Outside Białystok, Red Zone 1
[23/05/2056]
In a field of crystalline spires, a Witch lay in wait for her prey.
The glassy mass of scarring across her back and shoulders blended with the cracked and corrupted earth. Her breathing was slow enough that the motion was barely discernible. She felt the heat radiating from the crystal formations that cradle her body. It was a soothing warmth, like a sun-soaked rock. Her eyes watered as they neared the crystalline spurs, but she fought to keep them open and alert for movement.
A crustacean peeled itself away from the rock wall, and skittered down into a depression in the crystalline surface, where a small puddle of rainwater had pooled. The crab curled back up, tucking its limbs into its shell. The cracked, pale-blue colouration made it seem like just another part of the landscape.
The Witch waited for the crab to reveal itself again. Eventually it did, rainwater dripping off its carapace. The hunter let loose. A spring loaded spear shot from the weapon in her hands, and speared the creature right through its soft underbelly. She rose from her concealed position, and stretched to relieve the tightness in her limbs. With a few tugs on the harpoon cord, the crab was retrieved and tossed into the sack over the hunter's shoulder, where it jostled with the bodies of its brethren.
She climbed out of the burrow she had made for herself, adjusted the bag containing the hunt's yield, and set off in the direction of her village. A crack of thunder split the sky, accompanied by a flash of yellow light that cast harsh shadows over the craggy landscape. Ariane smiled to herself; an Ion Storm in the air always made her feel alive.
An alien war-machine stood over the entrance to the village. Its pincer-like legs framed the gateway, embedded in a rough construction of scavenged metal, appropriately imposing with sharp edges and scorch marks. The cyclopean gaze of the hollowed-out husk was intended as an ominous warning for intruders, but to Ariane it meant home. She hefted her haul a little higher on her shoulder, and clambered up the hill towards the gate.
Flanking the entrance were two guards. The men were pure muscle, a pair of seven foot tall twins who fancied themselves uber-menches. Each carried an automatic railgun torn from a GDI watchtower, and was adorned in a mix of ill-gotten armour and clothing. In pride of place on each shoulder was a pauldron of glossy blue-grey material, a piece of Visitor carapace, textured with fractal patterns that gave it a resemblance to a foot-wide seashell.
"Hey there lil thing," the nearest man called out as he noticed her approach. "Whatcha got in that bag?" Ariane feigned deafness, and moved to brush past the twins, but the man who had spoken held out his arm to block her passage. The tree-trunk thick limb was level with her face. Ariane stared up at the towering figure, and fought to keep her expression neutral. They locked eyes, and Ariane choked down a wave of disgust at the smug sneer on the man's face.
"C'mon, don't piss her off," the other twin cut in, laying a hand on his brother's arm. "You don't want her to put a hex on you," he muttered into his companion's ear.. The antagonistic twin was unmoved for a moment, but with a flash of frustration, he dropped his arm and pulled away.
"Scurry on, Witch," he spat. Ariane dropped her gaze to the muddy ground, and dashed beneath the archway of Alien alloys.
The settlement was little more than an amalgamation of scrap and old Port-a-Shacks. Their metal hulls were stained and rusted from years spent in the harsh conditions of the Red Zones. An old lady sat huddled under a shawl out front of one of these simple dwellings She raised her head as Ariane approached, and gave a toothless smile.
"Hey Granny," Ariane greeted the old crone. Despite the shawl draped around the old woman's body, the misshapen shapes of crystalline growths were visible across her shoulders and arms. Granny's irises were shot through with green, and the veins in the sclera ran with a deep verdant hue.
"Ah, dearie," the old woman replied. "Did you bring me anything from the hunt?" Ariane smiled, and fished one of the crabs out of her satchel. She dropped the slightly mangled crustacean into Granny's waiting hands.
"Oh, but this is tiny!" the crone protested. "Back when I was a girl, you could find fiends as big as a horse out in the fields!"
Ariane smiled placatingly. "Of course, Granny," she laid a hand on the old woman's shoulder as she passed into the dwelling. The chamber was cosy and warm, if a little rugged. Rolls of threadbare cloth had been draped over the walls to conceal the metal plating. A chemical lantern hanging from the apex of the Port-a-Shack cast an austere glow into the dingy corners of the room.
Behind one of these veils, a steaming pot of stew bubbled atop an electric stove. A stooped man in the patched-up remnants of an environment suit tended to it, humming to himself as he worked. Ariane tapped him on the shoulder as she entered the rudimentary kitchen, and he graced her with a yellowish smile. Ariane dropped the hefty sack of crustaceans onto the bench with a muffled crunch, and set to work shelling her haul. Their white meat soon joined the medley of tuberous vegetables already stewing in the dented pot.
As the stew thickened, a trickle of people began to mill about the entrance of the shack, drawn in by the wafting aromas. Ariane heard Granny's irate voice issuing from the doorway. "Wait your turn, I'm sitting here!" the old woman protested.
Ariane spooned out a bowl to mollify the old crone, then left the hut with her own serving. She pushed past the growing crowd, and found an empty patch of ground down near the scrap wall. She ate only a small portion of the stew - not to sate her hunger, but to allay the suspicions of those who already thought her unnatural. She found she didn't have to eat nearly as much as the others in her camp, and could even go days on an empty stomach before tiring.
If the twins found that unsettling, Ariane was glad she'd never divulged the stranger things she sometimes experienced out in the deepest parts of the Tiberium wastes.
On occasion she had wandered far out into the wastes, in hunt of stranger prey. Out beyond where the last signs of human dominion over the earth had been thoroughly obliterated by the inexorable creep of Tiberium, crystal edifices that dwarfed skyscrapers could be found. Ariane found when she pressed her palms to those gargantuan monoliths, they sang to her. In that unearthly song was meaning. In those moments, she was lost to herself; floating, in an endless sea of unknowable darkness and depth.
As Ariane sat alone, idling picking at the bowl of stew, the wind rose into a plaintive howl. Its cold fingers caressed her ear, and whipped her hair into a tangled mane around her head. It seemed that they carried whispers from far away.
Ariane watched as the perpetually grey sky darkened. A dark mass of thunderheads was growing, on the horizon over above the scrap wall, pointing at the hills beyond the town like a colossal finger.
A lance of lightning crackled from its tip, and arced across the turbulent sky. The white lines of its aftermath seared themselves into her retinas. As she turned her head, they smeared across her vision, and were distorted into strange and shifting shapes, like oil on water. Thunder rolled over the hills, pounding like artillery. Fresh blooms of light burst across Ariane's mind's eye, as her consciousness was carried away.
A man she didn't know was trapped at the bottom of a muddy crater. He was enclosed on all sides by foes he couldn't see. Ariane could see fear in the man's brown eyes, but also a resolute strength.
A shadowy spectre stepped down the slick wall of the crater. Its motions were delicate and precise, like a spider picking its way along a strand of web. Long, spindly arms tipped with pincers extended from its body, and groped towards the unknown man, enclosing him. Ariane reached out a hand in panic, as if by stretching her arm far enough she could bridge the impossible distance between vision and reality.
Her outstretched fingers were silhouetted by a flash from the tortured sky. Ariane drew back in shock. A lightning bolt had struck a hill directly in line with where her hand was pointing. The crack of thunder was followed by a shout; loud, and tangible, not a phantom carried on the wind.
Ariane's breath caught in her chest. She leaped to her feet, and stumbled down the hill to the village gates.
"Oi, where you going, sweetheart?" one of the twins called after her as she tore past him. She paid him no mind.
Her flying feet carried her along the muddy trail that lead into the foothills around the village. A trickle of smoke was snaking its way into the grey sky from the top of the ridge. Ariane crested the top of the ridge, and came across a very peculiar sight.
A blackened tangle of military equipment was smoking in the middle of a crater, between three covered lorries. A loose ring of armed soldiers faced off around it. Half were armoured in sleek black chitin. The others were an un-uniformed mass of guerillas in pilfered fatigues. Several figures lay bleeding or dead in the mud.
The survivors turned to face her in unison. With a pang, Ariane recognised the same man she had seen in her vision. His dark brown curls framed a high forehead. He wasn't bad looking, she thought, but his eyes regarded her with cold suspicion from behind a plastic faceshield.
"Hello, outlander," she greeted him mildly as she slid down the slope, coming to rest beside an armoured, insectoid figure.
"Brother Stefan," she said. The masked Black Hand operative inclined his head in greeting.
"Dzien dobry, Ariane," he replied, voice heavy with distortion. "What are you doing out here? A little late for hunting, no?" He indicated the leaden sky.
Ariane looked at the ragged circle of people gathered around the crater. While no weapons were raised, several of the armed guerillas were regarding her with expressions between suspicion and outright contempt. It didn't seem like a full description of the vision that had brought her here would receive a warm welcome.
"I heard fighting," she said simply.
"Hm," Stefan grunted. Another people of thunder broke across the hills behind him.
"We should move to shelter," one of the Shadows advised from the top of the ridge. "The storm will be on us soon."
The curly-haired man turned to Stefan. "Is your base nearby?"
The Black Hand regarded him for a moment, inscrutable behind his opaque visor. Ariane could see a tension in his shoulders, and the twitch of the fingers that rested on his sidearm. Clearly these two factions still distrusted each other. Eventually Stefan shook his head.
"We don't have room for so many extra bodies. You will need to shelter in your vehicles."
Ariane considered the three vehicles parked nearby. They were sturdy and imposing, but the tray beds were open to the elements. The tarps that covered them were already rippling and snapping in the stiff breeze.
"The village I come from is nearby," she spoke up. "It will be tight, but I think we can find room."
Stefan stepped towards her, and lowered his masked head so it was beside her ear.
"Ariane, some of these people came here to kill you." He spoke softly. Without the digital distortion, he sounded young, and uncertain.
"But they haven't," she replied defiantly. Stefan shrugged, as if to say I wash my hands of this.
"We will come to meet you in the morning," he informed the ragged militia. Without another word, he and the masked warriors rippled into invisibility. Sprays of dust marked their ascent out of the crater.
"You can park outside the gates," Ariane told the man who appeared to be the group's leader. "It's not far from here. We'll find some space in the storerooms for you to sleep." He nodded his thanks, and set about organising his followers.
As the guerillas loaded up their vehicles, Ariane stared at one of the bodies laying sprawled in the mud. He bore a red scorpion armband. The crimson fabric was stained by mud and blood.
"I thought raiders, perhaps…" Ariane mused to herself. The curly-haired man turned towards her, and fixed her with a quizzical look. "I'm surprised to see the Brotherhood fighting amongst itself, when there are so few of you left," she clarified.
"Call it a… doctrinal disagreement." He tugged at the strap of his face mask as he spoke. The back of his hand was spattered with dried, brown blood.
Ariane frowned at the body, and shook her head.
"What, do you disapprove of killing?" the man asked. Ariane shook her head.
"Of course not. But you shouldn't leave them on the surface out here," she replied.
"Why not?"
She fixed him with a cold stare.
"Because they'll come back for you."
