Chapter 3: Fatal Error
"Activate Event Protocol
Location Sector Beta-2 [50.11/08.682/03.57]
Time at 12:46:31 AM Local
[Priority code 3141]"
The clouds hung low over the Römerberg that day, pale and grey-stroked, with a pallid sun barely visible through the near-opaque blanket covering the sky. And while it was not too cold, humidity clung to the air, portending to eventual rainfall. Summer was all but dead at that point, having succumbed to its fate with a whimper rather than choosing to fight the oncoming autumn, and the people of Frankfurt cast disdainful glances at the greying skies that had plagued them since the transition to the equinox.
Activity was slowly dwindling now that noon had passed, but the square was still bumbling with the clamour of citizens and tourists alike as they went along their day. The few shops and boutiques, though emptier than they were but a half hour ago, still held a fair number of patrons. At one of the many tables at the square's outskirts sat a suited man, partially concealed by one of parasols that sheltered the outdoor tables of the coffee shop. From this particular vantage point, he could survey the plaza in its entirety, which is why he chose to sit there in the first place.
He had passed through the Römerberg many times before. The fifteenth-century houses that formed the eastern face of the square, the medieval-era church of St. Nicholas to his left, the Fountain of Justice that sat in the center of the plaza, upon which stood a stone Justitia, standing tall and proud with the scales of justice in her hand; all of them commonplace sights that became more endearing to him every time he saw them. And on the other side of the plaza, opposite of the coffee shop, was the Römer itself, the six hundred year-old namesake of the square. He was particularly fond of the building; its facade was appealing to his eyes. Its post-World War Two restoration was certainly a fine architectural work, but nothing could ever quite top the rustic charm of the original building.
He should know. After all, he was there when they first built it.
He sometimes yearned to go back to the day of its completion, to see the Römer in its prime once more. When he concentrated hard enough, he could discern a vague silhouette superimposed onto the building, echoes of a bygone era bouncing back to him through the annals of History. There were many such structures, many sights that he wished to revisit again, but alas, it was impossible for him to go back.
None of them could.
A waitress approached him, interrupting his observations.
''Kann ich Ihnen einen Kaffee, Herr?'' she asked.
''Nein, danke,'' he replied, declining her offer of coffee.
She then left, leaving March to his affairs.
The Witness peered through his specs for a second time, fact-checking all the acquired data and defining all the variables. With Frankfurt's proximity to the Central European Event Zone, it was a veritable spawning ground for significant Events, and was thus of great interest to the Witnesses. And the coming Event held more significance than the rest, thereby allotting it the status of a Major Event as opposed to a Minor one.
He checked his pocket watch one last time. The methods by which the humans measured time had always fascinated him. Being a Witness, he was far better acquainted with the continuous reality of time's flow than they were, but even so, he still admired the rhythmic and cyclical qualities of the systems they have devised. The hourglass in particular was one of his favourites. He once purchased one in 1472, and spent the afternoon of that day observing every single speck of sand as they fell one by one, only to flip the hourglass to restart the process anew when they had all fallen. He wondered what time-telling devices they would devise next.
He would have little time to think about it further. He swiftly replaced the watch in his pocket and raised his head to better observe the unfolding scene.
It had begun.
A trio of men made their entrance onto the plaza, darkly clothed and black-capped. They carried themselves casually, the middle one transporting a briefcase. Those they passed wondered who they could be or what their occupation was, only to set aside their theories as they continued along their own paths. The group came to a halt in the center of the square in front of the fountain, facing the Römer. March identified them as members of a group known as Apotheosis, one of many bio-terrorist cells that operated around the world. These three in particular have come to Frankfurt to host a demonstration of a bio-weapon for a potential client, which, in this case, was the Old World Society. March could discern their representative now, a bespectacled man who sat on a bench in the distance; he was smirking, and he glanced up periodically from the newspaper he was reading.
With the other two men standing guard with arms crossed behind their backs, the middle man – whom March identified as Julian Klein – set his briefcase down and opened it, removing a canister from inside. He then placed it upright on the ground, inputting a series of codes on a keypad embedded in its side. People continued to walk about in the meantime, staring with curiosity as they went to the men and their intriguing activities. But the men of Apotheosis paid no mind to them, standing with arms crossed behind their backs as Klein methodically modified the canister to its intended specifications. Once the setup was complete, he twisted the top, and the trio walked away as nonchalantly as they had arrived, leaving the imperceptible contents of the canister to leak into the atmosphere.
A middle aged man began to sweat, tugging on his collar. He then started to wheeze profusely and stumbled in his steps, kneeling down from the strain on his chest. A woman, noticing the man lurching forward with great difficulty, approached him with great concern.
But just as she was about to place her hand on his shoulder, he turned around, gazing with terrified eyes at his outstretched forearms, which were slowly bending down as though being reduced to gelatine-like consistency.
The woman screamed aloud, and the man's own pleading yells became nothing but a gurgling noise as his head deflated and his body slumped to the ground. With his bones reduced to a gelatinous slush, there was nothing to support his weight; only a deformed mass of skin, body tissue and organs remained.
Others now began to cough as well, stumbling forward as they too suffered the disintegration of their skeletal structures. The rest of the Römerberg was well aware of the situation at this point, and began fleeing the scene in a disorganized panic. But the bone-dissolving toxin was spreading fast, and managed to ensnare many innocent lives. March sat placid amidst the chaos, observing all possible outcomes, ensuring that those who were meant to die did, and that those who weren't fled the scene. The bespectacled man also made his exit, taking the carnage as his cue to disappear into the departing throng.
Julian Klein continued to push his way through the seemingly interminable fray. When he looked back, however, he saw one of his colleagues gasping for air, nose bleeding, while the other was already dead. Cursing, he turned around to flee with renewed haste, only to violently collide with another man, knocking them both to the ground. Klein got on his feet, slightly dazed. He began to press forward with a potential exit in sight when he was suddenly seized by a fit of coughing. Blood trickled from his lips, and he winced in pain, veins protruding on his face as he was forced to kneel from the effects of the bio-weapon.
With faltering strength, Klein fumbled to retrieve the syringe that he brought as a failsafe in case of potential contamination, the antidote which his comrades had failed to administer themselves with. March observed it all from where he sat, unmoving, satisfied with how smoothly the Event was unfolding. Klein's imminent death would mark the end of the Event, and March would then depart with another successful mission under his belt. Under his watchful eye, Klein removed a syringe from his coat, gripping it with a shaking arm, his entire body shuddering and wracking from the coughs. He wrestled with himself in a desperate attempt to bring the syringe to his neck, and his arm stayed at the same height, unable to bring it up any further.
But something was wrong.
The scales suddenly tipped in Klein's favour. Slowly, but steadily, the needle began moving closer and closer to his jugular. March was instantly alarmed, and doubled his focus to control the situation. But it felt as though something was interfering with him, an outside force competing with his perception; it was a jarring, unexpected sensation, and he fought to maintain supremacy over the Event's outcome. But March found himself quickly losing the struggle over Klein's fate, and in moments, it was too late. Summoning the last of his strength, Klein dug the syringe into his neck, and he bowed forward with ragged breaths as the antidote took effect. Shortly afterward, the Apotheosis member seized himself and fled the nearly empty scene, limping forward into one of the many alleys branching from the Römerberg.
March watched in shock as the repercussions of the Event's outcome instantly rippled outwards in space and time at the speed of light, changing the intended course of the future as decreed by the Directive and consequently giving rise to an Irregularity. The Witness stared at the body-littered square in transfixion, unable to comprehend how he could have allowed this to happen. Irregularities were occurrences in nature that normally arose due to factors outside the control of the Witnesses. There hasn't been many to date – thirty-three had occurred across both Sectors since the Witnesses first came to be – and they have all been relatively easy to correct.
The only Irregularity for which they were ever at fault was created by September's hand, when he caused Walter Bishop of Sector-1 from witnessing the successful stabilization of the cure that was to heal his son of his fatal condition. But through September's efforts, the situation was resolved, and the Boy managed to survive. March was in a less dire predicament, of course, as the Boy's survival far outweighed Klein's death in terms of significance, but in no way did that lessen the severity of his mistake.
The Witness continued to stare at the deserted scene. He first thought of the obvious consequences. Klein's survival was changing things in ways March already could not wholly predict. Being alive, his continued interaction with reality would undoubtedly have a huge impact on the impending weapons sale. Then he wondered how his fellow Witnesses would react. September's own mistake, though for the most part forgiven due to the measures he took to correct it, still remained in everyone's mind whenever they looked at him; March himself was ambivalent towards the Crépuscule Division Witness, but he knew others have been questioning his ability to perform ever since.
And then there was the Overseer. He would definitely be highly displeased, if not outright furious. There was nothing worse in his mind than having to suffer his scorn, an opinion shared by all of his fellow agents. It had only happened a few times, thankfully, mostly in beginning when their training was underway in the halls of Für Immer, but enduring his reproaches was almost as gruelling as some of the training they went through. And that was just training, where the stakes were not as high.
He remembered when September returned after the Overseer had summoned him in 1985, berating him for what he did, like a parent scolding their child. He was unusually silent and reserved for several days after the fact.
Unfortunately for March, he did not have September's experience in dealing with the humans, nor his masterful grasp of their craft, and it would be much more difficult to argue his case in front of the Overseer; he already began to dread the inevitable moment of his superior's return from his sojourn to Potential States.
Then his mind turned to the long-term repercussions. The outcome of the Event would change the course of the Silent War in ways that would not be readily obvious. The Witnesses were going to have a hard time trying to set things on their intended course once more, and the longer they took, the slimmer the probabilities of succeeding became. It was a disheartening prospect, made more acute knowing that his mishap was the cause.
He suddenly returned to his senses when he perceived the swirling form of the transparent gas fast approaching his current position. Swiftly, he gathered his belongings and retreated to the refuge of an adjoining alleyway, beyond the expanding reach of the thinning gas cloud. A few twists and turns later, he found himself on the streets of Frankfurt, which were slowly being emptied as people caught wind of the nearby incident. A squad of police cars whizzed pass, sirens ablaze. March remained neutral in all the commotion, but only outwardly so, for anxiety brewed within him, gnawing at his conscience.
He would have to report to the Arbiter. There wasn't much else he could do at that point; after all, the others were probably already aware of the Irregularity's occurrence. He figured that if he stepped forward and accepted responsibility for his actions instead of waiting for the others to approach him, then perhaps the consequences would be less dire, even if only marginally.
March stopped at an intersection. Something caught his attention at that moment; he saw a dark blot in the distance in the corner of his eye, moving along the Frankfurt Skyline. It went along so fast that he barely had time to register it, even with his superior temporal vision. And before he knew it, the shape was out of sight. It was odd occurrence, but he was forced to dismiss it, instead preparing himself to answer for his mistake, something that he most certainly did not look forward to.
He closed his eyes, braced for the trials ahead. And in the next second, he was gone, leaving but an inconspicuous whirlwind of dust at the street corner where he stood but a moment ago.
A/N: As it happens, I came up with the idea for a bone-dissolving substance several months before episode 3.12 aired (the one with the bone-dissolving compound), though when it did air, I decided to go with my idea anyway.
The majority of the overarching backstory and plot for the seven installments of the series were plotted out during the S2-S3 hiatus. You can thus imagine my surprise when they did do such an episode, and in S3-S4, Fringe would make a few more startling PTS parallels. So if there are events in future installments that seem eerily similar to what has happened in the show, you'll know why. XD
As a side note, the series was planned out before it was revealed that the Observers could time travel (as shown in 3.10), so I didn't factor such an ability in the Witnesses. And the Observers have never referred to themselves as "Observers" by the S2 finale, either, so I developed the term of the Witnesses.
This is all just in case you were wondering where all of this might have come from. ;)