Unified Year 1923, Middle of the Countryside
Tanya sat on a hard walnut bench that was as dark as chocolate, back slightly aching. Outside, the massive freighter train clanked along the tracks. It traveled at ninety kilometers per hour, smoke billowing into the clear winter sky above. An early snow fell on the roof of the cars creating white tops as far as the eye could see.
But she could only imagine her surroundings, based on an estimate of the distance and general direction of where she was going, as well as the chill in the unheated compartment. A conspicuous piece of thin sheet metal covered the sole window, rattling along with the rest of the train. Not one to be devastated by the lack of a view, her face was the picturesque image of serenity, an undisturbed surface as she breathed. Puffs of mist floated in front of her.
She was inside of a sleeper compartment, which was cramped enough to be beyond uncomfortable and downright horrifying for a claustrophobe. The area had only an unadorned white cot that hung from metal struts against one wall, and the bench against the other, which was more of a rough outcropping than any place to sit on. If she reached out with her legs, she could rest her custom-made leather boots on the bed. But she preferred the sparse surroundings, it made it easier to think.
All right, let's review my situation. She took a breath, willing herself still as she went over what had happened in her mind for the umpteenth time.
I'm on this train because of a letter from a General, Zettour, who emphasized secrecy. The note, with nothing but directions and orders to bring the Type 95 was delivered to me directly by Dr. Schugel, a busy man, which implies no one else had enough security clearance in the facility. I don't know where I'm going, or any other details. And this happens days after the incident with the Type 95. Those are the circumstances.
With a sudden twitch, she slammed her right elbow into the flower-patterned wallpaper behind her, hitting the middle of a petunia.
She frowned, ignoring the jolt of pain in her arm. That was unsightly. Returning the offending limb to rest on her thighs, she started to tap a rhythm. Ring finger, middle finger, index finger, one after another, hitting the flesh at a regular pace.
Tap, tap, tap… Tap, tap, tap… Tap, tap, tap.
For half a minute, she continued, until she was sure she had calmed down sufficiently.
See, it's not that hard. Just stay rational, and don't be swayed by anger. I still have that much control over myself, right?
Instead of her usual field-grey Imperial uniform, she was wearing an outfit made of a rough beige fabric, with no rank insignia or other identifying markers. On her head was a simple cap in the same dull shade. With her clothes, she wouldn't have been out of place on the streets of Berun, waving around a stack of papers in cold mornings for nothing but pocket change.
She looked down at the cloth. Beige is a bad color, completely tasteless. Why can't it be grey? Grey's a much nicer color, isn't it, compared to beige at least? Even compared to other colors, grey is superior, so there's really no argument to support beige.
Then, she sighed, cutting off the train of thought. It was irrational to hold something against a color. Not when she had more important grudges to think about. Once again, she started tapping her thigh, for only half as long this time. Tap, tap, tap.
There's really no putting it aside, is there?
The train jerked to the side, taking the hard turn too fast for the heavy mass of steel. She was slammed against the opposite wall with an understated thud. Her cheek threatened to stick against the wall of metal that felt like ice, centrifugal force pressing her against the cold surface. After batting away the temptation to just lie there, she forced herself back upright. A small groan escaped her lips.
I presume that was a yes?
She thought about that… incident, yes, that was the correct word. Her general recollection of the incident, the day Schugel had forced her into his madness was hazy. Except for her conversation with Being X. That much was clear, as sharp and defined as a bullet whizzing toward her face, only inches away. Tap, tap, tap.
Damn him. Damn both of them.
Tucked underneath her uniform, the Type 95 flared up. Like a blazing furnace, it filled her chest with heat, a miniature fire underneath the steel and glass. According to the mad doctor, the phenomenon occurred as a result of excess energy, caused due to inefficiency in the conversion of mana to a physical state. She hadn't cared much for his words, there were bigger problems with the cursed object.
As her body warmed up, she shivered. A long, clattering shiver that went along the length of her entire body. Icy frost shot through her veins as she thought of the enemy, the thing on her person that was a constant reminder he was always watching, interfering, violating.
What do I do?
The compartment continued to rattle, shaking as if all of the nuts and bolts were one turn away from flying off the vehicle. Each tremor was somewhat painful, her hard seat digging in, although she didn't mind the pain. Her hands jittered erratically with the movement, but she continued to keep a steady beat with her fingers, the movement calming her down. Tap, tap, tap.
My original goals are untenable. Rising up the ranks of the military? That may as well be a bad joke when a nutcase like Being X is against me. He wouldn't allow such a success, not unless he finally grew half a brain cell and gave up on his quest to convert me.
On that day, she couldn't remember the moment she touched the ground again. She couldn't remember most of the descent, nor could she remember the exact moment the Type 95 was taken off of her by Schugel. It was after she had arrived back in her tiny room that her mind cleared up, and she remembered what had happened.
Anger was the first thing she had felt. White-hot rage at the disgusting, pathetic mess of a creature that would take away her free will, take away even her ability to think, remember, and everything that made her a person. She was Tanya Degurechaff, not a mindless puppet of a self-proclaimed deity.
She hadn't even bothered trying to restrain herself, there was no one in any of the rooms nearby. The space had been decimated as if a tornado had gone through it, scratched walls and torn up furniture. In a feat of strength, she had managed to throw her bed across the room, reinforcing herself with an orbless spell.
Still, it hadn't been that unreasonable of an action. Even when she could see nothing but red, she had enough sense to think through her actions beforehand; she wasn't like Being X. She had figured that Dr. Schugel owed her enough to not mention such an incident in a report, the madman didn't care about things like proper personnel management, as long as his devices succeeded. Therefore, considering that the bottling up of emotions wasn't psychologically sound, she simply took the opportunity presented to her.
If that plan's worthless, then what are my options? Can I run away? No, that won't work, considering he probably planned for this trip to happen.
Three taps. Shit, shit, shit.
If it was another rational actor, she wouldn't have had such a personal grudge from an attempt to control her, although she still would've fought against any manipulation with all of her ability. However, Being X wasn't that sort of creature.
She prided herself on logic, her mind capable of working through any problem with unnerving precision and raw genius. In her vision of the world, there was no higher, "divine" goal to strive for. What people had was the ability to do as they desire, struggle for their desire at all costs. That was what it meant to be human, work with your entire being for what you want, and that was what she did.
Being X directly contradicted that philosophy. His claim assumed that allegiance to him, faith in the "Creator" was perfect righteousness, a universal positive that went above everything, including the individual. That notion was utterly ridiculous, considering the flawed nature of the self-proclaimed deity, something that a single conversation with him had pointed out to her. However, what could she do about it? If nothing else, the power he had demonstrated was likely impossible for her to replicate, and even then, she would be killed the moment she got close to finding a way to defeat him.
With no way to remove his influence on her, what could she do against an irrational being with a grudge, that ignored reason and the right of the individual to govern their thoughts? In her mind, she twisted around the details of the situation, trying her best to ignore the fear that welled up in her gut whenever she thought about what she would do, to surpass what seemed to be a wall that towered above her in the sky. Tap, tap, tap.
Then, she seethed. This is ridiculous. I can't let him interfere with my mind when he isn't even trying. Is my will that weak? Of course not.
She went deeper, plunging into a space inside of her, where she could concentrate to her fullest, battering away her emotions with brute mental force.
To figure out an optimal course of action, one had to figure out what they wanted, and what was blocking them from achieving that result. In the current situation, it was obvious what her biggest problem was - the egomaniac that was determined to interfere with her, able to remove her free will. As for what she wanted, multiple things came to mind off the top of her head.
Being X is fundamentally opposed to my lack of faith, which is what he wants to change. And to reach his goals, he claims he'll put me through despair, then forcefully and instill compassion and reverence through the Type 95. But the precise nature of his goals affects how I get what I want as well. Does he want an effective method of converting people? Does he want to have a single person gain faith in him? What is it? Where precisely is the conflict of interest?
She chipped away at the possibilities, like a miner working to break apart a massive clump of ore. Methodically, rationally, she thought about the problem she had been putting off with machine-like precision. Then, after a long pause, filled with the sounds of the train, she came to a conclusion.
Ah, he's an idiot. Then again, it took me long to figure this out.
Suddenly, she started laughing. A sharp, bird-like noise that scratched at her ears, metal scraping on metal. It reverberated inside the room, echoing inside the hollow container over and over again.
But honestly, what an utter moron!
The sound grew even louder, rising in pitch and intensity until it drowned out everything else in the compartment. With tiny, jerking movements, her shoulders began to twitch, every three seconds, then every two seconds, then once per second, almost in time with the sounds of the train.
So what if Being X is trying to screw me over? Does that change anything?
She clutched at her sides, her body shuddering, spasming with the sounds that couldn't be called laughter anymore coming out of her mouth. Between each heaving motion, like a ship caught in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, she took deep breaths, her lungs sucking in as much air as possible to prevent her from choking.
No! It doesn't!
Then, amidst the tremors, her eyes widened, large, almost see-through diamonds glittering in the dim light of the compartment. Her lips twisted, an ear-to-ear tearing of her face that she allowed to show her true feelings. Not a mind-numbing expression of faith, but one that was her own: full of the will that had allowed her to rise above the rest.
He's limited, just like any other person! There's nothing divine about him! What he wants is to feel like he "won" against the unbeliever, affirming his position by "converting" me. Therefore, he won't, can't directly kill me. And while he has no respect for the freedom of thought, he won't override my will all at once. What he wants is to have me give in at a point where he has plausible deniability, to justify to himself that he didn't excessively manipulate my consciousness.
She stood up, giddy as she raised her arms to the air as if taunting the heavens above.
Therefore, there's still a chance! The conditions he set for himself will ensure my victory! A battle of persistence!
Her laughter dying down to the occasional hiccup, she cupped both of her hands to rosy cheeks. They felt like cold blocks of ice in the unheated compartment, but there was no sign of discomfort on her smiling face.
Because as long as it isn't impossible, you continue to struggle. That's what I'll do. For everything I want: money, status, security, but most of all, for life and freedom! Work for what you want until your last, what a beautiful idea!
Staring up at the sky hidden by the shaking train, she looked for all the world like a child who had been given a mountain of candy, bright and rapturous.
He thinks he can break me? Ridiculous, ri-dic-ul-ous! One more obstacle doesn't change what I'll do!
She giggled, "What a wonderful thing, the nature of his stupidity. He thinks himself special? Well, I'll prove him wrong. I'll prove him wrong, then shove it all up his asshole!"
Even if the deck is stacked and the dealer is crooked, as long as the things you want are on the line, what other choice is there? None, nothing! How did it take me so long to see it?
Wiping the joy off her face, she snapped tall, standing up to the limits of her height, straight as an artillery barrel. In the shaking of the train, she kept her balance showing a cat-like athleticism. Even as the floor beneath her wobbled, she was almost fixated in her position, still as an undisturbed pond.
After a few moments of stillness, she took a massive breath, sucking in the cold air for as long as possible. Her lungs expanded, filling to their limits within a couple of seconds, feeling as if they would pop if she kept breathing in. Then, she clenched her right hand into a fist, raising it inch by inch, tracing a graceful arc on an invisible canvas. The closed hand stretched as high as it could, muscles straining to reach as far as possible.
A defiant sneer broke out.
"Listen to this, Being X!" she shouted. Her voice boomed out, an entire division's worth of artillery firing at once. The thunderous sound seemed louder than what was possible for her frame.
"I promise you I'll never give in! Not now, not tomorrow, not in a million years! Even if you use everything at your disposal, as long as my free will remains, I promise you'll never know what it means to win!"
The train took another hard turn. She was thrown back against the hard wooden bench, unable to keep her footing against the force. But she didn't pause, taking only a single quick breath as she leaned against the wall.
"On the plains! On the hills! On the mountains! I won't give up!" Her throat burned as she stretched the limits of her vocal cords to scream louder and louder as if trying to drown out all the rest of the world. "In the sky! In the mud! In the cities! I'll keep fighting against whatever goddamn thing you throw against me!"
Suddenly, she coughed, hacking as her voice gave out like a snapped violin string. In a fit, she pounded her chest for a reprieve, desperate to not be denied her next words. Seconds of frenzied choking passed, then she was able to breathe, gasping for air. Her lungs burned, feeling as if she was swallowing a branding iron. But as long as her voice still worked, she didn't mind.
Wheezing, she stood. Still grasping her chest, she felt it rising and falling in rhythm with the soft scratching sound.
After what seemed like an eternity to recover, words escaped her lips.
"No matter what-" she coughed again, resting for a few seconds. She regretted being so loud earlier. "...Even if the entire world is against me… That's my promise, Being X." Her statement was quiet, the hoarse whispering of a sick man. "Because…"
Then, with a final effort, she curled chapped lips into a smile. The innocent grin of a kid daring someone to jump in the river. Her eyes were duller now, the fire gone from them. But, in the pools of blue, a speck of something indescribable twinkled inside, unnatural to those that knew her.
"I'll definitely win."