Chapter 17: Far Beyond Your Understanding
It was very cold outside. Luckily for him, he was insensitive to it.
It was mid-January, and Boston was blanketed in white. September traversed the suburban area en route to his next Event, which the mission outline on his MultiCell delineated as a Minor one. Three weeks have passed since the Council meeting with the Overseer, in which the existence of the Guardians was made known to the League of the Witnesses. Since that time, things have more or less returned to normal. He would observe Events to their specified outcome, and when he wasn't doing so, he would indulge his gustatory cravings or simply watch things from afar, sometimes with the company of his colleagues, but most of the time in solitude. The only thing that has changed was the instatement of a new Protocol. By the Gemini Protocol, so the Overseer had named it, the Witnesses were instructed to eliminate any Guardian that crossed their paths.
So far, he had encountered none.
September turned onto the next street. The Witnesses had an aversion for all that was unexpected and unforeseen; and yet, he could not find comfort in his habitual routine now that it had returned. The thought that the Guardians were out there, somewhere, conspiring against him and his colleagues preoccupied his thoughts. He didn't like what the Gemini Protocol required of him. If the Guardians were capable of many of the things he was, how was he to fight them? He didn't know, but he didn't think his newly upgraded Pulse Pistol model would be enough.
It was a gradual process, but September thought he began to understand why the Overseer had told them nothing of these matters from the onset. After all, the Overseer was always right, and he was also just, and wise as well. But despite this, and himself, he began to question the absolute, unwavering trust he had held in Mercedony for thousands of years, and he could not help but wonder.
What else was the Overseer hiding from them?
September stopped in his tracks. There was a strange presence in the air all of a sudden. Could it be one of them? With the presence growing stronger, September readied himself to draw his pistol, preparing for the worse.
The car turned the corner, and September localized the source of the disturbance in the back seat. He was surprised to see a young boy seated there. He wore a baseball cap, but the Witness could tell that he was bald, and the boy's naked brows and pale skin were plain enough to see. But he was even more taken aback when the child began to speak to him from the moving car. The child spoke not with words, but with broad intentions, projected into space and travelling through the telepathic bridge that he had initiated between himself and the Witness.
Hello.
Hello.
Who?
I am Mister Reed. What is your name, child?
Name? No name. What is Wall?
What wall?
I see Wall. You not see Wall?
I do not see it. Where is this wall of which you speak?
I want that place again. You take me?
Take you where?
Home.
The wordless conversation spanned all but a few seconds. Then, once the car began to distance itself from the Witness, the bridge weakened until it faded altogether, though the child continued to stare at him from the back despite this. September lingered on the sidewalk for a moment before resuming his path when the vehicle was farther down the street and the presence in the air had diminished entirely.
Yet another mystery had shown itself. When would it stop?
He had no doubt that the Overseer knew who the child was. After his impending Minor Event, he would report the incident to the Arbiter, who would then relay the development to the Overseer, as was protocol for any unusual sighting. From there, nothing was certain.
Doppelgangers, Pacts, and Invisible Walls.
Whatever the bigger picture was, September had the sense that it was far beyond his understanding.
No birds were chirping.
No dogs were barking.
No children were laughing, no babies were crying, no cars drove past.
And the wind was rarer than Astatine.
Following the explosion of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in 1986, the city of Pripyat had slowly decayed into a shell of its former self, becoming one of the more infamous ghost towns of the world. There was still some activity in the operational section of the Plant, and guided tours were offered to tourists around the Safe Zones, but the majority of the city was barren, lifeless.
The radioactivity had dropped by vast amounts over the twenty years since the accident, and in most parts of the city, the radiation levels had fallen below the threshold of fatality to human life; however, there were still some areas where all access was prohibited, as the radiation had not yet decreased to safe ranges, so no one dared entered the aptly-named Restricted Zones.
That is, all but seven.
Their current headquarters was an abandoned apartment complex in one of these Restricted Zones. The windows were blown out, the floor riddled with dust and debris, and the series of interconnected chambers that used to be separate apartments were unlit, save by the intermittent rays of light that seeped in through holes or cracks in the walls and windows or the small television set playing Tom and Jerry cartoons in one of the rooms on the fifth floor.
"Here, try this."
One of the three individuals seated in the center of the room exhaled a stream of smoke before passing the hose of the device to his comrade, who also drew a long breath from it.
"How is it?" asked one.
"It is... peculiar," said another. "What is this device, exactly?"
"The vendor said to me that it is known as a hookah," replied the first one.
They proceeded to repeat the strange word multiple times, analyzing the way it sounded and how it rolled off their tongues, before continuing to pass the pipe around the circle and observing how the smoke affected their bodies and minds.
They appeared as bald men, devoid of eyebrows. They wore sleek suits under their black longcoats. Each of these men – though many would say that to call them human would be a misnomer – have marked and adorned their bodies in some fashion as a representation of their individuality, either through tattoos or piercings or jewellery or other small details.
There were three other such individuals in the room. The fourth and fifth were playing cards, while the sixth was bent toward the television, eating jalapeno peppers as he spoke to the screen, giving the cat advice on how to capture the mouse and critiquing him when the feline rejected his propositions in favour of absurd and whimsical, though terribly inefficient strategies.
A few days ago, the seven of them were scattered around the globe, but they had since regrouped at their current decrepit abode. They have been passing the time with a variety of activities all morning, lying in wait for their seventh and final comrade.
This seventh individual arrived around noon. He appeared on the fifth storey without a noise, emerging upward through the floor as though a ghost before being pulled back down by gravity, landing on the solid floor beneath him. Unlike his comrades, this seventh man wore a trench-coat of leather, with silver buckles strapping it tightly on his torso. The others, noticing him, abandoned their activities and came to meet with him.
"Agent Sunday," said one of the Guardians.
The Guardians placed their right fists to their left shoulders in salute to the Warden, the Caretaker's second-in-command.
"Greetings, my brothers," said Sunday. "Come, there is much to discuss."
They gathered around a table, upon which Sunday placed the briefcase he was carrying.
"Agent Wednesday," said Sunday. "How was the assignment in Germany?"
"It was... a failure," explained Wednesday, looking down. "It turned out that the Witnesses were also interested in this series of events. I was able to alter the course of the demonstration so that Klein survived, and I was also able to alert Alfred Hoffman of the assassin they sent to kill Klein. However, they still managed to prevent the NSA from apprehending the Old World Society and Apotheosis."
Wednesday stared at the floor, shamed.
"No need to punish yourself unnecessarily, Wednesday," said Sunday. "This is not the first time the Witnesses have foiled us. Besides, the assignment was of minimal importance to the Will of our Father."
"Still, the Witnesses are always causing us trouble," noted Friday bitterly.
"Fear not, Friday," said Sunday. "We will soon have the advantage."
He opened the briefcase, revealing seven small, round objects. The Warden passed one to each of the other Guardians, before taking the last for himself. The Guardians began analyzing the devices, observing them both up close and from afar, shaking them and rotating them around.
"What are these?" asked one of them, wearing mismatched coloured lenses and nails painted in a varied palette.
"These, Agent Tuesday, are specialized compasses the Caretaker has created for us," explained Sunday. "Using the residual frequency Agent Thursday retrieved from John Mosley's body, they have been designed to hone in on the Beacon's own resonant frequency. So now, instead of waiting for the Overseer to send it out in another eleven years, we can simply follow its trail and find out where he keeps it hidden."
Now knowing what the devices where, the Guardians held them properly, admiring their design.
"Listen carefully, my brothers," continued Sunday. "Before us lies the greatest challenge we have ever faced. With these compasses, locating the Beacon should be simple, but retrieving it for ourselves will be no easy task. The Overseer and his Witnesses will no doubt attempt to protect it from us to the maximum of their abilities. Confrontation is inevitable."
The Guardians looked at each other uneasily.
"But Sunday, how are we to oppose them?" asked Agent Monday, eyes concealed in aviators. "They were created from the Beacon. They are stronger than we are, and greater in number."
The Guardians have always harboured some fear and dislike for the Witnesses, who, unlike them, were born of a perfect source. From time to time, during their missions, they would spot one or two in the distance, and would conceal themselves from the view of the men in the suits and fedoras, not wanting to be seen; and even if they desired to confront them, the Law of Gold forbade it.
"But do they possess our resolve?" asked Sunday. "Or our discipline? Or the strength of our unity? We may be outnumbered and outmatched, but so long as we remain together, we are invincible."
The Guardians stood taller, knowing their brother's words to be true.
"Thursday," started Tuesday, "did you not come face to face with some Witnesses during the Beacon's last surfacing period?"
They all turned to Agent Thursday, eager to hear what he had to say.
"...Yes," he began. "I did."
"Well, what were they like?" asked Saturday.
"They are similar to us in some ways," began Thursday. "And in other ways, they are different. I saw their faces; they did not seem so fearsome up close. We might possibly be able to stand our ground against them."
"In that case," said the Warden, "we should begin as soon as possible. As it stands, we can only spare three agents for this mission, as there must always be Guardians to carry out the Will of our Father at any given time. Agents Thursday, Wednesday, and Saturday; the Caretaker suspects that the Beacon was sent from Australasia, so you will begin your search in Coagula. It will take a few weeks to free your schedules, so you will tend to your regular duties for the time being. The rest will continue to carry out the Will. However, if you should see that your compasses detect the Beacon's signature, you have orders to abandon your mission and pursue its course to its end. Furthermore, the Caretaker has instated the Law of Aether and suspended the Law of Gold from this point forward. Still, we should refrain from recklessly engaging them. I suggest you seek alternative courses of action first in the event you encounter one of the Witnesses."
"And if we find none?" asked Monday.
"Then we strike."
The Guardians nodded. All seven of them then made their way to the nearest windows and, with great strength and speed, shot into the air like bullets from the apartment building, landing on the ground below or on other structures several meters away. They set out from Voskresenie in various directions, racing and leaping and Tunnelling their way out of the city. Their plans were slowly coming to fruition, and soon, they would stop the Overseer and his Witnesses from destroying both worlds once and for all. They already possessed the Alkahest; the apprehension of the Beacon was now only a matter of time.
For they were agents of the Brotherhood of the Guardians, and for the last several millennia they have been watching over all things, laying the foundations for the river of Time and guiding entire Histories on the path they were meant to travel.
As one, they could not fail.
A/N: Well, that's it for The Deceived.
Just so it's clear, the child September saw was the same one from 1.15 (September's scene is the end scene of 1.15). And I know there is a lot of new terminology thrown around in the Guardian half of the chapter, which may have made things confusing, but thankfully, both the Guardians and the Child will be getting POV chapters in PTS III. Hooray!
Speaking of PTS III, this revision of PTS I-II has sidetracked me a bit, but I only have a few chapters left to write for it. I can't make any promises, but it should be completed in the very near future.
So hang tight in the meantime. And again, feedback is always appreciated. Until next time, then.
Love and Light, folks! ;)