A/N: Alright, I'm back again. Happy delayed Valentine's Day greeting. Yeah there's really not a good or consistent upload schedule for me, I just kinda put these out whenever I have time off from work, which is basically most days in the week. Frick, consistency is hard. Anyways we're in for the fun times this chapter, play time was last chapter. Time for business. Hope this chapter satisfies ya'll.
Hashima Island, also known as Battleship island, is a historical culture sight off the coast of Nagasaki. For over a hundred years the island was expanded, turned into its' own township and loaded with mining equipment to dig for coal on the ocean bed. Finally retired from active use in nineteen seventy four, it was abandoned and left to its devices for decades before being opened to the public as a tourist site. However, thanks to the files Perry got from his contacts around the globe, the story is more than that.
Over the years thousands of workers died mining, especially during the Imperial period. Death, equipment and relative isolation, it was the perfect place for a rogue group of to set up shop. Whatever their plan may be no one knows except for the highest, unknown executives running the operation, whatever it may be. Samson doesn't find much confidence, or any at all, with how little someone as accomplished as Perry was able to gleam for Samuel and himself.
Samson stands at the front of the ferry, gripping the railing and watching the silhouette of Battleship Island approach slowly. Around him tourists of many nationalities, including those from within Japan, chat and squirm about the vessel, taking selfies or questioning their guides.
It's entirely domestic, and that sets off warning bells.
Even from a great distance away Samson can feel a tremendous sense of suffering, magic and danger. Samson's natural empathy powers have slowly returned back to him, another side-effect/ gift of his unnatural birth, and those natural powers are warning him of great danger.
Add on to that Samson can feel the Mist practically rippling like the waves of the ocean he's riding on. Something inside the island is producing such incredible magic, enough for him to safely compare it to the same level of the time the Goddess of Magic herself reset an entire burning town back to normal.
Through basic logic Samson can deduce the 'group' is headed by a god at the very least. How minor, however, he can't be sure, as even the Goddess of fucking Nets is no pushover of a fighter. Something with unworldly powers is at work here, and that thought scares him deeply.
The silhouette of the island is cleared up now, Samson can see grays, rusty browns and a few hintings of green from the little amounts of plant life growing still on a mostly concrete and steel island. The rippling magic is as strong as he's ever felt it, and how he feels it now is a gross sense of wrong. It doesn't feel right, where Hecate uses magic expertly, with subtlness and poise, like a graceful dancer or a masterful painter. This magic is the complete opposite, it feels strong and forced. Like a boxer punching a workout bag, just simply beating the Mist into shape rather.
With the sound of a cute horn, the small barge pulls into a dock. Samson was so fixated on the wrongness of the island he didn't even realize at least half an hours travel went by. He shakes his head and lines up with everyone else heading for the exit ramp.
"We split up and look for clues?"
Samson shrugs in response, "I'd guess so. I'm gonna look around the 'forbidden' buildings and see if I can't find a way into the infrastructure that's still buried in the ground. It might be an entrance to wherever this Foundry is."
"Well," Samuel says, looking around at the tourists separating into large groups, "I'll stick with the people. One of these assholes might be a member or something, who knows? How are we supposed to keep in contact? We can't use radios unless you've got magic or something. Some Deus Ex Machina or whatever you can pull out of your ass."
If he's being totally honest, Samuel's sticking with the 'people' because he's really disinterested in, well, all of this. Thrill seeking, violence and murder crap is the old Samuel. Sure, don't get him wrong, he doesn't hate that stuff, it's just really boring and tiring to him now. All of that shit just ended up with him being hurt, like say having a crushed arm, or losing an entire fucking hand. An eye that one time for a bit, but that healed after he was a werewolf. Oh yeah, don't forget he was one of those for a minute too.
Believe him when he says he's done with all of it. He just wants to plant shit in his garden, get lit with Hylla and relax seeing as how he almost certainly won't live to an advanced age and he wants to spend the limited time he has enjoying himself in the Mortal World before he gets sent to Elysium.
"We'll just have to find one another," Samson decides not to tell him of his ability to link people telepathically. He'd rather not share a link with Samuel, "I don't have anything."
Samuel's pretty certain that's a lie, but he's not concerned. Once again, this shit is boring and he has no desire to be involved in any personal way with any of this shit, "Then let's get too it."
"Oh geez, Tom, this place is mighty scary!" White man one says. "You sure are right, Carl!" White Man two says. Samuel locks eyes with the tour guide and sees the deadness in them, even if he's forcing a smile, making him look like some kind of sad, demented clown. The more the two white guy tourists talk the more Samuel feels like dive-jumping off the concrete walls into the waves below. But not before taking them with him, obviously. Can't forget that step.
"Yes, if you three would follow me I will take us to the site of the school. We can't enter due to safety concerns, but I can share stories told to me first hand by the grown children who used to live and learn on this island. Their stories range from those during the Imperial era up to those who were here when the island was abandoned only a few decades ago."
...Okay, so maybe he's curious. Might as well enjoy the trip while he can, right? It's not every day one can go on a cultural journey, after all.
Samson looks around at the inside of the building he's entered. Likely an old industrial conveyor building, Samson treads carefully as he makes his way around the ruined floor and collapsed machinery. The building is big, humongous even without any walls separating parts of it with the exception of a long overhanging office that in the past would overlook the workers and equipment with complete, unhindered view. He can't help but shutter at the thought of being an overworked laborer constantly monitored by an Officer in the army during the war.
He steps over a toppled conveyor belt, his hands becoming stained with decades old rust as he pulls himself over. Wind howls through the shattered glass windows high up on the walls, distantly reminding him of the calls of the Sirens from way back. What sets Samson's nerves off the most is the shadows that seem to shift around him. Even with godly senses the industrial house seems dark, like the same darkness of the spirits that haunted the ruined Vineyard Samuel and he went to some months back.
Crack.
The Hades was that?! He spins around, hands in his jacket pocket ready to take his weapon out at a moments notice. He doesn't feel alone now, but that paranoid sense of being watched is completely absent. Quickly he dives over and behind a ruined steel structure, waiting for whatever is with him to pass by.
Samuel isn't sure how he ended up with the enemy. Like, completely in the dark. One second he was enamored with the tour guides story about a harrowing, yet doom driven story of a forced worker's escape from the island, the next a strong set of hands grab him and now he's surrounded by a bunch of eerily grinning 'tourists' that when you look past The Mist are actually monsters and likely rando demigods in disguise.
They walk like a regular tourist group, mulling about the sites and commenting on the decaying buildings around them, but they're moving completely in a different direction from the other groups. Add onto that, none of the guides even look in their direction or acknowledge a group going completely off course from the rest.
There's no doubt about it, he's surrounded by agents of the enemy, and they all think he's one of them!
Shoulder to shoulder they move forward, basically dragging Samuel as he plays along with their weirdness. Seriously, the neverending smile makes him want to throw up. Who can keep a smile like that up for so long?! Their eyes seem unnaturally small and beady from their smiles, and despite that looking in their eyes he sees no life. Like looking in the eye of a fish or something. There's no cognitive thoughts happening, just pure instinct.
It kinda freaks him out!
"This way my new friends," Says the tour guide. Samuel's first thoughts for her would be 'cute' and not in a sexual way. Her head is tiny and is capped by a comically large red visor. He shirt has something he can't read in Japanese on it with a picture of some unknown cutesy anime character on it. Her bag is bright pink and almost the size of her torso it seems. If it weren't for her lifeless eyes he'd feel completely charmed by her.
"It's time for proper orientation, everyone! Single file please! Nice and orderly!"
Samuel bumbles as he's basically tossed around into the middle of a single file line with twelve people ahead of him and half as much behind. Being tossed around so much makes him want to whip his gun out and start shooting, but he has the feeling that even if he got some kills in he'd be overrun and killed fairly quickly.
Also, this is literally his only lead.
He's marched into an old building filled with destroyed factory belts and rollers. The guide expertly weaves them around the toppled ruins, never once stumbling or having to walk over anything large. By chance he happens to look to his right and is surprised to see Samson giving him a 'what the fuck' look from the shadows behind some toppled machine shit.
Samuel does his best to gesture 'I don't know' and motions for Samson to follow behind. The Son of Athena nods and vanishes past his sight. The group travels a bit further until the guide stops them at an empty wall with an old propaganda poster on it. She turns to the group and widens her smile, making everyone but Samuel smile just the same in return.
She lifts the poster up and presses a button hidden underneath. The wall adjacent to them bangs loudly, the stone grinding as a section the size of an elevator door slides down and reveals a large room hidden behind.
Everyone shuffles in, the tour guide going last, and she presses a few buttons on a panel inside the room. The wall slides back up, and with a heavy thud that stumbles everyone the whole room shifts and feels like it's slowly lowering down. The guide stares blankly into everyone's souls as the elevator slowly lowers, and for the first time in a long time Samuel feels like crying.
This is so awkward!
Samson continues climbing down a seemingly endless service ladder inside of the elevator shaft Samuel disappeared into. Opening the door took a surprisingly strong amount of magic. Whatever spell was used to enchant the wall was strong, and tearing the wall down without alerting the security spells was not lesser either. The shaft is dark, pitch black with only his Candlelight spell to help him see.
His feet tap on something hard and he guesses he found the top of the elevator. Looking around he spots an old, rusty vent cover large enough for a grown man to comfortable crawl through.
Convenient.
He tubs the cover gently and it rips right off with barely any effort. He sets it down and crawls into the old venting system, his way still light by his spell. Cool air flows through the vent, and despite being cramped and stuffy from years of dust Samson feels relatively comfortable.
Probably an airflow vent to bring in fresh air. This place is easily a couple hundred feet down, maybe even below the ocean surface considering this was an ocean coal mine. Be on your guard, keeping a place like this safe enough for an operation takes a lot of money and resources.
Samuel agrees. The enemy is well supplied and competent, even if they somehow accidentally kidnapped Samuel. Though he supposes he shouldn't discredit Samuel, he's an efficient fighter and incredibly crafty. Samson is confident Samuel will manage, so he'll ready himself to bust him out of trouble should his cover be blown.
He sees light ahead. He turns his light off and quietly crawls over and looks down through a vent cover on the ceiling of a room filled with almost twenty people. There in the center seat he sees Samuel sitting in a desk along with everyone else like it's a school room. He puts an ear to the vent and listens as close as he can.
Samuel's day seems to be getting worse by the second. As quick as they were shoved from the elevator they were shuffled into a brightly lit classroom with desks facing a large projector screen. They're seated, and the guide stands at the front facing everyone still sporting that unnerving smile.
"Welcome everyone!" She says cheerfully. The room chorus's back hellos with Samuel only barely the last one to say it back. "Now I know you're all excited to begin your new lives in complete dedicated to the one true lord, believe me... I'm so excited myself."
The guide shudders, eyes half lidded like she just... well had an orgasm basically. Samuel feels even more uncomfortable now than ever before, and when he looks around it feels even worse as he's the only one remotely disturbed. He smacks his head down on his desk and groans quietly as the guide zips back to normal in a flash and continues her spiel.
"But first we have to get through orientation!" Everyone in the classroom, Samuel especially, groans in absolute misery. Looks like even brainwashed psychos hate orientation too.
"Now now, it's not that bad, and trust me when I say it's very important! After all, you're new lives start now! Better you're all prepared for your inevitable fates than left bumbling in the light without our lords darkness for guidance!"
Someone towards the back raises their hand, "Isn't it the other way?"
The guide stares blankly at the person, smile still ever present if only slightly more... dangerous now. Suddenly the door flies open and two large men in matching jumpsuits burst in, grab the questioning person, and drag them out. The door slams shut by itself, and in a matter of four seconds the entire drama is over. Everyone turns back to the guide, toothy smiles still plastered on their lifeless faces.
Samuel looks back at the door a few times, still unsure if that actually happened, but looking at the empty chair he knows that yes, it did in fact happen. He gulps nervously and turns back to the guide, hands neatly folded on the table and the biggest fake smile on his face he can muster.
What the fuck did he get himself into?!
"Let's start orientation now! It's only one video just a few minutes long!"
The room lights dim and the projector starts up by itself. Numbers, static and random, hollow eyes flash on the screen for a few seconds before it clears up. The colors of the video are grainy and faded, like it was filmed in the early seventies or something. Still a colored video, but not quite crisp like modern films are now.
In the video a mechanic with just absolutely thick hair and wearing a blue jumpsuit is working on a car with his back turned to the camera. He turns around, fake smile exactly like the one the guide has, and laughs, taking his goggles off and setting them to his side.
"Hello there! I didn't see you come in! Take a seat, please! It's time for your very important orientation!"
The man kneels on one leg and looks directly into the camera, and for a faint second he swears the man in the video is looking around at everyone in the room. He meets Samuel's eyes and swear to every go he can name that he fucking was looking at him!
"Now trust me, orientation was just as unpleasant for me, why back in my day we had to listen to the radio recording for ours!"
He fake laughs, and barely a half second later everyone in the classroom is too, all in sync with the exact same laugh as of course they can't have an ounce of individuality.
The video suddenly cuts to a slide show, each image showing old photos of horrible acts of human cruelty. Police beating a black man in the streets, men and women lined up against with a readied firing squad, Nazi soldiers laughing and pissing on the dead body of a man with a white star stitched to his jacket, a jungle battlefield with dead Viet Cong and US GI bodies littered all across the ground, many missing some or most of their bodies.
Despondently, the narrator continues, "Unfortunately, our world is one filled with despair. Humans can't be trusted to run this world, and the so called 'gods' that run it only further this unfortunate truth. You're hear today because you want to make a difference, and in our service you will! For decades we've been working to the destruction of the old world. From the ashes we rise!"
"From the ashes we rise!" The classroom echoes. "Y-yeah... rise" Samuel follows just after the rest. Thankfully, no one notices or pays him any attention.
"As the face of our organization, I welcome you to your new life! Serve unquestioningly, and you'll be rewarded with eternal life stitched to our lord's body! So let it be my honor to welcome you to eternal service to the Kult of Tartarus! Our Lord in the Dark, he who rises from below!"
...Slowly, Samuel brings the tips of his fingers and gently places them against his temples. A deep, hollow pit grows in his guts as the video cheerfully continues, no one except for him even remotely bothered by the fact they're basically serving the Greek equivalent of the Devil.
"Oh god... I'm fucked."
