"Retired General Paul Cortez spoke today from the steps of the Mutant Affairs Bureau in Washington, to commemorate the International Day of Mourning for Victims of Cybernetics.
'When Allied forces stormed Moscow at the end of the Second Great War, they uncovered scenes of unbelievable atrocities. Bunkers full of vivisected bodies, left in unspeakable agony in pursuit of immortal, invincible soldiers. It is this same hubristic desire to cheat death that drives acolytes of Cybernetics to this day.
On this, the 20th anniversary of the defeat of CABAL, we must stay vigilant. We must shun those paths of progress that take us further from our shared humanity. We must remember that CABAL was an evil unleashed upon the world not by random chance or an act of God, but by the Brotherhood of Nod.'"
General Paul Cortez, February 2051
Subterranean Research Facility, Red Zone 7
[21/5/2056]
Prelate Kingsley awoke, as he had every other morning, on a flat slab of wood. The surface was uncomfortably hard against his back, but he shunned any concessions to comfort. That way led to decadence, and ignorance to the Prophet's wisdom.
His chambers were small, austerely decorated, but lit warmly by lights recessed into the floor. A simple mirror and basin stood in one corner. Kingsley rose from his cot, and crossed to the mirror, bare feet padding silently across the cold floor.
He picked up a razor which lay on the basin, and began his daily ritual of shaving his already bald head. The razor scraped against his scalp, shearing the few silver bristles that protruded through till the dome of his head was gleaming. He splashed a handful of cold water across his face, and began to dress. The simple shift of synthetic weave hung loosely over his form, concealing a well-sculpted physique, gone slightly to seed with age.
A silver scorpion-tail pendant hung from his neck on a chain, cold against his dark skin. Over the shift went layers of quilted black robes, and finally a metal chestpiece.
Beyond his quarters, a glass-walled corridor led through an arboretum, though not one occupied by purely terrestrial life. Twisted boughs belched greenish smog from swollen knots, filling the glass enclosure with a thick haze. Tall formations of green crystal wove through the curated forest like vines, catching the meagre illumination. Kingsley was awed, as always, by the unearthly beauty of the crystalline life, and its tenacious repurposing of mundane terrestrial matter for its own, unknowable purposes.
It would work similar miracles on his flock of the dispossessed and destitute.
The glass passage led to an airlock, a simple metal tube that delineated the Prelate's quarters from the industrial heart of the facility. Kingsley donned a respirator mask, and checked the straps were tightly fastened before passing through the hatch. The atmosphere within was suitable for those who had received the Prophet's blessings. Despite Kingsley's piety, he had not yet partaken of that ultimate benediction; the process of Divination still had many pitfalls. It was his duty to shepherd as many faithful as possible along that path before he took it himself.
Gas hissed into the chamber as the airlock cycled. The air took on a greenish tint as the atmosphere was replaced with one toxic to the non-divine.
The hatch to the interior of the bunker cycled open. It split into a cluster of smooth metal petals, which folded into the walls. Kingsley strode through the portal, the hem of his robes swishing around his ankles. Human acolytes dressed in an incongruent mix of shawls and environment suits turned to face him as he passed, bowing respectfully.
The bunker was a cross between a laboratory and an assembly line. Coiling tubes pumped fluorescent green liquid between vast vats, while robotic arms wheeled overhead, showering the factory floor with glowing sparks. A dark figure was silhouetted against a tank of glowing fluid. It turned to face Kingsley with a hiss of hydraulics and whirring servos.
Kingsley shivered as he came face to face with the clanking undead. Despite his commitment to the Prophet's vision, the sight of those pale, lifeless faces still unnerved him… It unlocked a primal fear in him, something the faithless mammalian part of his brain couldn't shake off.
"Prelate," it greeted him in a grating, mechanical voice. The corpse's eyes stared vacantly into the distance, while a camera mounted on its shoulder swivelled to fix Kingsley with an unblinking red gaze.
"GDI forces are closing in on the base," it said in a grating, electronic voice. "We risk discovery if they are not repelled."
Its jaw flapped open mechanically, like that of a puppet, which it was in a way. The Cyborgs in his service were little more than drones with no individual identity; all were animated by the will of LEGION, that AI of unknown origins which the Prophet had entrusted to execute his vision. It was the Voice of the LEGION which now spoke to him out of a dead man's lips.
Kingsley nodded, staring past the mechanical revenant's shoulder. It wasn't a breach of etiquette to avoid eye contact; LEGION had many other ways to observe him than this one drone's cameras. In a way, the entire facility was but one part of the AI's body.
The Cyborg was still awaiting his input.
"Dispatch a Savant to the surface; the infidels shall fall momentarily."
"Yes, Prelate." The clanking monstrosity turned on its heel, and stomped off in the direction of the elevator bay, where rows of Savants waited in their tubes, sedated and waiting to be propelled skyward.
Kingsley turned his attention to the vat of luminous liquid. Within its sparkling depths, a silhouette could be glimpsed. Its shape was vaguely humanoid, but with unnatural proportions. Its elongated limbs tapered into points, armoured in a chitinous shell. A respirator mask was strapped to its head, feeding oxygen to what remained of its human respiratory system.
The Brotherhood's experiments in forced evolution had yielded many miracles, not least of which was the mutated creature which floated before him. It possessed an indestructible hide, enhanced senses, and innate control over the Tiberium world. Unfortunately, the Savants' powers had come at a heavy cost to their faculties; they were all quite mad.
The Inner Circle thought it less than ideal that their new "perfect lifeform" needed to be flung onto the surface like a rabid dog, lest it turn back and bite its creators once the leash was off. They had intimated that the Prophet would be most pleased with whomever found a workaround for this unfortunate situation. Kingsley didn't have to think too hard on what was implied for the opposite.
The Prelate crossed to a console in front of the tank. He turned a series of dials. The flow of tranquilisers into the subject's body ceased, and the system began pumping stimulants to replace them. After a minute, the creature began to stir.
Kingsley toggled a switch set into the control panel.
"Can you hear me, my child?" his voice crackled out of speakers built into the tank. Slowly, the creature nodded. Kingsley didn't set much stock by it. The experiments usually began hopefully, before the inevitable descent into failure.
"Divination awaits you," he assured the Savant-to-be.
Next, Kingsley activated the neural receiver, a lump of circuitry implanted into the base of the skull. The device bypassed the connection of the creature's brain to its nervous system, and its head slumped forward, like a stringless puppet. Another switch activated a local node, running a neutered version of the same code as LEGION. It was isolated from the main network, to keep whatever affliction affected the Savants from spreading to the AI. It was a necessary precaution; summary execution was the kindest fate he could expect if he somehow bricked the Prophet's golden child.
"Node 1, can you hear me?" Kingsley addressed the digital mind.
A green light blinked on the console.
"Very well. Proceed with motility test."
The creature in the tank raised its arms mechanically, twisting them through a full range of motion in movements too graceful for mere biological control. Kingsley winced as the Savant's head swivelled through a 180 degree rotation. The green light blinked again, and the semi-biological puppet fell still.
Diagnostic displays showed that the AI was controlling its humanoid vessel with minimal reaction time lag or significant signal interference. Kingsley broadened the connection, and handed control to a second node, installed outside the base.
The creature in the tank began to scream, gnashing its atrophied jaws beneath the respirator. Its clawlike arm scythed through the liquid, severing a tangle of IV lines. Dark fluid spilled out of the cut tubes, mingling with the viscous solution. The Savant lashed out, flinging itself at the glass wall of its enclosure. A hairline crack appeared, and began to spread.
Kingsley slammed his palm down on a large button, and the flow of tranquilisers resumed. The Savant thrashed and struggled, clawing at the liquid it was immersed in like a drowning man. After a moment, the sedatives overcame its formidable metabolism, and it slumped to the bottom. Dark clouds swirled around its prone form.
"Node 2, report," Kingsley snapped at the cloned AI.
"We established control," it replied, in a voice softer than LEGION's. "The biological component was resistant to our inputs."
"That's not possible. The neural receiver was bypassing its brain stem. There was no physical connection from its head to the rest of its body."
"Our inputs were received, but the biological component was resistant." Kingsley got the impression that if the AI possessed a torso, it would have shrugged. The Prelate grunted, and severed the audio connection. He massaged his bare temples as he contemplated this most recent failure.
There it was again, that inescapable hurdle preventing them from perfecting this new form of life. The Savants seemed innately opposed to interaction with the outside world. It was hardly an ideal trait in a warrior, the necessity to be entombed and isolated beneath the Earth.
At first, the great minds of the Brotherhood had assumed it was something akin to an allergic reaction. After so long immersed in the womb-like conditions of a pure Tiberium environment, perhaps the Savants were unable to survive in more terrestrial conditions. Further experiments quickly proved this to be false. They were more than capable of acclimating to a changing environment, and retained their faculties so long as they were in storage. so it had to be something external that was affecting them.
Kingsley pulled up a display of the Savant's neurological activity during the test. A rainbow spectrum appeared on the screen, showing the movement of electrical sparks through its augmented nervous system. A steep cliff in the data marked the activation of the receiver. The appearance of a sharp-edged blue square wave showed the intrusion of Node 1's commands. Kingsley scrolled ahead in the readout, to the activation of Node 2. Here, the data grew messier. Peaks and waves emerged from the neatly-ordered base signal, seemingly at random.
"Node 2, display the transmitted control signals," The neat edges of the AI's digitised thoughts reappeared, overlaid over the chaotic spectrum. "Now, plot the difference." The display shifted, as the two waves cancelled out, leaving behind a trace record of background radiation.
Kingsley frowned. This signal was more ragged and random. It would be easy to put it down to the background hum of radiation that permeated the Tiberium-rich wastes, but it possessed some hallmarks of artificiality; odd repeated peaks that neatly lined up with LEGION's own neural patterns. It was almost like there was something broadcasting its thoughts to the universe at large, very faintly, or distantly.
While Kingsley was lost in contemplation, a young acolyte, Ruth, approached tentatively and bowed. Her robes fanned out on the concrete floor.
"Prelate, I'm sorry to intrude," she muttered. Kingsley waved his hand, gesturing for her to proceed.
"There are still some assets remaining at the farmhouse entrance. I thought it might be prudent to retrieve them before GDI arrives…"
Kingsley nodded his approval. "Be swift, child. We should prepare to leave, soon."
Ruth nodded, and rose. Her blonde hair spilled out from behind her transparent face shield. The Prelate frowned and turned his gaze back on the errant signal.
—
Kingsley was still contemplating the computer readout when a klaxon blared urgently through the workshop.
"GDI forces have entered the base," LEGION declared in an emotionless monotone. The gathered acolytes sprang into action instinctively, preparing to flee rather than fight. Every member of the Brotherhood was a warrior, if pressed, but they had a different duty; escape unseen, and deny the enemy valuable intelligence.
Kingsley was too long in the Prophet's service to feel panic at the announcement. Decades of subterfuge had long since inured him to that emotion. Instead, he felt invigorated by the adrenaline rush of impending action.
The acolytes set about the work of destroying sensitive materials, some by activating contingency measures on the computers, others much less delicately with the butts of rifles.
Kingsley sighed. So much work, lost. Still, better to make a small sacrifice than lose everything. His decades in the Prophet's service had taught him that bitter lesson many times.
He crossed the workshop to the tank in which the Savant floated, and began draining the gas from it. Its vaguely humanoid shape came into view through the murky fluid, and pressed a limb with three tentacle-like fingers against the glass.
"Your time is not now, my child… perhaps in another life." As the gas thinned enough for Kingsley to make out the features of the greying skin, the creature began thrashing, gasping for breath out of a toothless mouth. The Prelate drew a sidearm from his belt. A beam of red light lanced out, and pierced the creature's head. It slumped into its restraints, immobile.
The staccato report of gunfire rang out over the chaotic din. The acolytes faltered in their work, and turned as one to search out the source of the noise.
"The infidels assail us!" Kingsley proclaimed in a clear voice. "Do not let this distract you from your holy calling."
The acolytes hurriedly resumed their tasks.
"LEGION," he spoke to the room at large.
"Yes, Prelate?" The synthetic voice responded.
"Awaken your disciples."
—
Terrence was on edge. The mechanical rasp of machinery in what she was coming to think of as "the crypt" grated on her nerves. That incessant sound, coupled with the shifting mist that filled the chamber, made staying on guard for threats next to impossible. The aisles between the racks of hanging bodies were filled with soldiers who shuffled restlessly.
An arm brushed against her shoulder, and her whole body went rigid. The pale limb swung back in its arc, and Terrence relaxed her grip on her rifle.
"Gah," she exclaimed. "Need to get out of this place."
Shaking some of the tension out of her body, she pushed through the press of soldiers till she found the place where Commander Jackson hung.
"Lasky, how are you getting on?" she whispered to a soldier who stood beside the trapped officer.
"Good, sir," the Private replied, his hands overflowing with cables. "I think." He shrugged, and the cables jiggled. "The Engi keeps saying shit I can't understand."
The Platoon's Technical Officer stepped back from his work with a groan, and made to wipe his brow. His glove hit the visor of his helmet with a clunk.
"I've identified all the vital systems, and good news is, I should be able to isolate them without a total crash. We can run them off an external battery pack. Just need to run one down from the APCs."
Terrence nodded. "Good work." The Engineer drew closer and spoke in a low voice.
"Just keep in mind, I'm a mechanic, not a doctor. I don't know what effect moving him in this state will be."
Terrence thought privately that a mechanic might be of more use to the commander in the state he was in.
"We don't have much choice. He's dead if we leave him here… or worse," she replied quietly. "Hold in there Commander; we'll have you out in a moment," she reassured him.
Jackson nodded feebly, and took a rattling breath.
Something metallic clanged behind Terrence, accompanied with the hiss of servos. Before she could turn to face it, her neck was caught in a vice-like grip. Her rifle fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor. She gasped for air as pneumatically powered arms pressed tighter. If not for the armour it might have severed her neck entirely.
Terrence grabbed at the limb around her neck. It was clammy, and stone cold even through her gloves.
A lightning fast blow struck her visor. The blow rocked her head against the back of her helmet. Stars burst behind her eyes, and she tasted blood. Through the dazzling haze she saw a fist beating mechanically against her visor.
The sounds of similar struggles were everywhere. Shouts and gunshots rang out, echoing horribly off the concrete floor.
Black fog was growing at the corners of Terrence's vision. Each breath was a gasping agony. She tried to pry the corpse's arm away, but its grip was like iron. Her fingers fumbled weakly with the cold flesh.
Terrence's arm felt like it was encased in an iron glove. Keeping it elevated was growing harder by the second. She let it fall to her side, where it brushed against the handle of her sidearm. She unlatched the weapon from its holster with fumbling fingers.
She brought the pistol up, gritting her teeth against the fire burning in her arms. The muzzle quivered beside her helmet. Raising it any higher felt as impossible as flying.
Fuck it.
Terrence pulled the trigger. Even through the composite armour, the blast was deafening.
The cyborg's grip slackened. Black fluid gushed over her gloves. Terrence took a gasping breath, and shoved her free hand through the gap. With the added breathing room, she was able to lift her sidearm higher. She pointed it in the rough direction of where she thought her assailant's head might be, and let off a string of shots. The grip around her neck slackened, and she was able to force her way free.
She darted forward, and spun to face her attacker. The corpse was thrashing, trying to grab at her as it swung in its harness. She realised with disgust that its pale body ended at the waist. A cluster of cables and entrails swung from the abdomen.
One shot between its eyes, and it fell limp.
A wet thump caught her ear. She turned, to see Lasky caught in the grip of another cyborg. His visor had been shattered, and the cyborg was robotically driving its fist into the red ruin of his face.
Viscous strands clung to its arm as it withdrew from the dark hole in the glass. It turned its pale, shaved head towards Terrence. Red lights gleamed in the shadowed sockets of its dead eyes.
Terrence emptied the rest of her clip into its head.
"Platoon, pull back!" she shouted over the radio. "Back to the basement tunnel!"
With oxygen flowing back to her brain, her faculties began to return. A second body was visible on the floor, shadowed beneath Lasky's limp form. He was wearing a hard hat over his mask, the orange plastic marked with blood and dust.
Terrence didn't need to check Lasky's body to know that he was dead. She put a hand on the engineer's neck, and was relieved to feel a pulse there.
"You alright?" she asked as she hauled the man to his feet.
"Yeah." He rapped on his hard hat. A shower of dust fell from it. "Sturdy stuff." When Terrence let go of him though, he staggered and fell. It was then she noticed the spur of jagged bone protruding from his thigh.
Terrence bent to scoop up her rifle, and slung it over her shoulder so she could support the engineer.
A small cluster of soldiers enclosed around her, some bloodied or covered in soot. They hobbled towards the tunnel entrance as one, an ungainly, khaki-clad tortoise bristling with rifles. Pale arms groped for them from the walls, and they were beaten back with rifle butts or bursts of gunfire.
Drenched with sweat and reeking of smoke, they spilled from the stone tunnel into the filthy basement. Terrence propped the engineer against the cinderblock wall, while the soldiers wrestled wooden crates and other debris into position as a crude barricade.
"Lask-" fuck! "Urdan, get a message to the Commander. Tell him we need a medic, and reinforcements!"
—
Vega stowed the scorpion-tail pendant into a pocket of his uniform, and rose to his feet. Amon was shaking his head in a mix of disbelief and anger.
"Fucking animals. How can anyone do that to another person?" He kicked the bullet-riddled corpse of the Nod acolyte. A soft thump reverberated through the steel-walled corridor.
"Cut it out!" Gallagher barked. "So it's Nod. They're fanatics, they've got no morals; that's old news. But we know what we're up against now. And if there's one thing we're good at, it's killing Noddies."
A shout went up from the assembled commandos. Vega nodded stoically.
"Eagle Team, Hunter One," Lieutenant Terrence's voice crackled over the radio. "We have hostile contact… many wounded. The cyborgs are awake - all of them! Falling back to the tunnel entrance… on your own. I'm sorry."
Vega gritted his teeth. Terrence's goddamn bleeding heart had drawn them into this labyrinth, and now that the shit had hit the fan, she was leaving them in the lurch. So be it. This was what he did best; fight for his life with his back against the wall.
"Alright, you've heard the news," Captain Gallagher announced in her best "rousing speech" voice. "Our fallback route is cut off, which means the only way out is through." A grin split her face, visible through her visor. It was an almost feral expression. The other commandos stomped, whooped, slapped their chests in response.
Vega palmed his MMDS, and cracked the back of the weapon open. There was one white phosphorous micro missile inside the drum magazine, and three of the tank-buster shells. He still had three magazines of automatic railgun rounds on his person, but the weapon would churn through them in moments of sustained fire. If it came down to the wire, his fists alone in powered armour could do significant damage to both flesh and metal.
He snapped the MMDS back together, and exhaled, steeling himself.
"Eagle 2," Gallagher addressed Amon. "You're on point. Get ready to breach on my mark."
"Aye aye sir." Amon took up a position near the door which led deeper into the facility. It was a metal construction of interlocking leaves, similar to a space station's airlock, but with the dark beauty common to the Brotherhood's architecture. He removed a blocky device from a pouch on his thigh, tore the cover off an adhesive strip on its back, and slapped it against the door.
Vega positioned himself a few feet behind Amon's left shoulder. The others mirrored his motion, creating an arrowhead formation. Gallagher tapped Amon on the back, and began counting down.
"Three, two, mark!"
The charge ignited. In an instant, white-hot metal was propelled through the hatch, burning a ragged hole in its overlapping leaves. A whoosh of compressed gas exploded outward, as the high-pressure atmosphere within equalised with that of the corridor. Vega was pushed back by the buffeting airstream. He felt his thrusters click on automatically, countering the force with jets of hot gas. A metal panel tore itself free, whipping through the air. It crashed into his shoulder, and rebounded off the armoured pauldron.
"Advance!"
Vega shouldered his way through the battered hatch, assisted by his thrusters. Metal peeled away under the force of his charge.
The breaching charge had carved a trail of destruction through the room beyond. Pieces of what might have been manufacturing equipment lay wrecked and sparking. A large glass tank had shattered, spilling viscous green liquid over a debris-strewn floor.
Vega had barely had a chance to take in the lay of the land when a burst of gunfire raked across his chest. He staggered back. Each of the rounds felt like a hammer blow through his armour. Ghostly lines appeared on his Heads Up Display, marking the trajectory of the rounds. He raised his weapon and fired off a burst in answer. A scream and the thud of a falling body told him the bullets had found their mark.
He caught a glimpse of black coattails whipping through a doorway on the far side of the chamber. Most of the Brotherhood acolytes seemed to be fleeing, but a handful had taken up arms and were taking potshots from behind overturned scientific equipment. Vega had drawn a bead on the nearest when he noticed a pair of imposing figures standing at the far wall of the chamber. They were little more than jagged-edged silhouettes against the sickly green glow of the bubbling liquid. One raised its arm, pointing at him. The limb ended in a long, metal cylinder, fused to the flesh.
"Contact!"
A violently red laser beam sizzled through the air beside Vega's head. He swore, and threw himself into the shadow of an overturned metal bench. A second beam scythed across the barricade. The metal glowed cherry red in its wake.
Vega flicked a switch, and the drum of micro missiles emerged from the MMDS. He set them to heat-seeking mode, then thought better of it. The hottest thing in the lab was probably the table right beside him. He instead armed the missile's delayed fuse, and lobbed it on a ballistic arc over the bench. There was a sharp crack as the dart detonated, igniting its pyrotechnic payload.
Vega vaulted over the bench after it, and came face to face with a nightmare.
A human corpse was walking towards him, wreathed in white flames. Its skull was a charred mask, with red lights staring out from its black sockets. Cables and pipes riddled its body, linking the organic components to the mechanical without regard for aesthetics or anatomy. It walked, despite the conflagration engulfing it, with slow, deliberate strides, on metal claws that had been clumsily grafted onto its legs. It stepped over a robe-clad body, which caught fire as the flaming cyborg passed.
At the end of its arm was a black-barrelled weapon that looked like it should be mounted on a small tank, and seemed to be fused to the flesh. The cyborg levelled the weapon at him. On instinct, Vega matched the motion, and fired. Bullets bit into the metal casing, and cut a cable free of its mount. The black tube went whipping through the air like a cut snake, spewing high-pressure fluid.
The cyborg raised its arm again, and swung the useless lump of metal like a club, in a vicious swipe aimed at Vega's head. Vega threw his arm up to catch the blow. Metal met ceramic armour with a clang. A sharp spike of pain shot through his forearm as it buckled under the force of machine strength. He gasped in pain, and backpedalled, stepping over debris and fallen bodies as he tried to put some breathing room between himself and the murderous cyborg. He squeezed off another burst, but the mechanical horror kept stomping forward, unperturbed by the rounds peppering its armour plating.
This thing just won't go down.
Vega's heel hit something solid. He was backed up against a large transparent tank of liquid. Growing increasingly desperate, Vega switched to tank-busting rounds. Conducting rails emerged from the flanks of the weapon, jutting forward like twin bayonets. Electric arcs crackled between them. An ear-splitting crack accompanied the flash of a projectile being accelerated to many times the speed of sound. The shell punched a fist-sized hole through the cyborg's torso.
The ragged wound revealed a tangle of wires and flesh. The shell, having penetrated both with ease, shot through to the other side and exploded against the far wall. The cyborg took a faltering step, then toppled, oily smoke rising from its ruined chest.
Vega took a deep breath, and let the red haze of combat abate. The sounds of the surrounding melee died out as the RAID team made quick work of the Brotherhood stalwarts. A mechanical cry akin to radio static told him the other of the cyborg vanguards had been taken down.
"Status?" Gallagher barked tersely. Her voice sounded strained, out of breath.
"Clear," each of the commandos replied in turn.
Vega heard something unnerving, barely audible over the crackling of the burning corpses. It was a series of sharp cracks, like the splitting of an ice shelf. He cast around for the source of the sound. The tank of viscous liquid against the far wall was marked with a web of rapidly spreading fractures. The glass's curved surface was bulging as it struggled to contain the hundreds of litres within.
The vessel must have been struck by a stray round, or the shockwave from an exploding shell.
"Captain, we've got a situation," Vega reported.
Gallagher hurried to his side.
"Woah. That's not good," she remarked in an undertone. "No idea what's in those tanks, or what happens when they blow. We gotta find an exit, quick!"
Vega turned to survey the room. The dark architecture of the Brotherhood was oppressive and confounding, and made finding landmarks difficult. He dashed to the far side of the room, keeping a healthy distance from the cracking tank. The doorway that the survivors had fled through was sealed shut. On closer inspection, it seemed like the door had been welded to the frame. He kicked the door in frustration. The toe of his boot left a clear indent in the metal, and a throbbing pain in his foot.
"This way's a dead end!" he shouted.
"No matter, I think I've got-"
Whatever Gallagher might have had, he never heard. A loud crash rang out as the glass tank gave way, followed by an almighty roar of rushing liquid. The sickly green torrent flooded the chamber in an instant, sloshing off the walls and sweeping detritus away in its path.
The roiling wavefront washed over the gutted cyborg, still flickering with phosphorus flames. Rather than being extinguished by the deluge, they flared up into a column of brilliant white light.
The inside of Vega's helmet rang with temperate and overpressure alarms. An immense force hit him in the chest, and flung him across the room. He struck the wall with a sickening crack.
—
A clutch of black-robed figures hurried down a claustrophobic hallway, lit by the dull red glow of emergency lighting.
Kingsley shielded his head from a shower of sparks as bullets ricocheted off the doorframe. A press of a button sealed the portal between him and the intruders. A cord of high-temperature reactants hidden in the frame lit, and welded the door permanently shut in a blaze of liquid fire.
Thuds and bangs from the far side suggested the intruders were bringing heavier weaponry to bear on the obstacle. A small piece of metal broke away from the hatch and went spinning across the room. That weld wouldn't hold for long.
The procession dashed down a flight of stairs cut into the bare rock. The passage was narrow, and pressed claustrophobically around their shoulders. After several twists and switchbacks, it levelled out, and opened onto a flat shelf of rock which jutted out over a wide, natural cavern. A faint green illumination danced over the sharp edges of the rocks. As he approached the ledge, the Prelate felt a shiver run up his spine. They stood over a vast reservoir of Liquid Tiberium. The shimmering substance lapped at the rough walls of the cave.
Hanging over the pit was a thin sliver of metal; a rail. A hunched, beetle-like shape sat atop the rail, waiting to carry them to safety.
In the Brotherhood's technological heyday, a subterranean network of tunnels had linked their hidden strongholds across the globe. They allowed the faithful to manoeuvre unseen by the skyborne eyes of their foes, and to beat a swift retreat if discovered. The ravages of time and Tiberium had laid waste to most of the infrastructure, but a few small corners of the mighty network still survived.
A shiver passed through the Earth. The pool of liquid Tiberium rippled, causing its light to shimmer. A few viscous drops reached the ledge they stood on.
"Hurry," Kingsley hissed to his flock. "We do not have long."
They quickly piled into the waiting vehicle. Once the last was aboard, the metal shell slid shut behind them, enclosing the fleeing acolytes in darkness. The train rumbled and tore away from the ledge without any of them commanding it.
LEGION. Always watching.
Dull red illumination slowly seeped into the enclosed box through angular slits in the armoured walls. Kingsley caught glimpses of his underlings' faces. Some were set in fierce determination. Most were scared, taking shallow breaths. Sweat glinted on their foreheads in the low light. The Prelate moved through the press of people, huddling together like cattle, to the front of the traincar.
"LEGION, show me what lies ahead."
Several of the armoured plates became translucent. Pillars of rock and concrete support struts whipped by at a dizzying pace. Flashes of green crossed the window whenever the train passed a Tiberium deposit.
Another tremor shook the cavern. Rocks clattered off the roof of the vehicle, and tumbled past the window as grey blurs.
What the hell has happened up there?
The train shot into another cavern, over a vast, bubbling lake of Liquid Tiberium. A series of sharp jolts shook the chamber, whipping the reservoir into a raging tempest. As Kingsley looked on in horror, a fissure burst through the rocks overhead with a blast of escaping gases. Boulder-sized fragments fell into the pool below, shaking the cavern with each blow.
The yawning crack disgorged a river of liquid fire. The instant the blazing mixture touched the surface of the Tiberium lake, it flash-vaporised. A white hot cloud of volatiles bloomed over the volatile liquid. The expanding shockwave tore through the cavern, buckling the tracks directly ahead of them. The train jolted as it sped over the deformed rails. A few of the acolytes yelped, and grabbed onto any handholds they could find.
"LEGION, can we go any faster?" Kingsley yelled over the sharply increasing rumble. The train shook. He chose to interpret that as the AI's response.
"Prelate! Look out!"
Ahead, a concrete support pillar was teetering on its shattered foundations. The solid block loomed beside the track, casting its shadow over their only route of escape. At the speed it was going, the train should just clear the gap before it fell.
Another explosion rocked the cavern. Kingsley felt an arm clutch at his robes in terror. He shook the fearful acolyte off, and said a quick prayer to the Prophet, silently urging the train to go faster. With agonising slowness, the concrete pillar toppled. It carved through the slender line of the tracks, and shattered into a hundred fragments.
With a shriek of tortured metal, the train flew off the rails, and went hurtling into the ravine.
—
Vega woke in a haze of pain. Every part of his body ached like he'd been beaten with red hot metal rods. The front of his armour was blackened with soot, and pitted with a dozen shrapnel scars. An overlapping chorus of alerts blared in his ears. He quelled them without looking, and gingerly rose to his feet, dislodging concrete fragments that had fallen onto his chest.
The chamber was in complete disarray. Twisted armatures of metal had been flung wildly by the explosion, and some even embedded in the walls. A dozen spot fires sputtered, spewing thick, oily smoke which gathered in a pall above his head. At the centre of the room, the cracked floor sloped down into a gaping pit. An unearthly radiance shone from its depths. Vega approached tentatively, wincing at every jolt of pain that shot through his legs.
The geiger counter in his suit began a frantic clicking as he neared the crater, and he backpedalled as fast as his injured leg would allow. A muffled boom sounded from deep beneath his feet, shaking the ruined concrete foundations. The light from the pit flared up, and a flurry of glowing green embers swirled into the room.
"Eagle 3 to all GDI forces, does anybody copy, over?"
Only static came in response.
Vega repeated his message as he paced around the ruined lab, growing increasingly despondent. Still no reply.
In the far corner of the chamber, a sliver of white was visible amidst the soot and rubble. Vega hobbled over to it, and was somewhat relieved to see the crumpled form of a GD-X environment suit buried beneath a girder. There was no way of determining the figure's identity behind their opaque visor, or even if they were still alive.
Vega wrapped his hands around the girder, and lifted. His legs screamed in agony, but he was able to shift the metal beam off the soldier's torso. He gripped under their armpits, and hauled the prone figure free of the rubble. Another tremor shook the room, and Vega staggered, and nearly dropped his helpless comrade.
A clang from somewhere behind caught his attention. He twisted around to look at the source. There was a row of curved hatches set into the wall. One seemed to have been blown open by the explosion, revealing a cylindrical shaft. He dragged the body towards the entrance, and looked up. There, at the top of the shaft, was a faint glimmer of daylight. His heart leaped, before the reality of the situation reasserted itself. He had slim chances of climbing to the top in this state, let alone bringing an unconscious body with him. There must be some other way to escape before the whole facility collapsed.
It was, for the most part, a bare metal tube like an elevator shaft. A control panel of red holographic light flickered near the entrance, displaying inscrutable symbols. Typical of Nod to prioritise aesthetics over functionality.
The room shook again, and the display flickered out momentarily. A deep rumble followed it, so low Vega felt it in his guts. A spout of flame jetted from the pit, accompanied by a shockwave that threw him back against the wall of the shaft. He staggered forward, and grabbed his prone squadmate around the chest. A roiling wavefront of glowing gas was roaring towards them.
Fuck it.
Vega punched the middle of the holographic display and hoped for the best.
A high-pitched whine joined the roaring, as the platform they rested on lurched into motion. The walls of the shaft raced by in a blur. They were picking up speed at an incredible rate. Vega felt the blood pounding in his extremities, as his vision darkened. The g-forces were immense, much higher than an orbital drop, and with much less protection.
That glimmer of sunlight was racing down to meet them, while hungry flames licked the underside of the accelerating platform. Vega kept a tight grip on his squadmate's armour.
They shot out of the tunnel entrance like a bullet, and into brilliant sunlight. In a second they were hundreds of feet above the ground. Hitting the turbulent air outside was like running straight into a brick wall. Vega felt the off-centre mass of the limp body shift, and he nearly lost his grip. A jet of flame shot from the cliffside, chasing after the tumbling figures.
The ground below them was billowing like a sheet of cloth. Boulders leaped on the unsteady surface. The cliffside they had just escaped burst apart in a spray of shrapnel. At the heart of the explosion was a white flare of light that obscured everything, accompanied by heat so strong that Vega felt it through his armour.
The flash faded, and a fireball rose up in its place, with a greenish tint at the edges. The fireball cooled, dispersing into a plume of black smoke that hung over the blighted fields of the red zone. A chain of eruptions ripped through the ground, each of them accompanied by a similar blast. The string of explosions raced past the horizon, disappearing into the haze of distance.
Vega's moment of freefall passed, and he plummeted downwards. He looked on in shock as a rain of fine particulates began to fall. The black dust accumulated on his visor, blinding him, and he felt that same radiant heat all over his body. His suit's jets activated automatically as the ground raced up to meet him. They puffed and sputter under the strain of the additional weight.
What the hell have we done?