-X- Introduction -X-
- Desolate Gail Redux
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 7-19-2004 / Checked on: 3-11-2005
- By: Zeronova
- Chapter 10: An angel and a devil over one shoulder

- Text: Third person, Narration
- Text: First person, Thoughts
- Text: Interjection, the Narrator

X- End Introduction -X-

Two soft hums lulled them in and out of the weave of Babylonian dreams, one from the Fuuraiken's consistent electric charge, and the other of the small motor constantly pulling the elevator platform up. They were all part of the electric circuit, so it didn't affect them, though any Gear who touched the poles and the ground, or a wall, or anything else, was instantly killed. Few jumped straight onto the bars, bypassing the whole dying part, simple laws of electricity being transmitted into their memory by Justice's programming, but where then killed by another part of the Fuurenken construction, its primary function, killing Gears. While it was electricity and followed the properties of all normal electricity, it was also made and conducted by magic, so Gears, in their magical being, were killed by the charge. All in all, Kiske had found a nice little trap for them to sit tight in until they reached the top. A few Gears crawled up the walls slowly, looking at the humans inside, sneering, growling, just slowly tracing the elevator, waiting until they got off.

"Makes it hard to sleep with one of them over your shoulder…" Quint mused slurredly, his words seeping out of his mouth like molasses. Quint had his back up against one of the four vertical poles, which slid underneath his back every second, but was smooth enough so he never got snagged on it or anything. Darton took a look over his shoulder, seeing the Gear climb slowly, one paw in front of the other, its talons digging through the cement like putty, its head cranked to keep a perfect look on Darton, relaying the information to Justice. "Yeah, I see you. And tell your leader guy that he can blow me." Darton said, spitting off of the elevator, hitting the Gear who didn't even seem to know or realize.

"Mr. Darton, what is it you are trying to accomplish?" Jaygus asked slowly, cranking his neck side-to-side, shaking off weariness. All of the soldiers were trying to sleep, but could not, for the things that had happened, remembering them, or just knowing that the Gears were there, the oncoming stop of the elevator was a deadline for them to have to get off, leave mother's womb and go fighting again. They needed sleep, they needed rest, but they could not.

"Dunno, I just hate Gears. Hate the goddamn pieces of shit, and I want Justice to know it, I want him to see me and know I said it to him. He cost me, all of us, the world so much...and I'll make him pay." There was an underlying hatred, a deeper sentiment, and a step lower into the deep end into Darton's words, which carried insurmountable weight that Jaygus felt undignified to find ones to keep up to par with them. An awkward silence fell upon both of them, none of the other soldiers finding words to keep up, or just too tired to try and talk, to take every second of rest like a God given gift.

"For all the hatred of Gears, why do you find yourself somehow distant from the rest of humanity, when you share a goal with us?" a different voice asked. Darton looked up, scanning the soldiers around him, to find two azure eyes burning through his own through a maze of blonde hair.

"Because as much as I hate Gears, I hate Seikishidan more." Darton quipped back.

"Why." Kiske shot back at him, not so much a question as an interrogation.

"...I don't need to tell you why, boy." Darton hesitated, turning his stare from Kiske back to the Gear. Kiske held back his rising anger, as usual with Darton, trying to keep a level face and demeanor, especially his voice.

"I am your commanding officer, and I am asking you why you hate my Seikishidan, the Holy Order, the army for humanity and God..."

"Kiske, you want to know why I don't like the Seikishidan? Why I can't stand you and this bunch of 'soldiers for God'? Fine, I'll tell you why..." Darton paused, taking a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. Jaygus, Kiske, and all of the other soldiers, while in and out of a slumber, were all listening with at least half an ear as best they could. Most of all, Kiske, but he tried not to care as much as the other soldiers, but they all could sense each other were listening, wanting to hear why. War stories always are good anyway; keep up the morale, talking to people. Keep some humanity in a war with none.

"I was in De La Morte, I was in Reintroduction, I was in Operation Hayday, I have been with the Seikishidan for more years than I want to remember. I have fought for humanity, killed Gears in the name of Kliff Undersn and Ky Kiske, and never once, have I fought for God. I've not gotten a rank promotion, after even surviving all of that, I've never found any thing besides a bed and a clean uniform in the mornings to the Seikishidan. This...this entire foundation, the army, the 'protection of humanity' is bullshit, when people like me are those who are the defenders of it, yet as more of me, there is no humanity to defend. And you, Ky Kiske, you seem to think there is." Darton's voice cracked a little in his small speech, emotion pouring from his generally sarcastic and stale demeanor, his words echoing through the darkness, the Gears near them now nothing but mere echoes of memory. They were all silent for a while, Darton's own personal conflicts catching up to him, trying to recompose himself, as the burden of those words bore down upon the rest.

"I...protect and fight for humanity, and I do so for God. And not entirely for God either, but for myself. For the children I see in the streets whenever I visit Paris, for the men and women who live in fear in the world of Gears, for those who are uncertain that life may deal them an unfair hand, and decide to kill them early. I fight to help them, to change the future for them, to kill Justice, serve justice to the thing that calls itself Justice. That is why." Ky said, his voice starting low, each word adding onto the decibels of the past, to his final words which echoed like profound words of a prophet.

Of both of the amazing speeches bestowed in the past minutes, no one else had any words to convey feelings, to say what they needed to, wanted to, or even thought might help the situation. Those previous weighted words crushed the others trying to veer up and stand amongst them, but were shoved down under the tide of the previous ones, sitting atop a perch of words with meaning, true and undeniable meaning, which was few and far in these times.

They all sat silent, listening to the hum of the motor, the hum of the Fuuraiken, lying on the ground, blade rubbing against the vertical beam, hilt grabbed by Ky as always, protective of it. The slow and methodical step of the few surrounding Gears, watching their prey move, but them unable to get near, to even do anything, just watch, yet they heard too. All of the conversations, screams, laughs, everything, was also relayed back to Justice.

Humans...so very interesting. I do enjoy seeing them quiver, seeing them at their absolute worst, it gives a surreal view, the reality of what they are, and to me, it only proves why I must further kill them. Pity, really, for once I dominate this Earth, there will be no more interesting things and events, no battles to dictate, no wars to fight, just my unadulterated rule over all. The simplicity of ruling, total and undeniable. I'll archive humanity in my memory, commit it to a small fragment, a disk, of which I shall never again use or see, but I must have it, I must be in possession of the last relic of humanity before I destroy it, and what better than to make it myself? Record humanity, from inception to destruction, because even as my enemy, and a foul, disgusting enemy, they are worthy of remembrance for their achievements, like me.

"Current Gear protocol, battalion 527C, at position at Lyon, France, coordinates: latitude, 45 degrees, 46 feet north, longitude 4 degrees, 50 feet east. Awaiting programming..." a female computer voice echoed, each syllable and word programmed by some ancient human long ago, echoed to whatever words typed, she'd say. Justice had affectionately named the voice Siren, both for its beautiful qualities, and for the more intrinsic value, that the voice told him everything so sweetly, that usually led to the deaths of more men, like a siren of lore, which would also be committed to a human anthology, once the war was complete. A slight twinge in Justice's mind, and the program controlling them was done. Search, seize, control, perimeter defense, subsidiary 36H, program code 9K. Simple, and they'd all do their routines, Siren calling out the orders to each and everyone individually from the master program, given by Justice. While Justice controlled which programs to execute, Siren made them go and work to the Gears, the Alpha Gear using a machine to get work done, ironically. New programs, tweaks to old ones, new battle tactics, changes in fighting styles for the Gears and Gear types, new ones were edited, created, and old ones removed everyday by Justice. It wasn't like there was anything else besides the war to attract his attention.

I write this section, and following ones on Justice all from hearsay. I never saw Justice, knew how he thought, knew what he did with all of the things he did, how he did it, though I do know the original plans and how they were made and laid out, so from there I conclude this literary attempt to show Justice for more than a villain of dastardly proportions. And, from infamous words known child to adult in the current times, we surmise Justice's own ideas, and thoughts. Though, finding out the person of Justice would be considered blasphemous, evil, and a vain attempt, being a Frederickist, they'd say. Although, I am an author, so that gives me temporary immunity. Do not be swayed by my writing though, Justice is a vile abomination, an evil one that plagued humanity for a hundred long years, killing billions of men, women, and children, all in pursuit of the genocide of humanity. But, such a thing could not be without thought and conscious, right? That's arguable, and that is what I wish to show by these monologues.

A small film of dust was lifted into the air, the gray pieces of history removing themselves from their holding place, removed and jostled, losing their place in where they belong, like Justice's goal of humanity's history. Shaking the history from itself, three small locks started to move. Twisting counter clockwise, they completed a full circle, then slowly split apart in halves, unlocking both of the sides of the cylindrical tube. Both sides shirked with a renewed vigor, years of sitting still and being dormant, slowly sliding down into the ground, revealing a cylindrical tube, nothing to be seen inside because of the dark, circulating fluid. Small tubes attached to the top, translucent and dust covered with years of sitting still, stirred to life, liquids flowing through the top, slowly emptying out of the dark tube, a noise other than the ticks of computers.

No light showed the inside of the tube, except for the slim glow off of the computers cascading a ghastly illumination on the instruments of death in the room, which were quite what one wouldn't think that instruments of death would be. The tubes snapped off of the top of the tube, which was a metal cap, as opposed to the stale fogginess of the cylinder. They each snapped off when most of the liquid was gone in the tube, in a clockwise manner, air whistling out of the pressurized chords as they fell limp from hanging in an arced fashion. Connected to instruments on the ceiling, with all sorts, they hung in darkness around each other, like watchers of a phenomenon, a faceless crowd. The tube slowly moved downward into the ground, a figure now visible, suspended like a puppet from more wires, extending from the metallic smaller cylinder affixed to the ceiling.

A low hum emitted as the tube found its haven in the ground, the small motor moving it slowly downward, the inch and a half of liquid left in the tube spilling out and over, the liquid a mixture of an oxygenated nitrogenous sap, that kept the host inside alive and fit, as well as keeping the biomechanical suit it used constantly in peak condition. As soon as it splashed out on the ground, it started to evaporate into the air, the liquid only sustainable in an airless environment with only itself. The suspended figure in the center seemed to steam himself, the residual liquid left in-between his joints and dripped off evaporating with the gaseous oxygen and nitrogen hitting it, instantly changing it into gas as well. Another low hum exited the top of the tube, which still held tubes attached to the suspended figure, the tubes that were attached to the top now hanging limply around. They each started to pop off with a pressurized shh. Tubes splashing off of the back of its neck, several on its back, a few down each arm, a few down each leg, regulating body fluids, heat, mechanical fluids, all of it to make sure that the inhabitant was in peak condition.

"Self-sustained life support now active." Siren said coolly. The figure was being suspended by one last tube, connected to the back of its neck, the body limp and hanging over itself, like meat on a hook. A slow tinge of the fingers, working its way up the arm, through the body, activity and life springing forth from the ominous thing, and then, the last tube popped off with great force, spraying the fluids all over like a jet, the pressure build up and weight too great for the hose. It slowly came to a stop, the computers monitoring the activity of it, and the figure fell to the ground, echoing a large bang on the steel floor as it hit. The body convulsed slightly, a bit of tranquil excitement behind each movement, popping joints into place, standing erect and stretching slowly, towering in the room.

There are quite a few interesting things about Justice that even I have no validity to back up. He was huge, towering, massive. Eight, maybe nine feet, it isn't known, but he was a giant among men, not only his height to be afraid of. While Justice was a Gear, he was special. Very special. They say Justice wasn't like the grunt Gears that fought on the battlefields everyday, because those were animals infused with human genes, or humans infused with excessive animal genes, magic the special variable to mix and contort them. Through restriction enzymes and DNA plasmids, magic completely avoided that and inserted these new DNA strands where they belonged, to take effect, not like plasmids being inserted anywhere to add to the junk DNA. It sorted, it mended, it was the thing that held DNA where it should be as it were, magic was everywhere and everything, and with that special infusion of more with the DNA, it did its own trick like any other controlled substance. Oil keeps friction down, but it can be set on fire. Water cools, water boils, water freezes. Magic does things too, and can be harnessed, though not as easy as making a fire like a boy scout.

Back to Justice's mystery though. Justice was said to be a special concoction, no one knows the original form, animal or human, but the infusion of a separate entity of genes, a completely different set, neither animal nor human, created Justice. A sentient, super powerful Gear. Like most Gears, he was strong, fast, and deadly, yet he could think, analyze, and above all, lead. Which goes back to the Frederick myth, that when he disappeared, he didn't die, but was one of the very first Gears ever. People say Frederick died, people say he still hides out, others say he is still in the world, trying to live a normal life like everyone else, but the rumor is that they used some of Frederick's genes to create a secondary sentient Gear, because then Frederick would be the only sentient, being the first, and Justice a slave, so they needed a way for Justice to be sentient. Or, maybe Justice was the first, and Frederick is dead. A lot of rumors and theories float about, but a lot of it is lost because of a war that has raged for a hundred years, no one cares anymore, they just want it over. And the final rumor I'll tell you now that Justice may not even be a male, but to me, I think he is. People say maybe he isn't, because a leader and a creator of all other Gears to lead and destroy is a motherly thing, I like to think that no sentient female could do the genocide that Justice has, but either way, Justice is an enemy, plain and simple.

The figure stood tall in the room, his head almost skidding the roof, but built specifically so he would not. Small rotational control stabilizer jets, lining his arms, legs, torso, all of it, controlled his movement of pitch, roll, and yaw. They by no means allowed him to fly, but to move around without touching the ground, a hover and a system function to reserve internal energy to the user. By using the intake valves on his shoulders, he could suck in air like a jet engine, then use it for the RCS jets, or for other, more fun things.

Justice was created as a Gear, but to make it the ultimate Gear in the race to Gear armies before the war, they wanted to make Justice special and unique, to stand up against hundreds of Gears on the battlefield for the country he served. So, they made the sentient Gear, above average to all other Gears, and then they fitted on a biomechanical suit to it, linking it to organs, tissues, a new skin for Justice. It was like giving a serial killer a machine gun and thirty blind folded people.

The suit was a type of plastic alloy, mixed with titanium and plastic, bendable yet unshatterable, could withstand a bullet, and yet could be molded. The mixture of the types of substances was, surprise, an offshoot of magical experimentation. The armor covered every major spot; ankle to shins, a knee cap, all around the femur, the waist, the torso, arms, elbows, head. There were a few unprotected spots, which were the joints. The ankle, back of the knee, upper leg joint, armpit, inside of the elbow, the neck, and others. A rubbery endoskin filled in the holes, like putty in the cracks. It breathed and moved, letting in oxygen, sweating out what Justice did, and provided more protection, though it definitely was a weak spot on the body, which is why between the layers was a metal mesh, microscopically connected, so nothing could get through except small molecules. It wasn't as strong or reliable as the primary white armor, but it gave protection for the weak spots. On top of each shoulder were two huge blue blocks, fitted in through the back, up and around the top of the shoulder, his head fitting between both of the structures. They opened up to suck in air, or expel it if the temperature exceeded operational bounds.

The two digital eyes that fit inside of the armored head each had digital infrared and thermal imaging, as well as 100x zoom. They gave a crystalline picture digitally to Justice, whose eyes were not even functional. The entire suit was built in and through Justice. When he thought about moving his arm, his arm moved. What the suit saw, he saw. He didn't have to see through some lenses or into a viewer, what those two camera eyes saw, was what his brain interpreted. Small sensors all over the body gave him radio frequency adaptation, temperature, humidity, and every other relevant, and some irrelevant measurements, to make sure that Justice was the ultimate in all of the fighting weapons for the countries who wanted one.

Open the door. Justice floated a few inches off of the ground, slowly approaching the door, covered in dust and years of stale silence. The receptors recognized the thought, sent a signal out of the receptors, and the door opened, dust settling off of it, falling to the ground like an awakened beast, falling back to sleep at the comfort of the ground. As the small jets on the legs of Justice passed over it, exiting, the dust was awakened fully into its monstrous roar, circulating around the room in a giant swirl, a typhoon of dust and soot. The small hallways were entirely made of steel, mathematically perfect, no life, no humanity in its architecture, just simplistic corridors, right angles, square halls. Justice, ironically, preferred something different, something with more life. While trying to destroy humanity, he was a connoisseur of more exotic things. Which is what you'll soon see.

Opening another door by the thought of it, he climbed out into the weathered steps of the ancient edifice. Sensors told him the air pressure was just short of 13 PSI, 79-percent nitrogen, 20-percent oxygen, 1-percent other hundreds of chemicals, with a humidity of 76-percent and a wind of 6 knots east. What measurements mean nothing to me, yet I cannot feel them. A price to pay for being a God. You can rule all, yet not indulge in your own creations, because you must see to them. The rocky hillside, littered with boulders and jagged stones, had been razed on one side, made way for a crude stairway, that had been cut with bad mason saws, and wasn't an architectural feat, yet served its purpose, and was also a structure to be seen and gasped upon, to what it symbolized and showed, especially with what it led too. A crimson carpet was centered on the stair set, holes in parts of it, fringed on the edges, burned in places, yet was complete from top to bottom in being a carpet, though a ragged, weather torn, aged one. Justice effortlessly floated up the steps, his subroutines taking him to his destination, which he had already set with his thoughts, and let his mind wander.

The Paris Headquarters...it seems Kiske is still alive, and heading up an elevator. This Gear following alongside, continue running routine 78Y, but give me video feed. Hmm, following. There's...seven of them. One, there in the green, the long brown hair in the front, he seems to be somehow different. He doesn't have the attire or delegation to God like the others do, nor the wholehearted conviction in Kiske. Interesting. There are few who are still sensible in your old ranks, Kliff. I wonder how your protégé handles though. He is thus far alive, good for sport, though I tire of this, and hope he would die. Kliff, you did not. You persisted on the battlefield, every time we fought, every time the cries of Gear and man alike, and yet, you persisted. Does your follower come up to snuff? I would assume so thus far, yet I aim to kill him, Kliff. Is he really your next of kin, so to speak, since I know what happened to your real next of kin? Ah, here we are.

The jets all over his body changed their upward aim, spewing out the vacuumed air they sucked in on the front, changing direction velocity, turning him about face, and lowering his torso and raising his legs, sitting slowly into the stone chair. A small clank echoed as he sat, the dark night, cloudy and ominous, not showing the full picture of where he sat. A small twinge of lightning in the distance lit it up briefly, the faces and bodies of the guardian Gears around him shone for a brief second. They were armored, muscled and agile Gears, outfitted with a large sword, and had a special DNA code, which Justice himself made in a period of boredom. They were his guards, if ever he needed them, they were the cream of the crop. They stood like statues, tip of the sword in the ground, both hands resting on the grip, looking forward, square ahead. They had stood like that for going on five years now, the replacement cycle of them six years. At five and a half years, he put in new production for that style of Gear, got a new platoon of them, the others dying off at their terminal life cycle, and replacing them.

All Gears have a life cycle. They do not eat, they do not sleep. Their magical creation uses magic itself to sustain their life, no sustenance needed, though it does wear off, the biological components of the body eventually breaking down from the malicious variable, and the Gears die, they can no longer function. Every model of Gear, every different type, has a life span, some different than others. Magic acts like a volatile drug to the human body, it kills after a long-term use, but works in the beginning. New Gears are produced from the dead, like zombies as I stated before in one of these introspects, but Justice uses many different types of animals, humans, and even has, by rumor I hear, DNA types where he creates the Gears, uses different types of insemination, test-tube creation, some without mothers, using an insect like breeding pool, and spawns Gears, all depending on the difference of the DNA used in each. More on that later.

Another lightning strike lit up the small building, columns letting in the invading light, the broken stones of thousands of years ago, the floor tread by millions of people, the hills used for life of many different races and creeds, animals and humans. The top of the facility was destroyed in the wars, before Justice claimed it his home, and the columns around the super-structure broken and shattered, all of different heights and magnitudes. It was somehow artistic, the difference in reality between each, all magnificently symbolic and artistic to Justice, who indulged in it, as much as he did the war, even though he still had to execute his plan, running on a hundred years old, to eliminate humanity. The Parthenon stood alone among the ranks of dead, accenting the night sky, standing home to Justice, ironic to the God whom it was supposed to represent.

"Sir, I can't sleep either," a lieutenant said. There was now only seven of the soldiers, as opposed to the total nine before the warehouse run, but God selected two to be removed from their group, if even God has a say in the ordeal. Kiske looked over at the soldier, who had one knee up, the other leg flat, his arm resting on his leg, and his head resting on his arm.

"We all need rest, as soon as the elevator gets to the top..." Ky said, trailing off, because they all knew what happened at the top, and they didn't want it to come. They feared the top, they'd have to get off, fight more, run more, leave and go out into the world from the safety of the elevator, and none of them wanted to move, wanted to fight, wanted to run anymore. They wanted it over. For that feeling of wanting it over, Kiske knew that he must end the war, for times like this.

"Sir, I can't...it's just...this war, I can't take it," the lieutenant said, voice trying to hide its deeper meaning. Well, here you go, Mr. Kiske. Your "proving your worth to your soldiers" clause you're always screwing with in your head. What are you going to do? What can you say? Kliff would know, why can't I decide? Better say something, Kiske. Be a leader, say something they'd look up to, or be truthful, try and console him, but show that you are a kid, are a normal person, and lose the leadership? Decisions...decisions...

"Soldier...as part of the Seikishidan...a warrior for God, we cannot..." Ky gulped, trying to find the right words. "We cannot show fear, disposition, or...weakness in the face of such adversaries. Where would David be if he had in front of the Goliath, where would Jesus be if he showed fear to his persecutors, where would humanity be if it cowered and showed weakness? Nowhere. God is behind us, He will give us power to continue on." Kiske said, his decision falling upon trying to say something that Kliff would be proud of, a real leaderesque line.

Eeeyrrrungh. The elevator slid to a stop at the top, the edges clanking along the rusted frame, and heavily thumping to a stop, the darkness of the Floor E greeting them in the equally secret warehouse.

"Here we go, soldiers. We've lived to fight more, and here we are for it. God protects those who fight for him, seize that opportunity, let's move!" Ky said in a slow, low voice rising to a patriotic scream, rousing the soldiers to awake and alertedness. Here we go again.

-X- Author's Notes –X-
- Zeronova's Notes:
- Here we are at the end of another chapter. And, at the 50k word marker. How it has come and gone, and I am impressed that I have kept my word on the Monday updates, and continue on DG. I hope you all too continue forward, because I will finish DG. This was more of a dramatic chapter, and personally, while harder to write, I like it more so than probably any other chapter thus far. Next Monday, next chapter.
-X- End Author's Notes –X-