-STAYSHADY-
Scott had come to a few conclusions after his experience with Abu Hassan. All men had a capacity for evil. No man could be truly good. To kill a helpless man, one who surrendered fleeing and unarmed, is an act of an evil man. It was an act of a man with no remorse. He was frightened by the ease he had killed. How easy it was to throw away his morals and become consumed by the violence. He realized that he too was monstrous. Even without his friend from the edge of the Void, he was capable of evil. In the moment, he had justified himself. These men are evil. The world does not need evil. But were they truly? Had they been extorted or intimidated into service? It had been unnecessary to kill the helpless men. They could have been imprisoned, exploited for intelligence but left alive. They were no threat to Scott at all. His justifications felt weaker and weaker. Scott thought he should feel shame and pain for the things he did, but he could only muster up a sense of numbness. In those moments he was nobody's hero. He was but a terrified, panicked animal. And maybe he always was an animal.
-STAYSHADY-
As Scott entered the Company headquarters, he was surprised at how ordinary the place appeared. The worn, yet viscously clean surfaces of the floors and the stench of bleach intermingling with pine sol wafting from the bathrooms brought him back to his early days in South Carolina, before he was qualified to fly. When his job could have been done by any unskilled laborer, probably even a child. The lights were harsh and the only people he had seen so far were some civilians working in an office and a soldier manning the front desk.
Scott was quickly introduced to a few of his future coworkers, all waiting to for the clock to strike 1700. They seemed mildly interested in him. Three males and one female. There was not much time to talk as they soon left and told him they'd be spending time together soon. That had been SPC Williams. Scott thought they seemed nice enough. He was marched to the Commander's suite, where Captain Gardner was plucking away at his computer.
"Sir, we've got our new guy here." Sergeant Reed called out to him from outside the commander's office.
Without looking up the Captain responded, "Send him in. You can go home if you're done, Perry." Scott was motioned to sit on a chair in front of the desk. "Welcome to Team Green Wings. I must say, we've been pretty excited to get a guy with your record."
"It's a pleasure to be here, sir."
"I just wanted to give you a little talk before we really get into your progression. Once that starts, you'll have almost no time to do anything else. But you'll have a great time, I'm sure." He gave himself a smirk as he turned back to his computer and started back with his work. He seemed distracted and slightly disturbed and he began speaking again after a long moment
"It is false to say that the power of a soldier comes from the quality of his equipment. The truth is that a man's power comes from his violence. His speed and brutality. A bullet is a bullet. A rifle just that: a tool. The difference in effectiveness comes from the strength of the soldier behind the weapon. How good of a shot is he? How far can he run? How well can he move under fire? How much shit can he carry? To what lengths will he go to destroy his enemy? But most importantly… how much is he willing to sacrifice? That's what this job is all about, you know. Sacrifice."
Scott understood. He did not sacrifice quite as much as most of his fellows. He never left a child, or a wife. He didn't think he knew that pain. His responsibilities lied almost entirely in his job, to himself and his fellows. Nobody else depended on him. His death would devastate his sister and his father, but they would move on. They did not truly need him. He believed his sacrifice was not quite as meaningful.
"But enough of that. We're gonna train you on some weapons and generally make sure you're not retarded. And we'll spend some time with our Combatives trainer. After a bit we'll start you on your Progression. You'll need a lot of individual training before we can send you out on mission or even on training with the rest of your team. I'll expect a perfect score on weapons qual and PT tests within 90 days. If you fail to do that by yourself, I doubt you'll like the way I'll motivate you."
That would be quite troublesome. Extra physical conditioning. He'd have to cut his run time by almost an entire minute and spend a lot of time just working on his fitness.
"We've found a trainer for you. He's got quite a bit of experience in training soldiers. He's a normie like me, but I dare say he's got enough skill to put quite a few capes in the ground. He'll teach you how to he a real soldier. You won't be some glorified fucking photographer for much longer."
-SHADY-
Master Sergeant Sweeney was a very large man. His hulking mass made Scott look even more twig-like by comparison. He was younger than many of the same rank, maybe mid thirties. He was bald and clean shaven. His uniform indicated very specialized training specific to Special Forces.
"This is not my first assignment to teach one of you weirdo fucks. But for shit's sake we got a lot to work on. You look like you'll blow away in the breeze."
In reality, Scott had gained quite a bit of weight since he had joined the military. He had quite a bit of trouble gaining weight. If he faltered for even a short amount of time, he'd begin to lose weight and muscle mass. It was a constant battle.
They started started the very next day. He got in a government car as Sweeney drove him to a PT track and administered a standard PT test. And then a second one right after the first. After he was given corrective training for failing the second one, he was taken to one of the ranges on post where he was tested on everything from the M2 machine gun the dinky (by comparison) M9 pistol. It was very strange, one person hogging an entire lane for nearly 4 hours while whole battalions came out to shoot on 4 or 5 lanes. But, damn, was shooting not one of the most fun parts of playing army.
"I must say, you're not a totally hopeless shot. But we've got to fix your weight and PT scores. By the time I'm done with you you'll be pushing 190 and maxing your score every time."
Damn that's almost 40 pounds! How could that even be possible? Scott was at the same time dubius and very apprehensive.
"Meet me at 0600 by the Company and don't have any breakfast. Yeah, we're gonna have some fun for the next while."
-SHADY-
He spent perhaps 12 to 15 hours a day, 6 days a week training with the Master Sergeant in one form or another. They spent time on the various obstacle courses, on the firing ranges, doing ridiculous training drills, and combatives. Some days he was brought to the beach where he would run almost endlessly only to be told to run into the freezing waves and roll around in the sand or just swim parallel to the shore. He was sent into the forests surrounding the FTX sites for days at a time with limited food and water, and given a near impossible objective that required constant vigilance and very little sleep with Master Sergeant Sweeney sometimes giving chase. He was put into training sessions run by the 11 SF Group like long ruck marches, advanced marksman courses and counterterrorism techniques. But he was also taught other things. Field medicine, offensive driving, and even stealth and stalking techniques.
Sometimes Sweeney would sit him down for a relaxing hour or two and give Scott a crash course in some soldier skill or another. He was taught a few counterintelligence techniques, but seeing as his background in MI had already covered that for the most part, it was a short class. All the while scott was on a diet where he was required to eat an uncomfortable amount 4 times a day and end the day with a grueling session in the gym, on top of the other stressors throughout the day.
His body had never felt stress like this. He began to feel a kind of hatred for Sweeney. It was difficult to argue with the results though. Every day was a struggle. Scott was impressed how quickly his body and skill was improving. He was gaining lean weight. His body was becoming faster, heavier, stronger, and tougher.
One day, after 8 weeks of painful, yet visibly fruitful training, he was given a mask. He was told that it was the mark of a member of task force Green Wings. It was a deep green, nearly black resembling a conventional gas mask. It had dual removable canisters on each side of the face and dark lenses that provided a wide range of vision. It was menacing. It had a significant effect on Scott's ability to use a rifle while wearing it because he could no longer put his cheek directly on the stock. It took quite a bit of practice to properly and consistently compensate by tilting the rifle to the side in order to align the sights. When he was in his full kit, he was covered from head to toe with protective equipment. Ballistic plates on his chest and back held by a vest fitted with magazine and grenade pouches. An unmounted M320 grenade launcher in a thigh holster (with which he could pinpoint a moving target from up to 400 meters away) and gloves. He looked almost alien all kitted up. The rifle is as much a long ranged weapon as it is a melee weapon in proper hands even without an attached bayonet. A good muzzle thump to the skull will put down anyone but a Brute.
During the time he spent training with the Master Sergeant (a process they insisted on calling progression but really it was a too-long, hellish crucible) Scott had almost no contact with the rest of the team. He began to suspect they were avoiding him. It was entirely possible that they were waiting for him to finish whatever the hell he was doing with Master Sergeant Sweeney before they accepted him as a true member of the team.
Progress with the ritual was slow. He only had so much time between eating and sleeping and his excursions with the esteemed Master Sergeant. Scott would diligently meditate and write his findings during the short windows of privacy allotted to him. It was a complex procedure. And very dangerous. He did not know what would happen once the ritual was complete nor was he certain he could keep himself alive for the duration of the ritual. If completing the ritual did not automatically reseal his skull or somehow heal him, it was entirely possible he would die. Were that to be the case, he trusted Lilian to get him help.
-SHADY-
Scott was almost done with his Progression. Only a few more days of training and tests would release him into the loving arms of Team Green Wings. He was finally ready to perform the ritual on a Saturday night. He could only hope that a single day would be all he'd need to recover and nobody would notice anything was amiss. Standing in room and taking a final look at his notes he crouched down to the ground reverently.
He started by drawing on the concrete floor. He had torn up the linoleum of his room carefully so he could replace it once he was done. He was drawing in charcoal on the surface. He had sheets of notes spread around the circle, with both unintelligible scrawl and plain english. He very carefully measured and drew out a circle made of symbols that might have been a language had each character not been entirely unique. As Scott drew each section, he could sense something foreboding in the back of his mind, like he was being influenced by a drug. A disconnect from what was happening. His hands moving by themselves and sounds spilling unbidden out of his mouth. Yogorzabothl stood by, still and quiet. Knowing exactly what would happen. Not daring to interrupt. He was already beginning to transform. He was coming close to the point of no return. Soon he could not stop.
He voiced furious shouts and scratched out violent scribbles. Scott's sweat soaking his clothes and dripping to the charcoal stained concrete. He grabbed at his clothes and tore them free of his body, his fingers leaving marks on his skin where he grabbed his flesh in his frenzy to be naked. Scott was tingling all over. He felt dread and pleasure like a blanket. He liked the way his fingers had dug into his skin. He began to claw at his chest, leaving bloody scrapes that trickled blood down his body, squeaking in his pleasure between bursts of otherworldly phrases. He began to stamp his feet hard against the floor over the charcoal drawings, his shouts becoming disgustingly melodic as though he were singing.
But Scott was lost. He was aware that he was close to something quite beautiful and awful. His body's sensations were alien, like his body wasn't even his. His pain was pleasing someone other than himself. His feet were stamping so hard, his bones were fracturing and he began moving his arms in destructive thrashes against his body. His muscles twitched so violently they strained and tore. He bit his tongue and gargled on fluid. He danced to the beat of his pounding feet and the noise of his guttural chanting, flailing wildly and grossly contorting his body.
He had never been so terrified and excited in his life. The pleasure, the power, the Knowledge was but moments away.
A milky white sphere appeared over Scott's head. He could not see it but he could sense it, like a limb out of sight. It was the size of an orange and brought with it a rotten scent. He did not notice it but he stilled, feeling a primal terror as old as time. It grew to the size of the charcoal surface still just over Scott's head and leaked a pale miasma. The cloud writhed in its colorful pursuit of Scott's body. It touched his head just above his forehead and burned away his hair. He shouted in equal parts pain and pleasure as his skin burned to the bone of his skull and his skull to his brain. The miasma was sucked into Scott's skull and turned the visible bits of his brain black and waxy. Scott seemed to lose touch of the pleasure and pain of his body, for he stilled and sucked in breath through his wet mouth and choked on the blood in his lungs. His eyes were white as the presence above his head and he spasmed as though electrocuted. Black sparks spun between his fingers and flashed in his open mouth.
He instantly was conscious of every electric impulse travelling through his nervous system. It was like an immense tide of sensation, his pleasure immediately heightening. He was momentarily transfixed with the mechanics of the human physiology. It was a beautiful, directionless and unnecessarily complex machine.
The moment he saw it he wished he had not. It encompassed it's entire dimension, bleeding into reality only in the opening in his brain. The thing was the size of infinite universes, with as many eyes and mouths. The creator of existence, the father of gods took dumb notice of him. A mere unthinking glance in its hideous unconscious mind, but it was enough to trigger catastrophe and miracles across worlds alike. But it was on Scott. Only Scott. The thing was slumbering. It was the Blind Idiot God. And he was dreaming. He was dreaming since time began, since the cosmos were birthed and gods sprung from his garden. Scott saw Earth against the backdrop of the black of the universe. It was nothing. It was all nothing. His love, his people, his hate, his strength… All nothing. It would disappear in a moment. All the beings in the universe were a piece of something infinitely less significant than a spec to their creator. He saw how small and short he would burn. How existence was but an instant. God would wake and destroy it all with a thought.
He felt the tremble of it's terrible presence and he felt despair. It would sooner crush him than acknowledge him. He knew his role. The ending would always be the same. It would end with his death, his family's death, the extinction of the human race and all life on earth, the dispersal of the universe and the death of every star, every light extinguished. The universe would die with the awakening of God.
It was over. Scott fell to the ground, his strings cut. Black sparks fizzling through his body and feeling returning to him. A deep ache permeated his head and he knew he had to do something quick or he'd have permanent brain damage. He opened his mouth but could not speak. He choked on a sob and began to shake as he collapsed onto his back. He no longer cared if he were to die. The pain of his body distracted him from his terrible thoughts. Maybe if his brain was damaged enough, he would forget his vision of the creator.
-SHADY-
When Scott awoke in a hospital, he felt despair seep into his thoughts. He felt slow. Like his body was submerged in liquid. He could see Lilian in her human form despite the darkness of his room. His head and body seemed to buzz with electricity.
"Lilian. Lilian!" There was a subdued desperation in his voice.
"Lie still, Scott." His companion was soon standing beside his bed, reaching her hands to steady his fidgeting.
"Why did you do this to me! I wish I would die. What have you done to me?!"
"You found what you wanted. The truth, Scott. You know now, and will not forget."
Scott lay still and cried. It was what he had asked for. He felt his anger ebb into sadness.
"But you have found vitality. You healed your wounds in your sleep, Scott. You have found a great strength as well. You will not feel this way forever, I promise."
"That is not true. I know it's not true."
Yagorzabothl took Scott's hands in hers and reached for his familiar presence. It was different now. Older, more dangerous and hateful. It contained a new depth reflecting the old Scott yet fundamentally different. She basked in it.
Scott could feel her presence keenly. He recognized the deep pain he had felt in her before, only now knowing what it was. She felt it too? It would only make sense. But she seemed more beautiful than before. Stronger. Her mind an open book to him. Her memories and feelings washed him. They were no longer so alien. He understood what she was and where her species came from, how they communicated through touch and telepathy. He could understand her reasoning for answering his weak call for help. How much she loved.
The revelation brought tears to his eyes and the pit in his stomach ached less sharply. He could see her human form, in all its marvelous intricacies and beyond it. The invisible symmetry of her natural form, how similar it was to his. It made him weak. His eyes met hers and he understood her in a way he could not understand himself. She was alone and in constant despair. She was immersed in a pain he was now at least familiar with. And she loved him. It was an awful realization that he realized he might love her as well. He was a being wholly unworthy of her attention and yet, here she was, looking at him with inhuman eyes and holding his head.
Later in the morning, after a slew of nurses and a couple doctors, Sergeant Reed came to see him.
He touched his scalp feeling the thin, corded scar where he had once had a hole as he stared at Sergeant Reed. It might have been a leaf or a tree inscribed in a circle. It was a line with five branches. The Elder Sign, Lilian had called it. It was used to ward off the Evil beings of the universe in her old culture. It was actually an expression of cosmic power, that sometimes scared off extra dimensional beings. It was a faint mark just above his forehead.
"You've got to tell me what happened, dude. I can't help you if I don't know what the hell is going on." Sergeant Reed was sitting in a chair near his hospital bed. He had been healed only a day previous by a cape. He had somehow not sustained any brain damage, and the healer managed to mend the hole in his skull, aside from the odd mark adorning his head. He was still bald though, to Scott's annoyance. He'd be allowed to leave soon.
"I'm sorry I'm causing you so much trouble…"
"Dude, cut the shit. This is my job, just like you have yours. Just talk to me."
"It was about my power. A kind of sacrifice."
"What, like some voodoo magic? Are you stupid!? You could have died!"
"I understand. But you've got to understand, this was a success for me. I achieved my goal."
"I need more than that! You're not making sense."
"You know the monster I summon?"
"Yes."
"She's more complex than you think. She is sentient, complete with a personality. Her existence is not a result of my power, only her presence."
"So it's… an alien? You bring her here from her home?"
"Yes. She's from very far away. She talks to me. My power has her devoted to me and me to her. She told me of a way to gain true power. A way for a being to become… more."
"What does that mean, more?"
"I don't know, divine? Extrasensory? Cosmic? I can't really say. But it showed me things. Like a really bad trip. I saw things I wish I didn't. But it left me with a kind of power."
"Let me see if I understand you correctly. Your alien summon talks to you and told you to mutilate yourself in pursuit of more power?"
Scott looked subdued and slightly ashamed of himself. "Um, I guess? It's more complicated than that though. It really did me something new. I know it was dangerous, but I think it's given me the tools to be of more use to the team."
"How? How could you think that giving yourself deadly head trauma would do anything but fucking kill you!?"
Scott wilted a little under his superior's angry tone and accusing stare. "I haven't explored the limits but I can use by body to conduct electrical energy through my nervous system and out my body. I'm not sure how it works, only that I can sense and affect the electrical impulses through my nervous system. My brain is like a battery and my body the thing it's powering. I can't explain it better than that right now."
"I don't really understand what you're talking about. What can you do now that you couldn't before? Something useful, I fucking hope?"
Instead of speaking, Scott held his hands up and put them close together. A loud spark of electricity cracked between his hands bringing with it the stench of ozone.
"Fuck me. Why didn't you just start with that?"
