothing much. I've been scouting the slope as far as I could, but I don't see any SCAI. Looks like the grunts rounded them all up. I still see some squads moving here and there. Looks like the CO's being thorough."
"As it should be," said the redhead. His voice sounded satisfied. "Okay, you return to FOB now. Divine Assault's sitting on the edge of his seat, I bet, itching for results. Honestly, I'm surprised he's been micromanaging the Modifiers to this extent, instead of setting that Kurata nut loose when he's the one with the PhD and a dedicated full-time job in R&D. I don't see why he just doesn't leave everything 'sciencey' to the nerds."
Lucille Diaz gave a soft laugh. "You'll be surprised how much DSI Global's like Game of Thrones in the upper ranks. Office politics and power games, too many of them to count."
"One more reason for me to stay out on the field."
"I got 'Mitsy' covered, Albert. I'll give him results, alright."
The Colonel saluted her. "See you at the base."
"Likewise." The blonde soldier returned his salute. When her hand fell, she undid the catch on her right wrist, bringing the thin, silver digivice into her hands. "D-Modify!" Azure tendrils of energy burst all around her, illuminating everything within three feet of her as much as infusing her body with the abilities of a digimon.
Major Lucille Diaz threw herself into the trees and descended the Spire of Courage, twenty feet at a time, her body protected by Digital Modification. Seeing the soldier like this, Commandramon mused, even if there were digimon still skulking about the mountain, nobody would dare to attack an untethered human emanating the air of the Digital World.
Digital Modification.
A technology utilizing the inexplicable physics of the Digital World to harness the incalculable power of human potential and effectively redirect digital evolution to a human recipient. Seeing it for himself conferred that surreal, dream-like feeling, but the reality had quickly sunk in. For now it extended only to the Child and Adult levels, but Commandramon saw where the trend, the direction this technology headed. How long before they accessed powers exclusive to Perfects? To Ultimates? To beyond?
The implications, the likely ramifications scared—terrified Commandramon. So what if Man was weak? So what if they couldn't go toe to toe with a digimon? Their drive, their need to survive and thrive yielded an innovation that would—that had bridged the gap. Humanity was a long-term threat to all digimon, regardless of species, of moral alignment and political faction.
Digital Modification portended challenges of paramount difficulty for the Digimon Tactician and the scores of digimon rallying under his leadership despite his past history as the Kaiser. And without access to the remaining Chosen Children on Earth, to (what Commandramon hoped were) thousands of legitimate tamers turning to them for guidance, even the military dinosaur grudgingly acknowledged the tactical disadvantage they were all in.
No wonder Colonel Reeves wanted him to live on and pass the message. News of the technology and Veemon's permanent deletion wouldn't just cripple Ichijouji's morale. It would also annihilate it.
"Not talking, huh?" the Colonel pulled him out of his thoughts. A combat boot wedged between the Child-level and the ground and flipped the Commandramon onto his back.
The digimon snarled. "You won't get anything out of me."
"Be that way." A glow visible in the mountain swiftly approached their position. "The bitch is back." The DSI soldier faced him and smirked. A malevolent grin. "What happens next is all on you, SCAI."
Qinglongmon, give me strength.
"Do your f*cking worst, DSI."
Lucille's descent down the Spire of Courage was uneventful. The glowing rings of energy encapsulating her body were easily observable in the night time. A bright star rushing down the mountain with a human being at its very center. No way would the DSI grunts recognize that. If any SCAI still lurked in the slopes, they wouldn't dare lift a finger at her. From what Lucy knew about a SCAI's life cycle, most Rookies possessed minimal observation skills, just enough to recognize a life-ending threat when they saw one.
The Modifier was reluctant to report to Mitsuo Yamaki alone. She admitted it was difficult, maintaining a professional relationship or a friendship with the Vice-Chairman of DSI Global. Everyone she worked with eventually figured out they shared some sort of personal history—a big surprise to most, as some interpreted Yamaki's dedication to DSI's cause as either celibacy or closet homosexuality. It was surprising how much people could come up with if they had the time.
But a job was a job. In the final analysis, Yamaki was ultimately loyal to the vision-mission of the global organization, even if it opposed the current order, the way the incumbent Chairman ran the multinational entity. For that, Lucille Diaz expended the effort to be professional in front of him, his colleagues, or his subordinates, as much as she could.
Returning to FOB—the forward operating base—was easy, even in the starry sky above her. How could anyone miss the simplistic construction work? Only a complete fool overlooked the white tarpaulins and cloth dirtying the grasslands at the foot of the mountain.
As she closed in on the base, the Modifier still took the time to take stock of the forward base. A walled perimeter, a section for vehicles, multiple tents containing military supplies, surplus gear, vehicles, and sleeping quarters, and a wide expanse at the rear with nothing but a single piece of machinery and its corresponding control desk were all laid out systematically—methodically in front of her eyes.
Forward bases like this were typically constructed in the Real World. Architects or even video game developers would design the buildings using 3D models in the M&A Wing—Military and Administration— of DSI's global headquarters at the Tokyo Metropolis. Technicians would then literally upload the prefabs into digital space, at speeds so fast real estate development on Earth would be put to shame. Amazing stuff, though the technology took months to develop from what little academicians discovered about the Digital World.
Lucy checked in her FN SCAR at one of the local armories. It wasn't all that necessary when they were routinely identified and entered into the system automatically at the gate, but the Modifier neither felt the need to carry one nor wanted to come across as one of those "hardasses" requiring the company of an assault rifle 24/7. As soon as she emerged from the tent flaps, she made a beeline for one of the larger tents in the middle of the camp. The thick plastic moved sluggishly in her grip, and inside a television screen waited for her, its wide berth devoid of light and life alike. Lucy wondered how the Vice-Chairman would react to the news.
Technically, today was the Modifiers' first official mission downrange, and in her humble opinion, it ended in failure. They lost their quarry through some unbelievable fluke. And if what she heard from Aldo's transmission was true, someone else took out the lizard for them, traces of its deletion conspicuously absent. An unknown factor. A wildcard Major Diaz would come to despise with all her heart after a couple of weeks.
A clicking sound broke her thoughts.
Mitsy's online.
Titian orbs focused directly on the Zippo lighter nestled between the gloved fingers. They flipped the cap open and closed continually, and as her eyes paced across the screen, she glimpsed the man sitting cross-legged on a cushy, revolving office chair. He wore a pair of Rayban shades indoors like a nutjob, though she admitted the eyewear excelled in obscuring his eyes and complementing the air of seriousness enveloping him, permeating from his very person.
The casual hairstyle of his dirty blond locks did not diminish the powerful impressions borne from the everlasting frown on his visage and the crisp KITON suit and tie he probably picked up from Shibuya 109, in addition to the way he carried himself. Posture and all.
Click.
"Major Diaz," said the executive. On a normal day at work, neither of them referred to each other on a first-name basis. "A pleasure to see you."
Clack. Good God, that sound annoyed her so much. "The feeling's mutual, Vice-Chairman Yamaki."
"Where are your teammates? I understand I'm supposed to be discussing the Modifiers' first mission with all of you."
"I'm sorry, sir," Lucy quickly apologized. Click. "We ran into some, uh, 'complications' during the mission, but at least Colonel Reeves and Sergeant Kikuchi gave me some feedback regarding the digivices we've been using—
"Is Veemon dead?" Divine Assault interrupted her, cutting straight to the chase, to her surprise. She didn't expect Yamaki to ask about the Chosen so early in the conversation. Nevertheless, Lucille Diaz saw through his façade at once. Judging by the slickness of his face and the slight wrinkling on his designer business suit, she conjectured the lizard plagued his mind, and relentlessly so, or he wouldn't have asked about the animal first—Clack.
"I reviewed Spearhead's reports on your unit's self-deployment and what little paperwork Reeves filed before you all left the FOB. I hope you didn't forget I had a standing order for Veemon's capture." It was impossible to miss the emphasis and the mordant tone infused articulately into his intimidating Nihongo. "Is he dead?"
Lucy froze at the question, her thoughts running rampant. An answer in the negative would bolster Albert's and Aldo's names, not to mention her own, but only until the Vice-Chairman discovers the Modifiers didn't exactly try to capture the SCAI and it turned out to be dead, with only circumstantial evidence of its deletion available. An answer in the positive was not acceptable. It would infuriate him, as it had not only been an order from the second most powerful man in the global organization, but also a personal request directed to her.
Click.
She wanted more time. "It gave us a run for our money," Lucy endeavored to deflect the binary question. "The SCAI had multiple Champions and a couple Rookies for escorts, including a Commandramon. We had, we had a lot of trouble dispatching the Champions, even when we had Kagutsuchi, Raijin, Tsukareru, and Tonbogiri at our disposal."
Mitsuo Yamaki remained expressionless, yet the hair on the back of Lucy's neck went frigid. The eyes behind those sunglasses narrowed. Every instinct in her body told her so. Clack. "So he got away?" he asked, his tone hopeless to decipher.
And confess the Modifiers failed to live up to their own standards on their first mission? That a small squad of soldiers with an incredible service history in the US Armed Forces flunked, justbecause they had trouble dealing with Champion and Rookie class SCAI's despite ultramodern loadouts that had no chance of becoming standard-issue among grunts in the next ten years?
Hell no! Lucillle Diaz fought tooth and nail for her reputation, clawed back her life after a tragedy that devastated her eight years ago, and found for herself a successful career at an organization established to ensure humanity and SCAI's coexisted peacefully in the same world. She wasn't about to lose face, even if the very man she reported to was more than just a superior officer, more than just a colleague.
"Not exactly," the Modifier pushed back.
Click.
God please damn that lighter. If she ever got her hands on that stupid thing, she would crush it under her modified boot. It didn't matter if Yamaki could easily buy another Zippo from a convenience store. The sheer satisfaction of seeing it ground into pieces of metal would be enough for her.
"Before we went downrange, Corporal Fujimoto and his squad engaged the Veemon. Two of the Chosen's escorts caught up to it and killed them all, but not before they put a bullet in its tail and slashed its belly wide open. When we caught up to it as it was trying to escape, I managed to pump a couple Tsukareru bullets in its leg to prevent it from running, but the SCAI's guarding it stopped us from landing a killing blow.
"We were outnumbered, maybe three to one. And the situation forced us to take out all the Champions in the vicinity. I suppose in the midst of our fighting, the Commandramon devised some sort of plan to put the Chosen as far away as possible and executed it before we even noticed. Last thing I saw was the SCAI riding a Guardromon's Destruction Grenade like a horse." As though they were in some silly cartoon.
Lucy looked the picture of a composed military professional. Her straight stance, her blank gaze, and the robotic, matter-of-fact cadence lacing her every word, all served to portray this image and mask the nervousness, the anxiety eating up her wits. She wasn't telling the whole truth here, and if Mitsuo Yamaki realized the woman before the screen was lying to his face, she could lose her position in the DSI.
Divine Assault was not a man who blended personal and professional issues. He compartmentalized them, separated his personal life and professional career into two distinct silos, in order to stay sane, to keep himself grounded, cognizant of the direction he wanted to move in even as he walked a long and twisted road. This was one of the reasons why things went south between them, but that story was a bridge to cross at a later time. The details of Yamaki's life before he joined the DSI stressed her out until now, a bitter pill stuck in her throat.
Clack.
"I see."
The man famous throughout the global organization offered not a single comment. There was no reproach. No praise. No words of advice. No remarks of any sort. Lucy refused to try her hand at reading him. His thoughts were out of reach, too inexplicable to even speculate. She shuddered, wondering what he cogitated about.
Regarding the SCAI.
Regarding the Modifiers.
Regarding her.
"So you had something to say about your DMDs?" The terminology was lost on her, and it shown. "Your digivices," Yamaki did not so much as speak as he snarled at her for forgetting. Seriously, these R&D types and their jargon! "You three were the first to test them downrange."
"First of all, we need to improve the power output!" the Modifier expectorated in one breath. "The Guardromon exhibited high resistance to Kagutsuchi, and they were surprisingly mobile for being clunky mechs. It took a combination of multiple modifications to take them down without resorting to the Champion-class movesets. If we don't improve this, we'll be no match for the Ultimate and Mega classes."
"Noted."
"The design must be more energy-efficient. Albert and I were running below 40% when we were done with the Veemon's guards. I understand the digivices…
Click.
"…the DMD's naturally recharge at a rate highly correlated to the user's biophysical profile, but Jesus Christ, if we hit rock bottom when we least expect it, we'll—
Clack.
F*ck that lighter. Lucy had a feeling Yamaki also did this for kicks. The Japanese were known for their… relative immaturity. Business professionals were certainly not immune to this.
"My team in R&D's working on that, I assure you." Divine Assault took off his shades and wiped its lenses somewhere off camera. His eyes, a lovely ultramarine hue, were shut tight. A shame. Those were assets, as at some point in the past Lucy liked staring into them.
"Now go on," said Mitsuo Yamaki. "Give me some more color. We have plenty of time."
"Mmmmnh."
Commandramon woke.
A vending machine in the middle of the forest, covered in mold and dust in all its anachronistic glory.
A field of scorched tree trunks, along with a clearing showing signs of a recent battle.
The bright, starlit sky filtering in through the leaves above.
Distant silhouettes of massive pillars, towering and imposing. The trees of the Great Forest, where the thick undergrowth and extremely dense tree cover prevented any sort of surveillance and reconnaissance.
The Spire of Courage looming on the other side, where Veemon rested with Christopher, unbeknownst to him.
Disorientation shook the military dinosaur. Where was he? Wasn't he a captive of the DSI soldiers? His arms free, he groped his own body, feeling the skin, rubbing into the muscles and joints, looking for any irregularities. Ghosts and fleeting whispers of agony seemed to surge through his body, yet on inspection, everything—literally every part of his body felt all right.
Unnatural.
How did he get here? Did he escape? Or did…
Then it started to come back.
He began to remember.
Sergeant Aldo Kikuchi returned from his short expedition to the mountain peak, his body enveloped in the characteristic energy field of Digital Modification. Commandramon had been flipped over, muzzled and pinned down by the red-haired's boot on his clothed belly. Kikuchi's green eyes noticed their position at once, but surprisingly the yellow-haired woman was the very first thing he inquired.
Disappointment radiated from Reeves. The Child-level conjectured he hoped the scout asked about them first, instead of the young lady fighting alongside them. "COA duty," he said in such a way that he wanted no more questions about the Major.
Fortunately for the new arrival, he caught it and changed the subject. "Got it. And why do you have the SCAI all sprawled out like that? Weren't you going to—
"Yes, and I will follow through with that," Reeves returned. "But apparently this Rookie knows something about the unknown."
"Really."
"Yes. Have you ever conducted an interrogation before, bitch? Your dossier indicates you were in Afghanistan during the Bush era, but I didn't bother digging too deep in your service record."
The sergeant frowned at the insult, but chose not to dwell on it. "No, sir. Operation Strike of the Sword's the biggest thing I did there, but my unit didn't exactly—
"That's all I needed to hear." He kicked Commandramon towards him. "See our prisoner here? I want you to torture it however you want. I don't care what the f*cking hell you do, as long as you get it to start yapping." Colonel Reeves undid the catch on the mechanism securing his digivice. "And don't worry about killing it," he assured Kikuchi as blue lines of energy materialized around his hands. "I'll heal it as good as new way before deletion sets in."
Commandramon felt Colonel Reeves place his hand on his broken leg. He felt needles pricking the bones as they regenerated and healed, coming back together into one solid whole. A painful process, certainly, but one the military dinosaur endured without whimpering like a defeated dog.
"I'll start the process for you. Now watch and learn."
But as soon as the healing process finished, Commandramon watched Albert bring down a combat knife right into the newly-regenerated leg, an unnamed digital modification strengthening the blade and shrouding it with orange tongues of fire. The Child-level screamed as the dagger cut into his flesh, the flames licking at his wound, burning it, searing it, cooking the flesh even as the Colonel twisted the knife and dragged it down the leg.
Blood dripped out of the opening. Some muscle fibers stuck out of the wound, ugly and repulsive to look at. But the digimon had no time to even think about his sorry state when he yelled. "AGGGHH!" Reeves sliced through arteries, sliced through nerves, fractured the bones, and did it so slowly at some point Commandramon ceased to scream despite convulsing non-stop from the agony.
Veemon would have vomited at the sight. An innocent digimon like him wouldn't have been able to watch, not for long.
Before the military dinosaur bled out, before the Child-level lapsed into unconsciousness, his injuries began to reverse as his body regenerated by the power of Digital Modification. He didn't know how the Modifier did it, but the process was no less agonizing. Being healed hurt like a bitch. Four Gods, he was going to experience the pain both ways?
Commandramon's astounded stupor rendered him incapable of responding while the Colonel slid his hand across his leg a minute later, free from any blemish or stain, as if he'd never been hurt at all. Even the clothes were fine. "As good as new, see?"
The human stepped back from the Child-level, Digital Modification still active lest their captive thinks of any bright ideas and makes an attempt to escape. "Now get to it. I want this bastard talking ASAP."
"Yes, sir."
What followed next was horrific, and the military dinosaur could not remember what exactly Aldo Kikuchi did to him. His body showed no signs of damage now, not even scars, unsightly blemishes, or deformities of any sort. In the end, after a few hours of tolerating this torturous cycle, Commandramon squealed like a pig.
He recalled backing away from Aldo, scooting as far back as possible, the cloth muzzle no longer around his mouth. "Okay! Okay! Please no! Stop! I'll talk, okay? I'll f*cking talk!"
Aldo looked on wordlessly, but the fleeting glance he sent to his commanding officer did not escape those orange eyes.
"W-we," Commandramon stammered. "W-w-we"—he coughed. "We had an escape route secured at the top of the plateau, just in case things went ugly and we needed to retreat. We weren't expecting anyone to vault the cliffs, but we… we couldn't afford underestimating you humans, so we had Monochromon and a team of Gotsumon guarding our—
Aldo took out his sidearm and shot the prisoner's side.
"FFFRAR!" His eyes snapped open. The dinosaur growled, baring his sharp canines at the scout.
"Get to the damn point," he muttered. "Unless you want to start over, and this time you won't be able to thrash as much."
That gods-damned DSI soldier put a fatigue bullet in him.
Thoroughly beaten to submission, Commandramon went docile at the threat. "Before, before I commenced our ascent, one of the Gotsumon ran in and informed us of a human that showed up out of the blue. He could not explain how it happened, how one lone human climbed the cliffs and appeared between the Spire and the Great Forest. But he couldn't deny the fact regardless.
"Monochromon went ahead to, intervene," he said, not wanting to be honest and admit the Adult relished the taste of human flesh. "According to the report, the human—Harmonious Ones, the human killed Monochromon and the Gotsumon team that rushed in to reinforce the defense. Effortlessly. There was only one survivor. But we had to go up anyway. Veemon… Lord Veemon insisted we do so."
Both Modifiers blinked. Skepticism brimmed in their eyes, but Colonel Reeves took his words at face value. "Looks like the SCAI just confirmed your story. It all fits in."
"It does make you wonder, right?" Aldo mused. "A human taking out a Champion with ease?" He addressed their captive once again. "Did the Gotsumon say anything whether he used Digital Modification?"
"No. As far as I know, he didn't say anything that sounds like it. All the human had was a black sword and a gun capable of deleting digimon in one hit."
"Doesn't sound like one of us," remarked the scout.
"I don't give a shit." Colonel Reeves smirked. "If he got rid of the lizard for us, it clearly shows whose side he's on. We can thank him when we run into him."
"You think we might catch him in the forest?"
"Probably. Sooner or later we'll meet this unknown. Definitely." The Colonel began making his way towards Commandramon.
"What now?" the military dinosaur queried. He hoped the DSI veteran would at least remain true to his word and send him packing—
"D-Modify!" The last thing Commandramon saw was a fist covered in steel plating. The lights went out when it struck his snout, and the Modifiers' voices faded away.
"You could've just shot it, Colonel."
"Ahhh, bitch, again you fail to comprehend the bigger picture. You niggers never get it."
"Excuse me? EXCUSE ME?"
Whatever Aldo had to yell to his squad leader, and however this spat resolved, Commandramon never learned. The only sensation coming to mind as he blacked out was Colonel Reeves' hands on his torso. In hindsight, whatever healing he did must have been minimal. Just enough to keep Commandramon alive and able to walk without any motor difficulties, but not to revive him completely into the waking world.
The soldier digimon truly had no choice at this point but to go back to base. What use was there to return to the Spire of Courage? The mountain was surely crawling with soldiers, and Veemon was dead. The Digimon of Miracles was dead, his soul removed forever from the Digital World thanks to the man with the black sword.
The news he bore devastated him, but Commandramon knew it would devastate the Tactician more. It would crush his partner's spirits as well. Everyone in the Satellite Base—everyone in the Fortress would be crushed, just as Colonel Reeves wanted.
And whose fault was it? It was all his. Commandramon never should've let Guardromon G342 go on alone. He could've had G341 run away with them. He could've let the other Guardromon cover for them. A hard decision, but it was a sacrifice any digimon would gladly make if it meant saving a Chosen from deletion, no matter how much they disliked Veemon's childish stubbornness and his own fundamental stance towards humankind.
"But," he imagined the blue dragon comforting him in the only way he knew how, "you all tried your hardest, didn't you? It's nobody's fault." He would shrug and then say, "Things just happen."
The Great Forest was called such due to the mind-boggling height of trees within and the way the vegetation clusters together with each other. Only those who've been to the satellite base would have an easy time finding the hidden path leading to the Satellite Base it concealed so efficiently.
Commandramon hadn't traveled far into the Great Forest when tightly-clumped tree trunks greeted him. Being only one, navigating was easy and unobstructed, though it would've been faster—thanks to the "special bullet" in his leg, limping wasn't his only problem: Commandramon had to relieve his exhaustion every few minutes. Sauntering deeper into the Great Forest, he found a shallow, calm stream. This was the landmark he was looking for. He went to the other side and followed the body of water downstream.
He stopped when he saw a patch of oddly colored wood on the base of the great trees. The trunks of the giant trees were similar to redwood, yet some had patches of brown wood on their bases. This is it.
Commandramon was standing for a minute or two before the trees when two pairs of blue eyes appeared on two of these patches. A second had passed, and these odd patches were revealed to be digimon made of wood.
"Hello Woodmon," Commandramon uttered. "I'm back."
The Woodmon's eyes darted left and right. "…Where's Lord Veemon?" asked one.
"And what happened?" inquired the other. "Did we win?"
Commandramon could only sigh. "I'm sorry," was all he could muster. The Woodmon understood this pained gesture, revealing the path to the base. It was as if they thought it was only a matter of time before they lost, and all they were doing was, to put it bluntly, "prolonging their suffering".
Christopher Van Numen felt like shit when he woke up again.
Not that it surprised him. Before he fell into what became his second nap for the day, his body improved only marginally, even after he applied whatever remained of the wound salve, after he spent most of it slathering it over Veemon's wounds, to be sure they healed properly.
Thinking about the blue dragon reminded Chris of the weight pressing down on his armor. He glanced down and discerned Veemon's shape hunched over his legs, head leaning on the breastplate like a pillow. And somehow, in his sleep, he found a way to snake his arms around the traveler and squeeze him in one tight deathgrip.
Chris' arms themselves also had the dragon in an embrace, and the blond grimaced at the slimy sensation all over his fingers—hands—no, wrists. He suppressed a groan. Apparently Veemon drooled profusely when asleep. Chris did not find this as revolting as most people would have in his place, but the thought of cleaning up the dragon's mess annoyed him.
Then again, this discovery buoyed the man slightly. Veemon was "back to normal", or admittedly as normal as he could get considering the injuries he still recuperated from. Thinking about the blue dragon, resuscitating him had been a very good decision. It proved this as one of the best First Contact situations he's ever been in. Sally would've been proud.
He discovered he was inside a computer network populated with "digital monsters" (as unbelievable and impossible as that sounded), the Earth in the "Real World" had just entered the 21st century of the Gregorian calendar, and Veemon was not only one of these "digimon" but also one of the twelve with a direct connection to the Governors running this place.
Talk about lucky.
For all Chris knew, this world held the third Fragment. He ignored such fleeting hopes. Chris' journey could be likened to a search for a handful of needles scattered across thousands upon thousands of haystacks. Just procuring the second Fragment took yearsof traveling, years of impasses, of disappointments and reprehensible sins best forgotten. The Creator wouldn't be this kind to show him some mercy. Bad enough that he had to undertake this wandering for what looked like a lost cause even to him, but his life depended on it and it was also up to him to make sure his dearest friends didn't… they didn't…
Eyes starting to tear up, Christopher Van Numen killed those thoughts. He was not going there. No. He mustn't dwell on the past.
He directed his musings instead to the dragon sleeping on him. He ogled the digimon as he rubbed a spot between the ears (assuming those were ears). Veemon was warm. Veemon was nice to touch, and his natural, earthy smell wasn't too much of a bother. The act had a calming effect on the digimon. Chris watched him nuzzle the black armor further.
Seeing this put a genuine smile on his face, and the Fifth Crusader momentarily forgot about his problems.
To think Veemon also turned out to be a decent friend. That he forgave the blond for nearly killing him, and so easily at that? Either the Chosen was not as mature as he claimed to be, or he was a much, much better person than Chris believed. Only a handful of people could choose what Veemon did, and the blond traveler knew himself enough to say he would never do the same thing he did.
Thinking about friends inadvertently turned the Fifth Crusader's reflections towards the future. As much as Veemon believed otherwise, Christopher Van Numen did not want to get involved. He had too many things going on and, considering his horrendous track record, to do more than what was reasonable and obligatory simply wasted precious time, caused avoidable sorrow, and attracted unnecessary risk.
"Drop him off, heal up, and move on," Chris told himself. Veemon may be a friend, but he wasn't someone he'd bump up on his priority list. Once the R-Scanner fixed itself—he still couldn't figure out what caused most of the options to grey out, honestly—he would run a comprehensive analysis of the æther particles in this so-called "Digital World" and determine whether this world held promise. Specifically, whether Christopher had a chance of finding the third Fragment here or whether the Governors possessed actionable information.
A famous person once said history provided a rough index of the future. Years of experience as a wanderer made a persuasive case to err on the side of caution. The Realm Scanner required two weeks to cool down after linking with the Medallion and cutting a path through the Eternal Maelstrom, and the blond had been on this journey for years on end. There was an almost 100% probability the blond would have deemed this world a dead-end by then and leave, never to return. He didn't have to give a shit about this place and its people ever again after that.
So why should he concern himself with someone he would absolutely never meet again?
It was cynical and cold of Christopher to think this way, he knew, and it saddened him. Veemon led a tough life here, and Chris truly wished he could help out, but there was only so much meddling he was willing to do for him.
Death, taxes, politics, disruptive change, and lots and lots of problems. Those were the five constants he's seen throughout all the worlds—all the civilizations he meandered through, and the emotional drain of each one unfortunately never got old. Turning a blind eye or condoning something terrible wasn't something that became easier over time.
He pulled the dragon's cheek. Stroked it a little. "Oh well, I'll cross that bridge when I get there."
Then Chris went about waking his new friend. "Psst. Vee. Hey. Get up."
"Mmnnnn," moaned the dragon. He yawned and snuggled some more. "Five more minutes, okay?"
He pulled the cheek a second time, with a little more force. "C'mon, Vee, we gotta go."
"Eeeeeehhhhhhhh…" A half-asleep Veemon gently slapped Chris' hand away and tightened the hug.
What a child. The traveler rolled his eyes. "Damn it." He opted for something more drastic, dug his thumb into the slobbering muzzle, and gave the cheek a hard pinch. "Veemon, wake, UP!"
"YOW!"
Veemon joggled and leaped. Crimson eyes snapped open. With labored breathing, the digimon jerked upright and panned left and right, hands veering straight for the handgun in his—the blue dragon stopped, realizing he had no gun, he didn't have his belt on, and he was in no danger at all. He stared back at Chris. "Uhhhhh, hi? Good, evening?"
"Hi."
Veemon spat on the ground. "Mleh, my tongue hurts like mad! What happened? What'd you do?"
"You wouldn't wake up."
Silence lasted for a few seconds. "Oh." His scarlet orbs gaped down for a second. "Ahm, sorry… didn't mean to," he gulped, "fall asleep and…
"It's okay."
"…make a mess—
"I said it's okay." The Fifth Crusader rose to his feet. His stance wobbled from the damage that green bitch did to his legs, but Chris recovered quickly. The headache wasn't as bad and his fast regeneration rate addressed most of his injuries, save for that gaping wound in his abdomen. It still throbbed acerbically, but not as bad as it had been when he first arrived here. "That was a good nap. I'm feeling loads better. How're you?"
"Same," the digimon replied, his smile cheery. "Thanks to you."
"And your balance? Can you walk with that bullet still in your tail?"
Veemon leaned on one leg and the other, raised one foot and then the second. He attempted a couple steps around the cave. "Mostly?" he said, after stumbling a little. "Weight's making it feel off and the pain's a little dull, but don't worry, I can take it."
"Good to hear. So you said you're from a base in that giant forest?"
"Yup, yup, yup!" Those red eyes gazed up at him. "You're going with me?" Chris found the expectant tone in his voice endearing. Even if he already decided on accompanying him, he imagined it would be somewhat difficult to say no.
"Duh," he retorted. "I don't want you suddenly dying on me. Besides, I'd be stupid not to take you up on your offer."
"Sweet!" Veemon's tail swayed from happiness. He was thrilled to hear his reply. What a child indeed.
"I just hope your friends aren't going to attack me on sight this time."
"To be honest, I don't really know how the others will react when they see you, but please, please, puh-leeeeeaaase don't kill my friends! I'm a Chosen. I just know I'll find a way to make 'em listen."
A poignant smile formed on Chris' face. "I believe you will," he said. The blond did not expect Veemon to succeed with this, but it would be fair if he had a shot at brokering some sort of peace.
"Alright, let's go!" Veemon moved automatically and grabbed his hand. "I'll lead the way!"
Veemon steered Christopher around the mound and out the cave, the starlight illuminating the chamber apparently enough for him to see the exit. It was a straight passage, and in a couple minutes both human and digimon emerged from the cavern entrance. The Chosen shuffled towards the Great Forest in the horizon, taking great care not to overexert his body or even trip and subsequently exacerbate any of his injuries, for he did not enjoy the unnatural healing factor Christopher did.
The blond noticed his friend's slight limp, but he did not do anything about it until the pair arrived at the rocky, downward slope that led to the clearing. Veemon had stopped, and Christopher heard the dragon's heartbeat quickening a little from nervousness. "Uh oh," he mumbled.
The Digimon of Miracles, for all the glory and responsibility that came with his position, had the temperament and philosophies of a young teenager. Christopher had only known Veemon for a few hours, but he already formed a general idea of how he normally reacted to setbacks and achievements. So before the Chosen could start raving about this misfortune and rant on the pain he'd have to endure on the way down, the risks of his wounds reopening after all that Chris had done for him, the Fifth Crusader crouched beside the blue dragon. "No offense, Vee, but we will have to pick up the pace."
"But!" Veemon protested. "But Chr—
He disrupted the blue dragon and grabbed him by the legs, raising him up and set him down on his shoulders. "I didn't say anything about you doing the climbing, right?"
"B-but," Veemon stammered. "You're, you're doing so much already! I don't want to—
"Just let it be. This way, we'll get there faster. Got it?"
"T… thanks."
"Now hold on tight, because I am not doing this the hard way."
Christopher gripped his passenger's legs as strongly as he could without breaking them, and then broke into a slow run towards the edge of the small cliff. To Veemon, a "slow run" from Christopher meant an Olympic-class sprint from a normal human.
"Harmonious Ones! Chris, you're going too fast. YOU'RE GOING TOO—
The man leaped into the air as if it was the most natural thing in the world and dropped fifty feet.
Veemon's heart beat rapidly from fright. He had dug his claws into Chris' skin and yelped when they landed into the small clearing with a jolting thud. "F… four Gods, that was… that was nuts."
"Are you okay up there?" Christopher laughed. "Sounds like you almost had a heart attack."
"Am I okay?" the dragon echoed incredulously. "Are you okay? Did you break anything—
"I'm NOT normal, remember?"
Veemon sighed. "Oh yeah… right. Please warn me next time? You're always doing things without telling me first."
"You have good reflexes," Christopher teased. "I'm sure you'll manage."
"Hmph."
Now that they've descended the small hill, Veemon said, the rest of the way was basically one long trek into the Great Forest, through the bushes, shrubs, and small trees in a path so unremarkable anyone but a digimon living in the Satellite Base would easily lose sight of.
Christopher did not lie when he felt much better compared to his state upon arrival in the Digital World, and if he wanted to, he could've simply made the gigantic leap from the small hill to one of the massive trees in the horizon. His condition was also so much better he could also start running the entire way, but in the end he chose not to do any of this.
With Veemon accompanying him, he could only do so much before he would truly stand out and the blue dragon figured out where he truly came from, and from experience, when the locals started asking those kinds of questions, things had a tendency to escalate out of control. Chris believed he already stood out in some respect when it came to the Digimon of Miracles, but he hoped history didn't repeat itself as long as he kept to himself and maintained a relatively low profile.
"Chris?"
Veemon's youthful voice pulled the traveler away from his planning. He did not even realize a quarter of an hour already passed. "What, Vee?"
"What's that sword you're carrying?"
He looked up and stopped. "Huh?"
Veemon leaned down. His forehead and the prominent "V" marking blocked half his vision. "You know, that sword you got! The one you used to, uh…"
"Almost kill you?"
Vee gave an awkward chuckle. "Err, yeah."
He brought out the piece of metal from his coat pocket as he walked, handing it to Veemon. "What about it?"
Blue hands scrutinized every part of the object. "I don't get it," he was muttering, completely oblivious to Christopher's query. "It's so short! How can a sword come out from thisss, this—?"
"It's called a DITE," the young man answered.
"A die?"
"No," said Chris. "A DITE: Die-tuh."
"And thaaat's…?" Veemon paused, anticipating Christopher's answer.
"I don't really know myself. I just got it from a friend of mine. But, it's a great weapon, durable and strong." He smiled. "Plus, each slashing movement you make can generate wind if you're strong enough!"
"REALLY?" Vee's voice had drawn fervor.
Chris felt slight movements above him. Glancing up, he could see the digimon waving the sword up and down, trying to extend it like an expandable baton. He laughed. "I had the same problem before, you know!"
"Gah!" He swiped the block of metal downwards. "How"—he raised it up—"do you"—down again—"work this thing!"
Tired, Veemon parked his spherical head on Chris's. He took the piece of metal from the digimon's hand. "You're doing it all wrong," Christopher reviewed. "You need to look at the DITE as an extension of yourself."
"Uh huuuuh?"
"You must project it extending into a sword, and you support its extension with your conviction."
"Conviction?"
"It's your willpower."
"Oh! You mean like my emotions?"
"Ehrm," Chris didn't know how to explain it. The philosophy dichotomizing conviction from mere emotions would take several hours to expound. With Veemon's intelligence similar to that of an average child's, Christopher might as well just multiply that number even further. Eventually, he gave Vee a simple answer, composed of only two words: "Sort of?"
Veemon nodded happily. Well that solved the problem. "Anyway," Chris went on, "once you're ready, just say the word 'Restoration'. You don't have to shout it. You could whisper it; you could even just say it out loud in your thoughts!" He returned the block to Vee's open hands. "The machinery in the device will respond, transforming that useless piece of metal into a weapon. As for how that actually works, forget asking me. I'm lucky it hasn't broken yet."
But the digimon never said a word. After receiving those instructions from Chris, Veemon entered a state of concentration, motivated by the desire to see the sword make gusts of wind. Christopher shook his head. The forest path opened to the large clearing. He remembered the vending machine that stood near it.
He heard Veemon utter the magic word. "Restoration!" A bead of sweat ran down Christopher's head when he realized the word came out in a tone of joy and flippancy. How can that "Daisuke" live with this?
The DITE did not respond. "Aww!" he bawled. "Why won't it work for me?" Veemon waved the DITE again and again. "I've been doing it right! Restoration. Restoration. RESTORATION!"
"Hmmm," hummed Christopher after Veemon made multiple attempts to activate the weapon, "I guess your conviction wasn't strong enough." He was walking very slowly across the clearing. He could barely see the vending machine's shadow by the forest.
"Eh?"
"You just wanted to see if it can really produce wind," Chris explained. "If you really want the DITE to respond for you, you'll need something more convincing. Stronger."
"How about me wanting to see my partner again?"
Chris shrugged. "I wouldn't know, Vee. Just try it!"
The blue dragon handed the DITE to him. "And what's yours?"
He stopped. Veemon gazed down at his ride. Can't he even tell me that? "That's unfair," denounced the digimon. "I've told you some stuff about me already. Reciprocate, please."
The Chosen received only silence in response. He sank, dropping his head on Chris's.
.
.
"…ate," Vee heard him murmur. What?
I'm sure he said something. "Again?" inquired Veemon.
"My conviction," broke Christopher, "To alter my fate."
"I don't get it."
"I will alter my fate," he repeated, pointing the sword away from both of them. "Restoration." The DITE transformed into the black sword Veemon had seen with own eyes. But I don't understand it, Christopher.
"Here, try it out." Vee was handed the expanded DITE. He accepted the weapon, and, forgetting the ambiguity of Chris's conviction, slashed the air with it. A second later, a gush of wind whooshed by his ears, rushing to the forest beyond them. He was speechless. "Wow." The sword retracted, its inner machinery recognizing Veemon as another user.
He placed the weapon back in Christopher's coat, and lightly kicked the man's pectorals. "Can't we go a little faster? With the way we're going, we'll arrive tomorrow."
"Sorry, Vee," came the reply. "But I'd rather not run."
"Meh."
The Satellite Base. A large area hidden by an abundance of leaves high above, with few tree trunks at the base itself. It was located deep in the forest, within an overgrowth that would certainly slow down any infiltration party. There was only one path into this place, a path Commandramon had taken.
Two hours have passed since Commandramon's return, alone. The base was more of a boot camp, rather. It only had one building in the entire place, made of concrete. Two stories, it housed the War Room, the Digiport, and a well-equipped clinic for prominent monsters and, if any, their human halves. It also housed an armory containing human weapons, kept specifically for use by monsters that had no long-range attacks like Veemon. There were several structures within the satellite base, but these were made of wood found from fallen branches and leaves of the great trees towering above them. These "buildings", if they can be called such, were nothing more but barracks for those who can fit: mostly the Child levels. Those who couldn't, like most Adults, were forced to remain content with the outside; not that it was uncomfortable. It goes without saying that one of these buildings housed medical supplies for use on wounded monsters.
A concrete wall was erected around the Satellite Base, high enough to prevent anyone from scaling it from below.
Commandramon opened his eyes, finding himself in a soft bed at the special clinic. He had arrived at the base, exhausted and bruised. He could recall falling down the moment the gates of the Satellite Base opened for him, the subject of many a digimon's eyes. The military dinosaur had yet to explain Veemon's absence, but he was sure it would cause a detrimental strike on his comrades' morale.
He found a purple bullet by his bedside. The digimon examined it. So this is their "special bullet". A double door nearby opened to reveal a small, flower-like creature shaped like a bud. Its face was devoid of any expression, but her sweet voice denotes its loving and respectful demeanor. "Ah, so you're awake, Commandramon?"
"Hi, Lalamon," greeted the military dinosaur. He felt weak, though stronger than earlier. "Feeling better."
"That's glad to hear." Commandramon could imagine her smiling. "For a moment there, I thought my surgery wasn't much of a success."
"Surgery?"
The flower digimon, floating, nodded. "The three of us had to take out that hideous bullet in your leg." There were three Lalamon in the Satellite Base: they were in charge of the special medical facilities.
Commandramon couldn't imagine how the three Lalamon worked to get the bullet out of his system, but he was glad of it anyway. "So what's happening?"
"For one thing," broached a gruff voice, "I want to know what happened out there!"
Its speaker was none other than an upright lion, half-naked save for black pants. Black leather belts were wrapped around his left arm, with a studded knuckle-duster worn on the hand. His yellow mane flowed backwards as the lion marched to Commandramon. "Why did you return alone?" growled Leomon. "Where's Lord Veemon? And our comrades?"
Orange eyes darted to Lalamon, who understood the message and left right away. Commandramon hesitated, capitulating seconds later to the burning stare of Leomon's eyes. "He… He's dead, Leomon. Lord Veemon is, is… g-go—"
"Don't you dare!" Leomon pounded a small desk beside Commandramon's bed. "He's one of the four remaining Chosen we have in the Digital World, and he's gone, just like that?"
The military dinosaur rose from his bed, standing directly before Leomon. Clear was their difference in height; the lion towered over him. "We were ambushed."
"Ambushed?"
He nodded. "By three humans."
"THREE HUMANS?" roared Leomon. "What about the Guardromon? Monochromon? Golemon? Couldn't they help? And where were the Gotsumon, Mushroomon, and Elecmon?"
We were overwhelmed. "The, t-the Mushroomon and Elecmon were outnumbered by their grunts, Leomon." Commandramon knew Leomon had trained those Children and Adult digimon for battle. To him, they were all a part of his precious family.
"The Adults, Commandramon! What happened to the Adults?"
"Golemon was taken out by two grunts." Leomon's eyes widened. "Lord Veemon had an argument with him. He wouldn't even let me avenge Golemon."
Fuming, the lion swore. "That's what I hate about working with the Chosen—they lack the nerve to kill; all of 'em." He took a deep breath. "And? What about Monochromon? He was assigned to guard the rear, wasn't he?"
"A human appeared in the forest," articulated Commandramon. He hesitated, but pressed on regardless. "Encountered Monochromon while severely wounded, and defeated him with a black sword."
Leomon's mouth was agape. "Heavily wounded? With a black sword?"
Commandramon shook his head. "I couldn't believe it myself, but all six Gotsumon were panicky and screaming. 'Not even human', they described him."
"And those three humans," forestalled the military dinosaur, "had digivices that can strengthen themselves. Modify their limits."
Leomon banged on the wall, frustrated. "Damn the DSI!" He massaged his forehead with his paws, sitting down on a bed. "We're having a virtual meeting with the Tactician in an hour," began the great lion. "Should we tell him about Lord Veemon? I'm… beginning to see the end, Commandramon." His voice was marked with grief.
"No. If he loses hope," spoke Commandramon from his knowledge of strategy, "so will everyone else. We're lucky he retained his tactical intelligence from his days as the Digimon Kaiser." He walked towards the door. "We'll lose that when he's crushed."
"And where are you going?"
"To the War Room. I can think of a better excuse when I'm there."
"Allow me to help!" Leomon rose.
"No," replied Commandramon. "Stifle the other digimon. My return alone spurred gossips among our friends."
Aldo and his superior stood by the last line of trees beside the summit of the Spire, marveling at the large camp their comrades set up a few kilometers from the bottom. Lights adorned the lower half of the mountain, with several groups of soldiers scaling the Spire in search of their fallen comrades. The scout turned to Reeves: he was feeling quite smug on the victory. After all, it was he who led the successful operation that caused a significant blow in the hearts of their enemies.
They began their descent. No longer did Aldo talk to the Colonel. There was no need to. All he wanted was a good night's sleep.
"You're not getting a break yet, Kikuchi."
Aldo gave him a burning stare. "What's the meaning of this? We're done!"
The Colonel sneered. "You're a Modifier. We'll be planning our next assault when we get back."
"…What—?"
Reeves smacked his subordinate's head. Ow! "Bitch! Don't you even remember why we brought that disgusting reptile to the Great Forest?"
"I do, I do!" rebutted the scout. "But can't we just start this tomorrow?" he pleaded.
Another smack on the head. "This kind of operation takes at least 48 hours of planning, careful consideration, and meticulous fact-finding. Don't you know what that means?"
Aldo Kikuchi shook his head, yawning. He was slapped in the face.
"Idiot!" decried Reeves. "I don't even know why I got someone as stupid as you under me!"
"I swear," Aldo could hear Reeves murmur, "I'm never putting another black guy in my squad."
The scout had had enough and sucker-punched the Colonel on the side. Reeves keeled, scowling. "Sir! I know what it means, but please, you gave me and Lucy one hell of an afternoon and you're so eager to begin a planning session tonight? Let's just do this tomorrow." He rolled his eyes. "Better yet, just do it yourself. Let the two of us sleep."
Col. Reeves tackled Aldo, and the two began a short fistfight. Unaided by their digivices they traded blow by blow, curses rumbling from their own dirty mouths. With no one to stop them, the little brawl had no signs of ending, at least until…
"…until I'm sure I'll see that look on his face again."
A female voice. The two men glanced back at the summit, catching a short glimpse of someone jumping into the trees from the very top. "Colonel, any ideas?" asked Kikuchi. Is this the one who killed Veemon? She sounds sexy!
"We don't know who it is," replied Reeves, as if responding to Aldo's thoughts."But I bet she killed our target." He readied his Howa, undoing the catch on his digivice. "D-Modify!" Blue lines snaked the Colonel's brown eyes, granting it a pale green color. "Hey bitch, modify your eyes for night-vision. We're going after her."
"Roger that, Col—"
"And what will you do when you find me?" The voice verbalized so suddenly. Its speaker was so close to them, it caught Aldo and Reeves completely off-guard. How did she hear them from over there? Another question tugged at Aldo's mind. How did she get here?
The scout found a female, human-like figure shrouded by the trees nearby, hidden from the dim starlight. He could see her pale legs shimmering in the dark. Aldo wondered if she was wearing anything decent at all. A glimpse at the Colonel's salivating mouth did nothing but confirm his conjecture. Gulping, he undid the catch. "D-Modify."
Christopher felt weak, stopping just beside the decrepit vending machine. It wasn't that hard to find, after all. Even if it wasn't supplied power, its metal façade was unique compared to the fauna around them. He could even see the television nearby. Vee climbed down from his shoulders as he took his seat beside a nearby tree.
Veemon glanced at the television. From the corner of his eye, he could see Chris staring at the television and vending machine, as if ruminating. He tugged Chris's coat, and pointed at the machinery once he got his attention. "That's a digiport," said the Chosen.
One look at the old thing made Chris laugh. "But that thing's busted!"
"Only when the Gate's not open," corrected Veemon. Chris seemed skeptical. "Only the Twelve can open the Gate, you know."
"Right," he said with sarcasm. "And what about the humans you fought?"
Vee shrugged. "Beats me. Ken's still trying to figure it out. Too bad we don't have Koushirou with us. It's his department."
"Koushirou?"
Vee nodded. "Yup! He's the techie for my partner's friends! Really good with computers." He rubbed his white belly, licking his lips. "His mom cooks good too."
Chris patted the digimon's back, "Can't wait to meet your friends."
Christopher's hand tensed. He rose, wary. Didn't he say his body was weak? Veemon ogled his new friend. He quickly recognized the fearful look on his eyes, the way he stared at the darkness behind them. Adrenaline rush. He watched Chris take out his only firearm, aiming it at the clearing, while his free remaining hand held onto the white staff on his back. Veemon could feel him shivering. Trembling.
This was completely different from that time in the cave. "Chris?" muttered Veemon, worried, brushing his arm.
In an instant, Christopher turned towards him, his face agog with relief. "Sally?" he joyfully blurted. A stifled sob escaped the human when he realized it was only Veemon. Chris attempted to smile, but the digimon saw through it immediately. Regardless, Chris began shaking his head vigorously, as if he had lost all reason. Veemon could hear him murmuring horrified no's repeatedly.
The blue dragon smacked him on the head. "Are you okay?" He was thankful the blow had restored Christopher's brief immersion in insanity. Veemon could feel him palpitating, obviously shaken. Tears were dripping from his eyes.
.
.
It took a minute for Christopher to calm down. "Sorry, Vee," he said, wiping his face. "I lost myself back there."
"What's going on?" Veemon inquired. Concern laced his voice. "And who's Sally?" He regretted asking that upon seeing Christopher cringe at the question.
.
.
Ignoring the query, Chris lifted the blue dragon by the waist, setting him on his shoulders. "Let's just go." He was aloof. Cold.
Veemon groaned.
The satellite base's War Room was nothing special. It was a simple meeting room, with only a wide-screen television on the very back of the wall. Commandramon knew one secret about this monitor: it was actually the digiport for the current sector, the nearest one being the classic style TV set on the very edge of the Great Forest. Furthermore, it's one of those directly connected to the main base.
Commandramon waited anxiously for the screen to flicker. What will I tell the Tactician? How can I hide this from Lord Stingmon? He thought of plenty stories and excuses he could throw to the two, but in the end, he gave up, sitting down on the carpeted floor. There's no use. They'll find out eventually…
A flickering light appeared on the monitor. The digiport was being accessed by someone on the other side. Commandramon gulped. This is it.
.
.
The television screen produced high-definition images. The military dinosaur could see a young adult. His pants were dark blue, white stripes running down its sides. He adjusted the blue and white vest he wore, paying close attention to the golden belt buckle. As the man wore his purple cape, Commandramon noticed the tall, green digimon hovering beside him. It resembled a giant insect, covered by a combination of tough exoskeleton and black armor. The Tactician and Lord Stingmon.
Ken Ichijouji's clothes were reminiscent of his days as the Digimon Kaiser, Commandramon was certain. But at least he was here now as the Child of Kindness, the Tactician and well-respected leader of their forces, partner to Lord Stingmon. His innocent, purple eyes and his sleek hair were proof of that.
"So you've returned, Commandramon," started the Tactician.
Beads of sweat formed on the dinosaur's snout. The image of Lord Stingmon's emotionless eyes did not assuage his anxiety.
Ken adjusted the black gloves on his hands. "So tell me…"
.
.
"How was the mission?"
.
.
.
Commandramon has returned to the Satellite Base, bringing disastrous news for the Digimon Tactician and his digital half. Rumors of Christopher's infamy and Veemon's permanent deletion spread across the compound, yet contrary to these beliefs the Digimon of Miracles still lived and has successfully befriended the man with the black sword.
What will happen when they arrive at the Satellite Base? How will the digimon react upon seeing the man singlehandedly responsible for Monochromon and multiple Gotsumon's deaths enter their midst? And what of the DSI Modifiers? Why did they spare Commandramon? Did Colonel Reeves only intend for him to be a messenger of catastrophe, or does he have something more sinister in mind?
To be continued in the next chapter, "Discrimination".
Author's notes:
For current followers of The Interloper, thank you very much for your patience. I know you've waited a long time for updates to the 28th chapter, and I'm glad to say that my "exposition fix" project is finally over. From an initial glance at the contents, I am certain the starting chapters of this Digimon deconstruction fic has been bolstered enough to have a stronger introduction, a better portrayal of the major characters, and overall, a better quality exposition. I didn't rewrite everything of course, but I hope what I've changed suffices. It wasn't as if I had all these little details planned out when I first started writing The Interloper, back in 2009.
As far as the remaining chapters between A Strange Friend and Partners by Circumstance are concerned, these will retain the original text. The style and quality will certainly be different, but the continuity errors should be minimal, aside from the usage of "SCAI" by the DSI soldiers when referring to digimon.
I thank KumoFuzei and Sacchi_Hikaru very much for proofreading the work done for the "exposition fix". Their feedback allowed me to really enhance the immersiveness and emotional impact of my writing, so I am very thankful for having friends willing to carve out precious time for this little side project.
Moving on…
New readers, I hope I still have your attention. This had been an excruciatingly long chapter, and you've already endured the prologue and both parts of the first chapter, so I hope you made it through all right with your… interest still intact. ;) You probably have concerns regarding Christopher's abilities, how this impacts the rest of the storyline, and whether the character will overshadow everything else.
Firstly, Chris' abilities are actually fixed. Yes, they are pre-defined. I don't like pulling stuff out of an imaginary hat and in fact, I hate it. With that said, the Realm Scanner happens to be the most versatile of his equipment, so for your reference, here are the functions of the R-Scanner:
» The R-Scanner can scan the æther signature of a non-living object and convert it into data readable only to the Scanner, which can then be uploaded into its digital storage. Its memory size is virtually unlimited. Christopher can "download" or "realize" the digitized item, and it can materialize from either his left hand or wherever the gemstone is pointed towards, at his discretion. Naturally, the larger or more powerful the item, the longer the transfer is and the more space it'll take.
» The Realm Scanner also has a vast database of known items and is capable of identifying an item it knows (through user's possession/knowledge, items in storage, or information obtained via downloading) and pinpoint its exact location and add a cursor to a map in the HUD. Christopher can adjust this with filters, and this can identify people and other living things.
» The HUD itself usually has a small map that can be expanded to be superimposed all over his eyes, as well as multiple screens that can be viewed for a variety of purposes, whether these are going through its internal storage, exploring computer files, or enabling alternative sensory technology. This HUD can be displayed as a holographic display at will.
» The R-Scanner also has access to a network of information spanning across all the worlds Christopher has and can journey to, but this is disabled for the entire duration of in The Interloper to ensure a good story. XD
» The R-Scanner can link to one or more objects via a function called the "R-Link". Christopher has not yet pushed the supercomputer to the limits with this, but it enables him to travel. Without it, he cannot move from world to world and will eventually be found and hunted down.
» Also, as a supercomputer, it can identify visible and hidden computer networks and wirelessly connect to it without the use of electronic signals, brute-forcing or automatically hacking past digital defenses if needed.
» Lastly, the Realm Scanner's Assault mode transforms the gauntlet/bracer into a small handcannon that fires a sustained beam of A-Grade æther for about ten seconds. It is energy intensive and requires one full minute to charge. R-Link can theoretically enable infinite usage, but this strains the R-Scanner's durability and computing power, posing a very high risk of breaking the supercomputer and permanently extinguishing Christopher's only method of transportation.
With respect to some terminology used in this fic, æther will be defined in the eponymous chapter in the first story arc, and you should come across it soon if you don't skip ahead to Partners by Circumstance. The terms "DSI" and "SCAI", as I wrote before, will be described in aforementioned chapter.
Secondly, Chris is a... rather complicated character in his own right. He can be a ruthless dick to others, but at the same time he's not devoid of compassion and he's got principles to abide by. So don't expect him to act like a typical OC protagonist. Just think of it this way. He exists in The Interloper to be a wildcard. He is an external force that constantly changes the environment within which both the Chosen Children and the DSI operate. They both have to deal with him, for good and for bad. Oh, and for that matter, don't expect the canon and imported characters in this story to act exactly the same as you'd expect in an anime series. Aside from the fact I've set this story ten years after the end of Zero Two with a lot of events happening in between, all decisions, choices, and reactions of the characters are intended to be as realistic as I could possibly make it (unless I'm blatantly making some references lol).
Thirdly, I don't plan on having Chris overshadow everyone else and take the limelight. The Interloper is ultimately a story about a sociocultural conflict between humanity and digimon. Each of the main characters makes their own contributions to the plot, and things can also happen off-screen. Just because the POV is concentrated on a few characters does not mean the world waits for them to do stuff.
I hope you'll find the rest of my work intriguing. Thanks again for picking up my story.
Now that that's all taken care of, here are some interesting references made in this chapter.
[1] The DITE: Although this is one of Christopher's weapon, this sword actually hails from the series Chrome Shelled REGIOS. The one Chris uses is the same model as the "Adamandite" used by Layfon Alseif, the main protagonist for that anime series. The key difference is the material it is made out of, as it has significantly better cutting power.
[2] Operating Strike of the Sword, briefly mentioned by Aldo Kikuchi, was a US-led offensive in southern Afghanistan against the increasingly violent Taliban insurgency, which followed President Obama's February 2009 approval to increase US forces in the country. It is considered the biggest offensive airlift by the US Marines Corps since the Vietnam War.
The military operation took place from July to late August, and involved 4000 marines, 650 Afghan troops, and some NATO planes. "Strike of the Sword" aimed to drive out the Taliban insurgents and allow the Afghan government to replace them in the resulting power vacuum and operate the Helmand Province in their stead.
