Act 3: Promised Land

Part 3: Last hours of peace

The squeal of the wheels wakes me up. How many times have I been knocked out in the head? And now I'm in the train. Again. The lights are out, nothing in the darkness, nothing but a black sun that will drag me back to cruel reality soon enough. First time that was unusual. Now - it's getting old. Why does my the subconscious see the train as something safe and the black sun as a fictional reminder that I won't see a sunrise anymore, that I won't fill my dusty old lungs with clean air as I'll die the moment I step out? The world above is dead… no. I came from above. I lived there.

Someone turn on a single lamp above me and sat opposite me. It's me - an octoling me. Pretty fucked up if I can do so myself. His torso is bare. A backpack with scraps of clothing rests on his shoulders. One eye is closed and covered with sanitised ink. The rest of his face is exhausted. He sighs and closes his eyes for a second, talking to me with the voice of Agent Asshole.

"How're you holding up?"

I look aside, not willing to answer. The other me nod in understanding:

"Pain all over the body. Lack of sleep and food… physical and mental abuse. That's not what you signed up for twenty years ago, am I right?"

I lean back for a more comfortable position before replying.

"I never asked for this. But here we are. And you. You never told me what you are."

He smiles, speaking in a lower tone.

"Not who, but what now, huh? The sound of progress, my friend. Heh, jokes aside. I'm a hero with no name for the people above. But for the people below… I'm their end. I'm the bad guy."

"And then you're gonna say that you are some kind of flawed god or The Man Behind The Wall himself. Hmh. Sure. You could just said 'none of your business' and spare me your lies."

He shrugs in response.

"Well, if you are not interested in the future…. Let's talk about what's going on now. The things that V2 son of a bitch said when he was playing with you."

I wave my hand.

"Meh. Just a bunch of bullshit…."

"You sure? He told the truth about one thing - we all came from above."

"The surface is dead, mate. Dead as fuck. There is nothing above but radiation, deserts and burned ground. I may look like a hentai mod, but this is not a game or some kind of dream. We all saw the satellite imagery, failed to contact anyone. Even the Mothership and space colonies went silent! Don't you think it's strange that in just a couple of hours ALL OF HUMANITY decided to die in a nuclear war? But we survived… with no ability to reproduce. There is something fishy behind all this. But back to topic - I don't think things can change in twenty to thirty years."

"But what about twelve thousand years? One can't live that long. No one in history lived for that thousands years, Rick. Face it - humanity died over twelve thousand years ago. You just forgot that little fact, don't you? There are only bones and ruins. Humanity is dead. Long live humanity 2.0. Fresh from the ocean! Food became a sentient predator...or just a dominant life force on the planet. As for your "fishy humanity business"- something tells me your Man Behind The Wall is involved in this. But that was a really long time ago, and this is story about you, not him…"

Hm. I've seen many shocking and twisted things in recent days. Stuff and creatures that can't possibly be real. I cheated death countless times, rode on rails of ink, in a struggle to determine if this is all real or just a game… I've done things beyond my wildest imagination. But this… somehow it doesn't sound like something new or ground shaking. More like a reminder of a history lesson in school. Yet it doesn't sound right.

Twelve thousand years, he said. That could answer lot of things… yet it makes things even more confused. What kind of life can rise in a world of ruins left from humanity? Is it somehow connected with the hell that's been created here? Tartar kidnapping people from above… ugh, I'm overthinking a simple idea - a simple lie.

He sees my inner struggle and tries to speak with a heavy russian accent.

"ComAn! You think hard. Must think less hard. Relax, you! We escape, find you a pretty piggy bank so you invest in it… not white deposit tho. Live as men."

I look at him like he's the last idiot on the earth trying to look smart.

"Don't speak like that ever again or the Grammar Nazi May Cry and we need our editor alive."

I shake my head and rub my eyes. I'm talking like my mysterious companion. That doesn't sound good. Hm? Do I hear footsteps? There is someone coming.

"Looks like Miss Agent 3, or the Green Terror herself decided to join our little dream party."

I switch my attention back to my companion.

"Who is she anyway? I never met her in person, yet I see her in my dreams, in my visions… she looks pretty cute."

I didn't think that one through.

"DON'T EVEN THINK about dating that MONSTER. She is a bloodthirsty squid teenager that'll rip your balls clean off the moment she see your octo face! Why we didn't finish her off and go all philosophical? Well I… I..."

I tilt my head to the side with interest. Our jackass got cornered by talking about a girl… what a surprise.

"You what? Afraid that some kind of angry underaged cephalopod can even do something after that confusing hell I went through?"

He smiles nervously and looks me in the eyes. Have we become each other? His eyes are filled with terror and despair… what should be my terror and despair.

"Rick….Don't underestimate her power! She may look cute, but she's actually underaged fucking Cthulhu in the flesh. Technically, though, she is the one they send to SPLAT the fucking Cthulhu."

He pauses and sighs.

"Rick. Your time is up up."

The lamps come to life. There's no Asshole here, just a nice boxie. I look in the direction of where I heard footsteps. It's gotta be the Green Terror. Well, lady. Come on and kill me. It's the only damn thing you care about. The door opens. I spot a little hat and a glint of blue-wait a second. What the fuck?!

"C motherfucking Q motherfucking Cumber?! How the fuck are you still alive? Am I still dreaming?"

Strangely, he isn't shaken at all. He just wiggles at me.

"It's just CQ Cumber. And welcome back, Test Subject number 10008v3. Please calm down and have a seat. You are safe now."

I slowly sit down. And he just casually climbs onto the pole, sliding up like a sea slug. Okay, Rick. Just keep your shit together and play nice. He's not trying to kill you… yet. I start harassing my tentacles, trying not to think about it.

"B-b-but you died! I saw it with my own eyes… well, an eye now. You died. So how? How are you still fucking alive?"

"They kill me every week or so. I get used to it. Besides, Commander Tartar needs me to oversee the tests and keep an eye on the train. And there are no replacements. If the traitors kill me, I return and continue my duty as a loyal conductor."

I raised my finger, but that reminds me of tests and… failing them. I decide to stay silent for a while, thinking. After all that panic and all this mystery, it feels good to reach a logical conclusion for once.

"You are sanitised."

He nods back at me. I take this chance to try and get some more answers

"O-okay, Google. Can you spell the beans about sanitisation then? Just a little? Anything at all? I've been fighting those undead bastards everywhere, yet I don't know a thing about what and how it turns a human into immortal, tentacled, green-skinned, broken melancholic! Shit... One of the literally ripped her chest open and threw herself into a bloody pit full of sanitised ink just because she got BORED of me trying to kill her! That is NOT okay!"

He casually "dances" on the pole, spinning around, seemingly thinking.

"In short sanitization is a heavily modified bioweapon developed by 'Aloe Pierrot' - a pharmaceutical company in early 2030. The goal was to create genetically perfected soldiers with the ability to adapt to situation via mutation, thus they were called B.M.S. - BioModified Soldiers - at first."

He pauses, springing off the pole and landing on the floor.

"But the results were… somewhat close to what you see in Sanitised units. Cell regeneration and reanimation. I don't know how U.A.C.U. and his creator got their supposed hands on it, but Tartar adapted the virus for his new victims and changed it to fit his conditions."

I just nod back. "In short", he had said. I remember some history books about that company. Your typical Umbrella-made-real. Because of some asshole with a thirst for money and quite a bit of power, the world is dead, few lives spared. Ugh. I glare at the ceiling before speaking up again.

"We are we going anyway? Back to the Test Chambers and pointless tests?"

"No. We are moving to your final destination: Sector C. Storage compound #21. The fastest way to get to the Promised Land. ETA- 2 hours."

"Wh-a? Hold on! Whe..."

I give him a strange look. He looks back at me from - oh god, he's turned his lower stubs into spider legs. That totally doesn't look creepy at all.

"R-right… What about the tests? No, I do NOT want to do them ever again. But the Machine always talked about the need to collect 'key items' or whatever he called those blender parts. Does HE even know about me? And how did I get here in the first place? Last thing I remember is fighting that V2 guy."

"Ah, so you've met Test Subject 10008 V2. That explains why he brought you here alongside with Test Subject number 931 V2 or "Doc" as he calls himself, and… 'convinced' me to deliver you to the Promised Land. Officially, you still need to complete tests, but Tartar is manually overwatching two other test subjects at the current time, so…"

He stops for a second, looking at the cameras in the Train.

"It won't matter if you see things as they are. But I have to warn you - it's a one way trip."

I stand up and take the box from the opposite row of chairs.

"So you telling me I'm going to die there, huh? Sorry to disappoint, but we're all walking dead in this place."

I put the box next to me. It looks like CQ Cumber want to say something important, raising one of his legs like hand, but I turn him down.

"Just leave me be. I need some time to rest."

He nods, squeezes his "legs" back into stumps and slowly slides away. I think it's time to see what's in the box. Using my bare hands, I tear the top open.

There is a handmade knife, some water, and canned food. Someone doesn't want me to die from hunger and dehydration. How kind of them. They took my guns and backpack, so having a knife as self defense and a suicide tool is better than nothing. Hm. I think I saw something among the cans. Shove that to the side, move this away… yep, we've hit the jackpot here - a CQ-80 has been found, hidden at the bottom of the box! I pick it up and examine its condition, pressing some buttons. Everything seems to be working all right. Communication, navigation, radio, Internet, remote control, the holographic screen, static battery and many, many more functions - a perfect lovechild of the unkillable Nokia, advanced iPhone and your everyday laptop.

Okay, I'm getting a little too excited. Gonna refuel myself and check if there's any data stored. Open the can with the knife… the blade is short and slightly duller than expected, but it gets the job done. Oh, god, is that food or lung disease in a can?! Well, it's mystery meat and ancient supermarket crap. My favourite. Screw this - I've had enough food poisoning already. I toss open can away and focus my attention on CQ -80.

There is a big chunk of data stored. Hundreds of video and audio logs, schemes and diagrams, documents, models and notes. Half of them are blocked behind a password. The other half seems to be about sanitisation, from what I can tel. I'm not a egghead scientist, so I'll just leave it as it is. What's this? A personal audio log? Recorded… over 12,000 years ago?! Uh, that can't be right. No - no - no. No. Don't tell me that Asshole's blind thought about twelve thousand years was correct! I… I'll just assume this is a display bug and that was a coincidence. Tech can be glitchy after all. Well, let's hear it. I press "play" and the device starts to speak.

"This is Richard Streletskiy, an electrical engineer from sector A with a report from August 11, 2084. I request access to sector B for myself and the team-"

I hit pause as fast as I can. The fuck is my own recording doing here?! Is that my personal CQ-80 or did someone download it here? But most importantly - my voice is different in this. Older, meaner, lower, a bit hoarse and all. But the intonation; the way he speaks and the words he uses leave no doubts - this is my voice. I press resume.

"-to estimate the damage in the transformer substation B-01, B-02 and to power up the backup power system. I have no idea what kind of experiments you're doing in there, Professor, but it's the third power outage this week! Are you raping the reactor or what!? We are dealing with melting high-voltage cables! And I'm not talking about insulation right now, but about the ca-"

I turn it off. With a sigh, I move on to poke around the other files I made this recording around a week ago… before this confusing hell went all in on me with tentacles, tests and damn 8-balls. I think I'm gonna have a panic attack the moment I see another one of them. But enough about the devil's ball, Rick.

We never got the damn permission and endd up being forced to replace the cables. A stupid waste of resources, I know, since the holo-tech reproduction experiment failed, but what could I do? I told Professor that we had to deal with the source of the problem first, but he just threatened to kill us if we didn't do our work and went radio silent. That was around the time people started… disappearing, too. No executions, no body bags. A man goes to work and never comes back. Just like bringing a lamb to the slaughter. I also remember a phone call about something important, going to the train station in the middle of the night and… and…. Uh, I can't remember what happened, but it was right before all this happened. Or maybe I was simply drunk? This is all sounds really fishy… and somehow I can't get the phrase "Promised Land" out of my mind. Rrh, and now my fucking head's going rogue and providing me with eyelid pain instead of answers. Thanks a lot, head. Screw you too.

I need to distract myself from thinking and relax. Maybe I'll listen to some music. Just gonna take a little dive into the Internet. Still working after the apocalypse. How? Orbital satellite systems with free Wi-Fi for every poor bastard on the planet or in space; unlimited access to every meme, every shitpost on Twitter and 24/7 streams. Too bad there's nothing new for obvious reasons. Not like I can put anything on there.

Ok. M-u-s-i-c. Enter. And now… excuse me? Access denied? Oh come on! Tartar blocked it.

"Oh no, Roskom Pozor blocked the internet! How will I live without the news from western spies and corrupted Americans with terminators?"

Childhood propaganda. Fun. I cackle madly, but quietly - I don't have much strength left and I would prefer to die from hunger than eat that literal canned shit! But the laughter stops the second I understand that there is no proxy on this device. Sigh.

"Fuck…"

Time is passing slowly and painfully. No music, no internet, and conversations with CQ Cumber is like talking with Amazon Alexa. I can't sleep, I'm bored, and I'm hungry but not hungry enough to eat fecal matter. Suddenly I remember a an old movie. A man appeared on a desert island during some not so pleasant events. He had to spend four bloody years there. Even painted a football with his bloody handprints and started treating it as a real person so he could remain humane. I hope I won't ended up like him, talking with an eight… b..ball. Shit.

The train announcement system knocks me out of my PTSD for a bit.

"Approaching station: Storage compound #21, Sector C. Please take all your belongings when you leave the train. Kamabo Co. will take no responsibility for the loss of your belongings. Have a nice and productive day."

A door opens. C.Q. Cumber slides over, turning to me.

"Test subject, this is your final destination. Thank you for your support and your dedication to pushing science forward."

He pauses and looks out the window before speaking up again. There's something in his voice now, perhaps pity, but I can't tell what it is.

"If you even make it out to the surface - forget about this place and don't come back. Goodbye."

Was that advice or a threat? Well, no turning back now. I prepare the knife and my CQ-80.

"Promised Land. Whatever you are, know that I'm coming for you, and I'm gonna get my answers."

"Do you need a katana, blue coat and white wig too?"

Oh for fuck's sake. "Shut up, Asshole…"