Chapter XVI:
Hearts of Salt
A clear sky and radiant sun shined brightly over the contaminated streets of Shinjuku. White Maso covered every inch of pavement. The same salt-like substance that infested Amos' body and replaced his flesh, bones, and organs. His transformation was a recent one. Despite that fact, his life as a human felt so far away.
Amos clenched his rifle. His helmet slumped over his eyes. He did not take them off of that pesky wall. The only thing keeping him and his team from getting revenge on their own species. Abandoned and disowned due to suspected infection, Amos was fully on board with switching sides.
In a vacant window frame, he observed the skyline from several stories high. Nothing moved apart from the occasional, shambling horde of Legion patrolling the roads. Every so often, Amos would catch a glimpse of some of the weirder elements of the Legion. Packs of pale, gnomish creatures practically bounced through the streets as they went from one place to another. They did not resemble an infected human at all with their small size and pointy heads. Though he may have joined their ranks, there was much about the Legion that Amos did not quite understand.
He was on the verge of drifting off into another daydream when the butt of a rifle slammed against his shoulder. Amos hissed harshly as he stirred from his bout of laziness.
He found a familiar Legionnaire standing over him. He wore the same urban camouflage pants. The same combat boots. He did not bother with a shirt or vest. Always the showoff. He carried a behemoth of an anti-material rifle. Long, wiry white hair draped down over his bestial features. The marksman of Amos' team.
Obadiah.
He was alone. Behind him stood another all too familiar face. Jeremiah wore the same uniform. There was nothing particularly striking about his appearance as he utilized much of the same equipment Amos was issued. His expression was where he differed. Jeremiah was always on the friendlier side. Both in life and undeath. Jeremiah offered his teammate a helping hand. Amos growled and stood up on his own accord.
The faint sound of music could be heard from somewhere nearby. Amos immediately knew who was causing it. He looked to his left and spotted the culprit. Jubal.
Jubal danced to the music blaring in his obnoxiously orange headphones. The volume at which he listened to his songs practically defeated the entire purpose of headphones, but he wore them all the same.
Whether it was his time as a human or Legion made no difference. Jubal loved his tunes. Any type of music so long as it was good music. Jazz was his favorite. At least, Amos remembered him claiming as much when they were human. He wondered if the soldier's tastes had changed now that his ears were filled with salt.
The two tapped their rifles together. A greeting among undead companions.
Isaiah was not far behind Jubal. Their resident demolitionist and the last of their unit to make the full conversion. It was through no fault of his own. He was no less eager to join the Prince's ranks and seek revenge on humanity than Obidiah or Amos were. For whatever reason, it simply took him longer to succumb to the illness.
Ezekiel was the last to step up and greet Amos. The team's proper leader. His rule was only second to the Prince as far as they were concerned, although, he had no actual command over anyone outside of their little clique.
Dressed much like the rest of his team, his only truly definable trait was the ominous smile that remained forever plastered on his Maso-comprised face. A behavior that seemed to be exclusive to his new life as a member of the Legion. The two clasped clawed hands and bashed against each other. Yet another brutish greeting among this small, sentient enclave of Legion.
A psychic pulse suddenly rippled through their collective minds and cut their little reunion short. A signal that could not be ignored.
The Prince was calling for them.
A clap of thunder roused Amos from his recollections. The Legionnaire sat all alone in an empty window frame. He looked back into the desolate hallway behind him, halfway expecting to see Obidiah and the rest of his team. Of course, that was not the case. Instead, Amos was greeted by a lonely corridor filled with nothing but ghosts and echoes of the past.
Rain showered from above. The usual arcs of lightning glittered across black skies. The streets were forsaken. Totally silent save for the howling gales of an immortal tropical storm. He picked himself up off the cold floor and leaped into an empty lot below.
All was calm. Nothing stirred. The lone soldier took in the emptiness of the city before him. Once upon a time, it was infested with roaming Legion. Before that, humans. Only remnants of better days remained.
Amos headed down the broken road. He had more important places to be. More ground needed to be covered. Many memories were in desperate need of remembering. His nostalgic journey to find that mystery woman had only just begun.
Finding their glorious Prince was never a difficult task. Psychic link or not.
Over and over again, a lone Legion swung an immense blade in the same motion. Just another means of practicing for the genocide that was to come.
An ebon sword with a decorative hand-guard and a blue stripe running around the spine of the blade. A matching breastplate adorned his salty torso. Odd clothes were concealed underneath the armor. Left in tatters and stained with blood. His shaggy, unkempt hair was as white as the rest of his statue-like body.
Particles of infectious salt flew through the air as he repeated the motion. Ezekiel's team found him in the usual spot. Stood by the wall, the Prince listened to the bustling sounds of the world outside the Wall of Jericho. Those laughs and casual conversations would soon be transmuted into horrified screams and cries for mercy.
Amos was the first to kneel before his deathless lord. An archaic custom as far as he was concerned yet it was the only way to properly greet the Prince. Only once did they make the mistake of saluting him instead of kneeling. Their first day as fully-fledged Legionnaires. The Prince responded by telepathically forcing them to their knees. Needless to say, they learned the error of their ways very quickly. A mistake they would not make again.
"2,634… 2,635… 2,636…"
They could hear him mentally counting his swings. His thoughts were theirs. That mental link was the only means Amos had of communicating with the rest of his squad. It was also the primary means with which the Prince hand down orders.
It was not a voice. They were just thoughts. Thoughts and well-conveyed intentions.
After a few more swings of his sword, the Prince finally lowered his weapon. A blade that would occasionally produce a spark, or at times, a full-on blaze. A torrent of milky white fire spawned from the weapon and evaporated as quickly as it came. The sight of such an oddly colored flame was striking. It resembled the Maso that comprised the Prince's body.
He turned, revealing a pair of bright crimson eyes. A unique trait seemingly reserved for him alone. An iconic feature. That one aspect would go on to inspire a name for him among humans.
The Prince looked on to his six sentient soldiers then to the growing crowd of mindless Legions gathering around them. They took a knee as their lord cast his scarlet gaze upon them.
He observed his followers. His subjects. A kingdom of salt and a zombified populace that did as he wished whenever he wished for it. A collective with no concept of independent thought. Only six of that vast, contaminated army were the exception. Elite, sentient soldiers who followed his orders at their own fruition.
"Caim," a frail, pain-addled voice sighed from within the very hivemind of the Legion itself. It was not the first time this woman invaded Amos' mind and called that particular name.
The Prince predictably looked to the sky as he always did when she spoke that name. He looked as though he expected the woman to be up there.
"Caim… Caim… Where are you, Caim?"
Her voice provoked an ominous sorrow in the Prince. His normally cold demeanor surrendered to a somberness that caused him to briefly lower his head in abject loneliness. Being connected to the Prince's very consciousness, Amos too felt his sorrow.
"Please, Caim. Help meeee…"
A final request before she went dormant again. It was all he needed to hear. The Prince utterly lost his mind that day.
He lifted his head and faced his pale army. Sharp teeth lined his maw. His eyes warped with a fury that was uncharacteristic even for the vicious Prince. He roared. A verbal demand that would mark the immediate beginning of a war for extermination. A war that would last longer than anyone could have predicted.
The Prince lifted his sword high in the air. The motion enacted a psychic will upon his subject. Amos felt a brief loss of control. His limbs moved on their own. He was forced to stand up with everyone else. Only then did he regain control.
The Prince aimed his sword at the wall. He let out another quaking roar that provoked the lesser ranks of the Legion to cry out in unison. Amos caught a glimpse of the elaborate tattoo on his tongue. A curios symbol that he had no hope of deciphering.
Obadiah screeched at the top of his lungs. He was soon followed by the ever-eager Isaiah. Jubal, Ezekiel, and even the more relaxed Jeremiah joined in this demonic howl for blood.
Not wanting to feel left out, Amos joined them.
A series of explosives were planted on the wall by their resident demolitionist, Isaiah.
They marked the beginning of humanity's total destruction.
283… 284… 285…
Steady rain poured down on the lonesome Legionnaire. Streams of water ran through the cracks and crevices of the ancient, concrete pavement. A path that led up to a hole in a crumbling wall.
Amos held tightly onto a knife. One that was covered in rust and stained with blood. He held it just as his Prince would hold his sword all those years ago. Keeping the same stance, Amos repeatedly swung the knife in an identical motion. He counted each swing.
286… 287… 288…
Amos decided to end the repetitions then and there. The reenactment evoked a strong sense of loneliness. He put his knife away and looked out to the ruins and overgrowth that now dominated the world.
Phantom echoes entered his thoughts. The ghostly remnants of the Legion who gathered in that very spot eons prior. The beginning of a campaign that would only end with the total annihilation of both sides.
Where was his team? It was a question Amos asked every day since Project Gestalt ended in hilarious failure. Could they not find the time to return to him? He should have heard from them during all that time.
The solitary soldier shrugged off the doomed thoughts. As he prepared to set off for the next destination, he heard a voice call to him from somewhere on his right.
"Uh… mister?"
Amos almost jumped. The tone did not seem particularly intimidating. Not that a battle-hardened Legionnaire had much to fear these days, but it still gave Amos a bit of a fright. He looked back.
Standing a small distance away was an odd vehicle covered in junk and various odd supplies. At the front of the metal mesh was a spherical head almost akin to a machine lifeform's in shape. It had two round eyes and a wide, all too familiar smile. Amos recognized that face.
One of Nier's crew. One of Amos' priority targets from a few thousand years ago. He was not exactly surprised to find that oddball automaton still alive. He had seen the freakish creature practically flying across the city ruins in search of any sap willing to give him money.
What did baffle Amos was how he could have survived all this time. From being sucked up in Popola's void-like magic to self-replicating into nothingness. Amos was aware of it all. He had quite the file on that particular individual.
"M-my name's Emil. I just saw you here and thought I'd say hi."
Amos cocked his head.
"That's a cool costume you got there," Emil complimented. "I almost thought you were a real Legion for a second. Where'd you get it?"
Naturally, Amos was left utterly baffled by that comment. Was Emil joking? He shrugged hopelessly at the smiling automaton. With a shake of his head, he started off in the opposite direction. He was not in the mood to do battle with an ancient Legion-slaying weapon nor anyone else for that matter.
"Wait up! Don't you wanna buy something? I got umbrellas for sale! With all the freakish weather we've been suffering from, you can't do without one!"
The mass of salt did not listen to him. He got along perfectly fine without some useless umbrella that was bound to be broken by the wind sooner or later. As Amos drew further away, the salesman on wheels decided to follow him.
It was not like Emil had anything better to do with his time.
Amos was second only to the Prince himself when it came time to breach the wall. Ezekiel gave him his orders. He along with his six companions were to focus on combatants and eliminate priority targets. Of course, it did not mean he was disallowed from having a little fun on the way to the first JSDF encampment.
After the explosion went off the Prince charged heedlessly into what was sure to be a one-sided slaughter. With his sword drawn, he neared a line of security tasked primarily with keeping vagrants out of the quarantined zone.
The Prince swept his sword through the air. A single, powerful swing that sliced three men clean in half. He grinned with sadistic glee. The next series of targets was just across a narrow street. A number of hostiles took cover behind concrete dividers and fired upon him. Their weapons did virtually nothing to a body comprised of otherworldly salt.
The Prince did not bother charging the barricade. He pointed his sword at them and a torrent of magical fire erupted from the blade like a flamethrower. A number of those helpless humans were set ablaze. Their skin liquefied and came to a boil in a matter of seconds. They screamed as their flesh melted off of their skulls. Their bones practically evaporated. All of it happened within the blink of an eye.
Amos had no trouble riling himself up when they were still behind the wall. He was just as ready to maim and destroy as the rest of his undead allies. However, when it came time to finally engage the enemy, Amos was too mesmerized by the Prince's brutal fighting style to assist in the attack.
A few minutes passed while Amos observed his lord. The way he effortlessly tore through those miserable chunks of sentient flesh. Just as the Watchers promised, they had no hope of fighting back. An easy, quick victory was certain.
The Prince sliced through anything that breathed. If it moved and was not caped in Maso, chances were high that it would wind up impaled on the Prince's infernal blade.
He noticed his other squad members. Jeremiah and Ezekiel moved on ahead as a team. They mowed down the fleeing humans with a degree of professionalism that was severely lacking on Isaiah's part.
The demolitionist threw grenades into any clusters of human defenders he could find. If they were stupid enough to crowd together, he would toss a few grenades at them and rip apart anyone unfortunate enough to survive the explosions.
Obadiah predictably took to the rooftops. He let his contempt for the enemy be well known. He picked off various targets from on high. He chose them carefully. The sniper aimed mainly for the legs as opposed to taking body shots. Such direct shots would easily splatter his targets and instant death was no fun.
The high-caliber rounds would nearly tear off entire limbs, immobilizing them. They would fall to the ground, destined to bleed out. He would repeat the process to anyone who attempted to help those he wounded.
A few rounds suddenly struck Amos. He instinctively flinched but felt no pain from the interaction. He spotted the culprit. A panicked JSDF troop left to guard the wall. Somehow, he had not been shredded by the others. Amos cracked his knuckles. He was on the verge of walking over there and turning the man inside-out when a round of buckshot fired off from behind and swept the man off his feet. His head exploded. Gore and shards of bone splattered onto the pavement.
Amos looked back to find Jubal casually emerging from the breach in the wall. He pumped his shotgun, ejecting the spent casing. Jubal gave Amos a reassuring "O-K" gesture as he moonwalked by. The apocalyptic battle proved to be no bother for Jubal. He kept on jamming to his tunes. He danced and dashed his way across the battlefield, killing to the rhythm.
The time had come for Amos to lend a hand. To see just how much more powerful this new body of his was. It did not take him long to find a target. A random straggler frantically fired his useless rifle into the waves of Legion that swarmed the city. The man had the bright idea to stick his head out of the window as he tried his very best to hold a line that had already been lost.
Amos charged him. He sprinted down the road and leaped into the air. He kicked off a wall and extended his clawed hands. Spiraling in mid-air, he felt his talons connect with the man's throat. An immediate decapitation.
He landed back on the ground, amazed at his own newfound abilities. Any regrets he may have harbored about agreeing to a certain pact vanished at that moment.
He could run faster. Jump higher. Take an ungodly amount of fire and not suffer a single scratch. Superior in every possible way to the hairless ape he once languished as.
There was no two ways about it. He was better than them. A fact that he would seek to prove time and time again.
In mere minutes, they tore through the local JSDF forces posted near the wall and entered civilian-populated zones. That was when the real fun began.
All was quiet save for the splashing of steady rain. No explosions could be heard. No screams. No demonic howls. Only rain.
Amos knelt to the asphalt when something shiny caught his attention. He picked up a small bullet casing. Spent brass that looked rather old. He rotated it in his fingers, examining the scorch patterns and dents.
"See something," asked Emil.
He tossed the casing back to the ground and stood up. Nothing remained of those days. Apart from the wall and a few other landmarks, much of the city was replaced by android reconstruction projects only to be destroyed again during the alien assault. Some buildings still held secrets from the old world. Pretty much every structure retained the same ghosts and ancient whispers if one were to stick around long enough to witness the phenomena.
The silence was becoming too much to bear. Amos remembered the obnoxious music that played from Emil's cart. It constantly gave away his position. A jukebox laid among a pile of useless junk and trinkets. Something that would, perhaps, let him feel closer to his squad. Closer to Jubal at the very least. He approached Emil and examined the musical device.
"What are you… Oh," Emil paused when he realized what Amos was after. "Don't bother with that. I got struck by lightning a couple weeks ago. That jukebox is ruined."
Amos examined the cart that made up what amounted to Emil's "body." Twisted, narrow burn marks covered the metal surfaces. A clear sign that he was indeed hit. Amos growled and stepped away.
Some mighty anti-Legion weapon he turned out to be. Was he ever actually used in the war? Amos never once encountered such a weapon.
"Hey," Emil muttered. "Do you hear that?"
Normally observant of his surroundings, he clearly was not paying close enough attention. Amos instinctively took out his complex rifle. He activated the scope. A digital screen lit up with all the relevant data needed to gauge distance, windage, and elevation. Eventually, he noticed movement down one of the alleyways. A light suddenly shined from around a corner.
Someone drew closer. He took up a position against a wall. Emil followed him merely to take cover. Amos moved his rifle toward the alleyway and aimed it around the corner. It was just another feature of that peculiar prototype of his.
The scope enabled him to calculate the distance needed to remotely detonate a "smart" explosive round. A means of engaging a sheltered target long before they could pop out and attack him. A feature that kept him alive in many fights with magic-wielders. One of the only useful things he looted from those Hamelin research facilitates.
A figure emerged from around the corner and entered his view. Amos studied what soon turned out to be an android. The way she moved suggested that she was at least not infected. She seemed sane enough. A support pod floated at her side and acted as her light source. The thing looked much like 153 though it was lighter in color and had an orange trim as opposed to red.
Amos noticed the android's familiar hairstyle. Short, roundish white hair. He recognized her. The woman's uniform was different and her eyes were concealed behind one of the ridiculous blindfolds those YoRHa types insisted on wearing. In spite of all that, there was no mistaking that face nor that hair.
No.2.
The one No.9 always used to speak so highly of.
Amos lowered the peculiar weapon. He strung it up over his shoulder and stepped out from hiding. Hesitantly, Emil followed. He too recognized her, but he used a slightly different name to address her.
"2B! 2B, is that really you!?"
The android slowly raised her head. Her attention darted between Amos and Emil. Her pod was the first to respond.
"Warning: anomaly detected."
"Hello, Emil," 2B greeted in a soft murmur. "Who's your… friend?"
The newcomers approached cautiously. Amos stood in place and observed their movements.
"I think his name is Amos. That's what the tag around his neck says."
2B examined the bizarre soldier.
"I suppose a better question would be… What is your friend?"
"Oh, don't worry," Emil said with a giggle. "He's not actually a monster. He's just pretending to be a Legion. Isn't his costume great!?"
Amos grumbled and shook his head. A defeated display that did not go over 2B's head. Nor did his undeniably realistic appearance.
"I don't think that's a costume, Emil."
Emil looked back at Amos then returned his attention to 2B. "That's what I thought! It's really convincing."
2B was suddenly eager to change the subject. "So, what's this Legion you just mentioned?"
"I-I don't know much about it," Emil admitted. "They were around a really long time ago. A major threat to humanity. One of the results of humans being infected with an ancient disease. I remember being involved in that conflict somehow. Or rather, the old Emil was. I think in the past, I fought them or was preparing to fight them."
The android tilted her head at Amos. She studied him quizzically. "And how long do they live for?"
"I don't know if they have a set lifespan. So long as they don't get killed they should just be able to keep roaming around. That would be impossible, though. At least it should be. Androids already cleansed the world of the disease that created the Legion in the first place."
That blurb was about as much information as 2B needed. She did not address the issue further. Such ancient history may as well have been irrelevant to her.
After a bout of silence, Emil spoke up again. "But what about you? I thought you were…"
"Dead?"
Pod 042 floated downward and waved at Emil. "This support unit has repaired Unit 2B. Pod 153 was in charge of the repairs of Unit 9S. Her attempts were successful, however, not without complications."
"I'm looking for him now," 2B informed.
Amos could not have anticipated hearing that. He was somewhat relieved to see 2B gloss over him without so much as a second glance. The soldier was in no mood for further confrontation from anyone. Whether that be Emil or some zealot android defending an extinct species.
"Warning: Unit 9S has become increasingly violent and is possibly contaminated with an unknown variant of Logic Virus."
"Doesn't matter," 2B dismissively refuted. "You said he was hanging out with those twins we met back at Anemone's camp, right?"
"Twins," Emil asked with mild interest.
He was ignored.
"Correct. As explained previously, Unit 9S became obsessed with reviving them. He claimed to be haunted by them. Unit 153 reported their repairs to be a success. Ironically, no signs of that red-eyed infection were reported in them. Whatever blights Unit 9S must not be contagious through traditional means."
"All the more reason to find him. Emil, do you know anything?"
"No. I wish I did, but I haven't seen him at all. Not since that huge light shot out from the top of the Tower."
There was one person among them who knew full well the whereabouts of a certain, red-eyed android. Amos was on the verge of stepping up. He almost gestured for 2B. A silent method of signaling her to follow him.
He decided at the last minute to keep his head down. How those three androids would react to some random friend of 9S's past greeting them was a mystery to Amos. A confrontation he could not imagine ending well. With how oddly territorial the twins acted around their only friend, potentially turned lover, Amos assumed it best to not lead 2B to them.
Amos was still unaware of what resulted from that little confession 9S made. Regardless of what the case may be, he did not want to see this stranger make the situation any worse. So, Amos played dumb.
If she wished to find 9S, she would have to do it without his help.
"Why don't you come with us," Emil unexpectedly suggested. "We weren't really doing anything. Just exploring. Maybe we'll find a clue on the way. Plus! You gotta start your search somewhere, right? Why not anywhere?"
Amos growled. He really did not want a whole group following him around, but he also did not put up much of a protest.
Hidden behind a cluster of rocks, Amos scanned the path ahead through his scope. Signals and various other bits of relevant information flashed on screen while he checked for any signs of movement. Thermal readings showed nothing of interest.
"I could have sworn I saw something," Emil insisted in a whisper.
"No signs of life detected beyond this point," proclaimed 042.
"Maybe it was just my imagination?"
2B firmly shook her head. "No. I saw something too. It moved back inside that building over there."
042 was swift to dismiss the android's apprehension. "Probability dictates that it is more than likely a machine, animal, or infected android. Recommendation: avoid the area as it could lead to ambush."
"Yeah. This place is really sketchy," said Emil. "Maybe we should find another way forward?"
Amos was not exactly dead-set on moving through that old structure but their conversation piqued his curiosity. He did not see a thing moving but clearly, everyone else did. It left him wondering. He gave no response to Emil's request and instead continued examining broken windows and vacant doorways.
"Maybe 9S is in there," 2B murmured.
"I really doubt that," Emil said dismissively. "If you want to find him then you're better off paying Anemone a visit. She might know."
"I was on my way there when I found you two," informed 2B.
042 picked up where 2B trailed off. "Reminder: the area surrounding Anemone's camp has become increasingly treacherous. The rising conflict forced this support unit to relocate Unit 2B to a safer location during repairs."
"We've already been over all of this, pod," 2B fired back. "It doesn't matter. I have to find him."
"I was about to warn you, but it seems you already know," Emil remarked. "I visited that camp to see if people wanted to buy anything. This was shortly before they started fighting with all those machines. I too had to leave that area. My usual routes were becoming really dangerous. Those groups must really hate each other these days. Butchered bodies… Heads on pikes… Uh! Forget what I just said, 2B. Don't visit Anemone. There's no way 9S is anywhere near that place."
Amos covered his mouth to conceal his inevitable giggling.
"What's causing it," asked 2B. "Do you know?"
"At first I thought it was just them continuing the war that's already been waging between them for so long. But this fight they're in now seems different. I think… I think someone's causing it. Someone's pitting them against each other. Two people to be exact…"
Amos subtly glanced at Emil from over his shoulder. Suddenly, he was interested in what the smiling circus freak had to say.
"I saw them moving around the city. You may know them. Those two androids at the Desert Outpost."
"Jackass," asked 2B. "What about her?"
"I saw her and that supply trader guy. The one with the goggles. I saw them murdering another resistance fighter!"
That was an interesting detail. Amos did not know what the current status of his and 9S's little "operation" was. He could only assume they were all dead by now, but the thought of the Resistance turning on themselves was something he did not anticipate.
He turned back to the ruin up ahead. Something caught his eye. There was indeed movement over there. He counted six notably pale figures. They were dressed in uniforms he recognized. Urban camouflage. Outfits much like his own. One among them stood tall with a black and blue sword in hand.
Everything clicked. Amos gave no warning to either Emil or 2B. He vaulted over the rocks and ran up to them as fast as he possibly could.
There was no mistaking it. There they were. Ezekiel, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Jubal, Obadiah, and even the Prince himself. They finally returned.
"Amos," Emil called out. "Where are you going!?"
He ignored the annoying skeleton.
A bright sun shined overhead. Jubal was the first to greet him. He waved Amos down. He stood next to a sealed door. They bashed their weapons together just as they used to do all those years ago.
Overwhelmed with excitement and relief, Amos attempted to go around and greet everyone, but Ezekiel stopped him. He gave Amos a familiar gesture. A signal to take up a position. That door was going to be breached.
"Amos," Emil shouted yet again. His voice sounded a little more distant than usual.
Something about this whole scene felt familiar, but Amos ignored that sensation.
The Prince stepped up. Amos could not help but gaze at him in awe. The red-eyed leader ignored him. He lifted his foot and abruptly kicked the door in.
Artificial light flooded from inside. Amos was among the first to enter.
Why they needed to raid this old building was beyond him, but he did not care. He only cared about the fact that his team had returned. The very soldiers he had fought with for nearly 2,000 years. How he missed them.
"No! Don't go in there!"
He charged inside, heedless of Emil's distant warning. Then he blacked out.
Amos came to his senses when Emil rammed into him from behind. The force was not strong enough to move him, but it did snap him out of his flashback.
There was no sun visible in the sky for it was concealed behind a thick shield of black storm clouds. There was no light inside that old building. Only darkness lingered in that forsaken property.
Ezekiel, the Prince, Jeremiah, all of them were nowhere to be seen. They were never there, to begin with.
Amos found himself standing over an ancient skeleton. His pistol was drawn and aimed at the skull. A bullet-sized hole was left in the corpse's head. A hole that was clearly not made recently as overgrowth entangled within the bones and grew out from that cranial wound. In the skeleton's arms was another, much smaller corpse. The skeletal form of an infant. Vines and other such weeds had also laid claim to the old remains.
Only then did Amos remember this place. A location he raided shortly after the wall was breached. An area in which a decent number of humans sought refuge from the encroaching Legion. The grim setting for just one of many ruthless slaughters carried out under the Prince's orders.
"Human remains detected," announced 042. He shined his light on the bones. 2B stepped up to the corpses and stared down at them with a blank frown.
Emil either failed to notice them or lost interest. He moved away from Amos and explored the massive chamber, examining the overgrowth and relics of the past.
2B shifted her gaze to Amos then back to the pair of long-dead humans. She folded her arms. "Any regrets?"
She was strikingly perceptive.
Amos holstered his pistol and turned around. He firmly shook his head, although, that answer technically was not true. He did harbor one regret on behalf of the entire Legion.
He regretted losing.
"You know," Emil interjected from afar. "Going around and exploring with you guys like this reminds me of my friends. There was Kaine and Weiss. Nier… You'd probably like them a lot. I wish they were still alive."
He trailed off. The tone he employed drew Amos' attention. The Legionnaire turned away from 2B and studied Emil.
Amos could almost relate. His only saving grace was that he "knew" his squad was still alive out there. Somewhere. They had to be.
As he thought on the subject, he remembered.
He had something that would surely interest Emil.
Roughly 1,500 years had passed since the Wall of Jericho was breached.
Things were not going as optimistically as they had before.
The Prince led a grand campaign of annihilation. He set up a base in the city of Jerusalem. Once a sacred location for many around the world had become a primary hub of Legion activity. The Prince had an excellent sense of humor.
That all came to a soul-crushing end when he was slain, not once but twice. The Legionnaires were fully aware of what happened even as they operated in Shinjuku, embroiled in a conflict with the Hamelin Organization, androids, and an ever-increasing number of Shades.
The last two telepathic orders from the Prince still lingered in their minds. "End humanity. Find her and bring her to me."
This "her" he spoke of must have related to the voice that occasionally interfered with the hivemind. Her voice fell silent after the Prince's demise. They were off and on assigned to search for her but always turned up with nothing.
Without their leader, Ezekiel took over. Under his command, they resumed psychological operations on the enemy all while the larger Legion elements went berserk. With the Prince not around to keep them organized, they attacked anything and everything without regard or proper planning.
A long expedition was undertaken to reclaim the Prince's sword. A successful expedition. To finally see their lord's weapon back in Legion hands offered a much-needed boost to the squad's morale. They displayed it proudly in a corner of their main meeting room.
Pictures of various targets chosen for assassination slowly started to fill the walls. Most of them at that point were notable androids that needed to be dealt with.
They all wanted to ignore this Project Gestalt nonsense and immediately work out a way to revive their lord but Ezekiel had given his orders. That project had become a serious threat. It ran the potential of undoing all the damage the Legion had done. Such a thing could not be allowed.
The Prince would surely return one day. Just as he did before.
Despite their best efforts, they saw very little success in stopping the project. The usual tactics they employed in the past such as spreading misinformation, running interference, destroying facilities, burning documents, forgery, and assassination were all for not.
It was clear that if this project was going to be stopped then they would need something else. Something their enemy would not see coming.
On a gloomy day when everyone was busy doing nothing, Ezekiel burst into the room with a single file in hand. A manila folder with a stack of papers hidden within. He threw it onto the table. Amos was among the first to sit upright in his seat.
They all leaned in close.
Ezekiel flipped open the folder and showed them all of the data he collected. Images of a village not far from their current location. Replicants acting with obvious signs of free will and self-awareness. Two red-headed androids observing them with increasing nervousness.
A promising Replicant who led a ruthless one-man resistance against the local Shade population all to cure his daughter.
This was exactly the sort of thing they needed.
Amos' hideout was just as empty as it had been for the past several thousand years. He beckoned for Emil to follow. Upon reaching the outside of the old facility, Amos yanked the smiling head out of that mobile shop and tossed him inside as his bulky cart was sure to break or knock over something important.
2B entered on her own, nonchalant accord.
He lit a few of the lanterns. The light exposed an endless number of photos on the wall. Most of them had an X written in red over their faces.
Stacks upon stacks of files, random documents, and stolen communications piled atop each other in every corner of the room. An old, half-rotten round table sat at the center of it all. It was covered in various papers and other such data from the Old World.
2B stepped inside after light was granted to the room. Emil rolled in behind her. They took in the ambiance offered by the various artifacts and relics of the past while Amos started digging around in search of something.
"What is this place," asked 2B.
She trailed off once she noticed the sword sat against the wall. A black and blue blade that had a strange aura about it. That lone weapon was the only thing that shined in an otherwise bleak room. Not a speck of dust was allowed to blemish its gleam.
Amos did not bother trying to formulate a silent answer. He dug through stacks of papers until he finally found what he was after. A series of four folders filled with pages of very specific information. He dropped the folders onto the table just as Ezekiel always used to do.
He then picked up Emil without warning and dropped him atop the table as well.
"What are you…"
Emil trailed off once he noticed the files in question. Each one had a different title. Curious about the contents, Emil read one of them aloud.
"Pretentious Book."
Amos flipped open the file for him. A random page revealed a series of pictures and paragraphs detailing data relevant to an elaborate white book. 2B leaned forward and examined the contents but could make nothing of it. Such was not the case for Emil.
He gasped. "That's Weiss! How do you know Weiss!?"
Of course, the Legionnaire had no answer. Instead, he slid the file to the side and pulled forth the next one. A folder labeled, "The Bitchy One."
He threw it open.
"And there's Kaine!"
The next folder read the phrase, "World's Best Dad."
Amos did not even have to open that one before Emil blurted out the man's proper name.
"Nier!"
He showed a few pictures to Emil before moving on to the next file, assuming he would want to see them. All of them were taken at a hidden or otherwise elevated angle. None of them were direct but they all offered a clear image of the age-old Replicant going about his days.
Amos pulled the final folder out in front of Emil.
"Lich Boy. This is me…? I don't understand. How did you get all this?"
Amos shrugged his shoulders and moved off to the other side of the room. He took a seat at his usual spot at the table. The same chair he always claimed anytime Ezekiel called everyone together for a meeting. He looked to the vacant chair to his left. Isaiah used to always sit there. Since his disappearance, it had been occupied by nothing but dust and spider webs.
"You're," Emil hesitated. "You're not wearing a costume, are you? You're Legion. You must be!"
"I said it wasn't a costume," 2B reminded flatly.
"But that shouldn't be possible! You seem sentient but how!? How are you still alive!?"
Two questions that Amos had no answer for. He could only speculate about the Watchers' intentions for allowing him and his five companions to retain their sentience. Most of their time in the war was spent waging psychological warfare and operating well behind human lines. Perhaps that was their intention but he did not care to linger on the subject.
The second question caused him to bow his head and recall. Why was he still alive?
2B picked up the file regarding a certain father figure. She read over a random blurb her eyes came across.
"Ezekiel reporting. Culled the Shades in the Northern Plains. Nier's expected to move through that area in the coming day. Think he's headed to that old factory but can't confirm. This should ensure his journey is a bit safer. Continue to observe and make no direct contact with him. I know some of you want to go up and say "hi" but don't even think about it. Just keep killing Shades. Annoying work but it will all be worth it when our boy bodies the Shadowlord."
With that blurb recited, 2B sat the file down and walked off. She started peering at the various other files which surrounded her.
They all made similar reports. With or without Ezekiel's name attached it was easy enough to tell who was writing it. Ezekiel was always so formal. The documents were all meant to be handed over to the Prince on the day of his return.
A day that had yet to come.
"You were… helping us," asked Emil. "I guess I understand why you'd want us to win, but why did you never interact with us?"
Emil soon realized that he was not going to get an answer from someone who clearly could not talk.
"Hey," asked 2B. She held up a random file. "Who's this? Creepy library guard."
Eons may have passed but Amos could still recognize that little nickname. He could not hold back the urge to laugh. He covered his mouth and hissed out a comical giggle.
His reaction compelled 2B. She opened the file and picked a random blurb of a report to read aloud.
"Isaiah reporting. I checked in on that freak guarding the Library, again. I guess after that giant Shade attacked, they'll make just about anyone a town watchman. I know Ezekiel is gonna be pissed when he sees this but fuck it. I managed to get in this guy's house while he was out stalking Popola. Not that she would pick up on that. She's just a stupid robot. And don't worry, I wasn't seen. Anyway, Jeremiah's theory was right. This guy does have a jar of her hair in his bedroom. The place smells weird. I think I'm gonna need a chem shower after this one."
Amos remembered fondly the times he got a chance to watch that particular Replicant. He was by no means important, but he did compel their morbid curiosity. He was entertaining enough to justify a rather large file. 2B's professional, detached means of reading the rather crass report only added to the effect for him.
A wave of sorrow hit him in the midst of his laughter. A lonely sadness evoked by what should have been happy memories.
Emil abruptly chimed in once again. "Thanks for showing me all this. I don't know why you bothered, but… Could I have these?"
Amos looked up.
"There's so much info on my friends here. If you don't mind, I'd like to take these with me. Just the ones about my friends. You can keep the one about that stalker guy."
He nodded without much hesitation. In doing so, he technically disobeyed one of the last orders Ezekiel gave him before they separated. Amos would surely be in trouble the inevitable day he returned, but he could care less at that moment. It was also not the first time he disobeyed an order or two.
"Oh, thank you so much!"
The Legionnaire rolled his eyes at the skeletal weapon. A creature once designed to destroy his kind. Yet here they were having a friendly conversation. It almost made him sick.
"Pod 042 to Unit 2B," the male pod suddenly blurted out. "This support unit has been attempting to achieve contact with Pod 153. No response has yet been given. It is recommended that we resume the search. Unit Anemone may know more about their current whereabouts."
"Guess I should be off," 2B said in her usual monotone. "Good to see you again, Emil. And nice meeting you, Amos."
"Good luck finding, 9S. Come visit me sometime," Emil requested.
Amos quietly tipped his helmet.
2B gave Amos a formal bow as she backed out of the room. "Hope you find what you're looking for," she murmured to the lone Legion.
Was it really so obvious that he was searching for something, or rather, someone? Regardless, Amos tipped his helmet at her.
"I should be going too," Emil announced. "I'll get out of your hair. Thanks again for the files. They really do mean a lot!"
Most of their days in the five years leading up to the Shadowlord's defeat were spent quietly observing Nier. The team split off into pairs and took turns watching him from around bends or on the side of mountains. Occasionally, they would intercept a Shade on the verge of sneaking up on him or clear out clusters of hostiles in the paths they knew he would travel in advance. Beyond that, they merely sat back and watched.
Amos and Obadiah were both assigned to check in on him one day but not stick around for any length of time. It seemed he and that talking book were doing nothing but fishing and chatting about whatever came to the book's mind.
"Catfish again, is it?"
"Yeah."
Neither of the Legionnaires were truly listening to their back and forth. It became white noise for Amos who jotted down a quick report. Obadiah sat on the ground beside him, impatiently waiting for a chance to leave. He was very quick to become bored of anything that did not involve murder.
"Fearsome creatures," the book muttered. "They look more akin to coelacanths than they do cats."
"Coela-what!?"
"Never mind. Err… Say… Do you ever get the feeling that we are being, how should I put this… Watched?"
Obadiah and Amos exchanged worried glances. They ducked behind the cloak of mountainous terrain. An unnecessary attempt to hide. They were already well out of sight given their high vantage point.
"Nah. Not really."
"Truly? Not in the slightest!?"
"Nope."
The mute soldiers decided to take their leave. Amos wrapped up his report and the two swiftly got out of Nier's general vicinity.
They made their way through the mountains, scaling rocks without much trouble. It was on their way back when they stumbled into a clearing. A flat stretch of land swarming with Shades. Obadiah, in particular, was known for his observational skills yet this location was something they both overlooked until it was too late.
What ensued was a fearsome fight. A wave of Shades, many of which wielding magic, descended upon them.
A fair chunk of the dark monsters was killed off before a lone Shade took Amos by surprise. A swift advance led to the Shade ramming itself in him. He was knocked flat on his back. His rifle landed somewhere nearby. Likely within reach but Amos could clearly see the Shade looming over him. It prepared to fire a bolt of red magic. It was already taking aim long before he could recover from the fall.
Slowly, Amos laid his head back and closed his eyes. It appeared his time had finally come. Over a thousand years was a good run. His squad was bound to continue on well enough without him.
He was tired. Downright exhausted. A fact that only became known to him after he landed on that rocky surface. He lied there and waited for the end.
A gunshot suddenly erupted just above him. Amos opened his eyes only to find that Shade evaporating into a cloud of darkness and blood. Obadiah stood to his right. The fellow Legionnaire kicked Amos' rifle toward him. Obadiah then promptly kicked him in the side for good measure.
Amos rolled his eyes. Crankily, he snatched his weapon off the ground and stood up.
That day was not to be his last.
Once more Amos was alone in the streets. No traces of that mysterious woman could be found. Retracing his steps led him to constant dead ends and empty alleyways, yet it led him no closer to finding the source of her voice. Locating her was sure to be a challenge. She clearly wanted to be found but gave no clues about her whereabouts.
As rain poured forth from swirling clouds, Amos ran through familiar territory. A quick route back to the coast. He was done searching for the time being. He would simply have to wait for her to speak again and hopefully offer a helpful clue.
A red-eyed machine watched him from a window as he passed by. The thing showed no indication of following him, but Amos decided to pick up the pace. He could hear the sounds of fighting in the distance. He drew closer to the area contested between various machine groups and the Resistance. A conflict he helped incite. In no mood to fight much of anything, Amos sought to return to the coast as quickly and quietly as possible.
Amos made the mistake of taking a detour. A narrow, sketchy path that would lead him well around the war zone up ahead. He could hear hellish screams from such a great distance. They were loud enough to compete with the constant noise of the storm. He could only guess as to how badly the situation had deteriorated.
His stride was forced to an abrupt halt. A collapsed wall blocked off the path ahead. This was easy enough to climb over, but another obstacle revealed itself. A much more pressing matter.
Among the buildings and debris were numerous pairs of glowing red eyes. In the darkness, they stared him down. There must have been upwards of a hundred of them all gathered in this one spot.
A few machines shambled out onto the road from the cloak of a ruined complex. Others followed in their footsteps. Suddenly, all those red dots began advancing on him from so many angles.
He pulled his rifle and mowed down the first few machines who made the mistake of getting too close. He did not have the will to stay and deal with the wave of hostile machines that poured forth from the vacant doors and windows around him. He turned and ran straight back the way he came.
Amos winded a few corners. He had just enough time to clear some decent distance between himself and that insane mob when something rather unexpected happened.
As he rounded one of the alleys, a medium-sized biped burst forth from an already crumbling wall. Amos was far too close to the wall. He was knocked flat on the pavement. His trusty rifle escaped his grasp.
The biped had a massive canon connected to one arm. One of the many weapons the machines used to harness the magic that permeated the world. It took aim and prepared to fire upon Amos. A hit that was bound to kill him.
He could see the weapon charging. There was no time. This situation was familiar to him, but Obadiah was not around to save him this time.
Amos slowly laid his head back and closed his eyes just as he did when in this same predicament thousands of years ago.
Fighting for over 9,000 years was a decent run. Even after being given an immortal body, Amos never truly contemplated the passage of such an insane amount of time until he lived through it. Fighting against humans, androids, Shades, Replicants, aliens, and self-replicating machines and yet somehow surviving through it all.
"How are you still alive?"
The question echoed in his mind. He did not consider himself the strongest of the Legion or his small team by any means. Despite that, he was still alive for some reason or another.
Were the Watchers taunting him? He would not put it past them. Grateful for his immortal body, but he still held the same disgust for those creepy creatures that the Prince never hesitated to express.
It was all so exhausting to think about.
So terribly tired.
A few seconds passed. He was not dead.
Amos opened his eyes only to find that the utterly unthinkable had happened. The biped repeatedly bashed his hand against the canon built into his other arm. Sparks flew from the side of it.
The weapon had malfunctioned.
Probably the dumbest stroke of luck Amos may have witnessed in his long life. It was obvious that today was not going to be his last.
He rolled his eyes. The surviving Legionnaire was far more annoyed than he was relieved. Almost disappointed. He reached for his weapon and fired an explosive round from the top barrel that caused the machine's weapon-wielding arm to erupt in a million little fragments of shrapnel.
He rose to his feet and with bared talons, pierced the machine's metallic head. Without mercy, he ripped out a handful of broken circuits and wires. The biped slumped over.
More of those red-eyed machines had caught up to him by that point. An uncountable number of them had been stirred up by his aimless wandering.
He could have run, but his mood suddenly shifted. The spell of melancholic laziness that lingered over him had been abruptly broken.
Amos howled and charged straight into the hostile horde.
That lone, towering apartment complex loomed over Amos. He noticed it the minute he reached the coast. A gloomy abode that practically called to him. It welcomed him with its haunted atmosphere. The crashing of waves offered a nice break from the sound of pouring rain.
He dragged himself up the familiar stairs. As he neared floor 13, he heard the distinct sound of singing. A woman's voice. He could only guess it was one of the twins.
Surely enough, Amos passed by the usual room that Devola used to practice on her lute. The door was left open. He stopped in the hall and peered inside.
Devola sat at the other end of the room. She strummed the instrument while singing aloud. 153 hovered above her, illuminating two figures at the center of the room. Popola and 9S danced together at the center of the chamber. That was not something he expected to see. It appeared that 9S's confession ended rather well.
What a surprise.
He moved down the hall, but a voice called out to him.
"Amos," announced Popola. "You're back!"
She and 9S twirled to a stop and observed him.
Devola looked up and waved at the deathless soldier. "Where have ya been?"
Amos shrugged his shoulders.
Popola smiled. "There was something I wanted to ask you."
He waited to hear her request.
"I got to thinking on the way back," Popola explained. She subtly tightened her hold on 9S. "With all those pictures you have back at that hideout of yours, you must have a camera, right? Does it still work?"
Amos nodded. He took off his backpack and set it at his feet. He dug through various explosives and whatever tools he felt necessary to keep on his person. Soon, he located it. He pulled the camera out and waved it about in the air.
"Great! If you don't mind. I'd like to put it to use. I want us to all take a picture together. You included. Is that possible?"
Another nod.
"Why," asked 9S.
Popola beamed at him. Her warm smile, barely illuminated by 153's spotlight, left him flustered. "It's a way of capturing this moment forever. I thought you would be the one most interested in this. Think of it like preserving a memory. One that we can all look back on years from now."
"I guess that wouldn't be a bad thing…"
It was decided. Amos moved to set up the camera.
Not a full 24 hours had passed since the Shadowlord's demise when Ezekiel made plans for a new operation. They had done much in the way of celebrating hours prior. Their hopes were well placed in Nier and his ilk. The group did not have to lift much of a finger at all to destroy Project Gestalt. As it turned out, such a convoluted plan was doomed from the start.
They took to the streets below the Shadowlord's abode after all was said and done. With no one left to pose a proper threat, the team rounded up as many Shades as they could find. The joyous Legionnaires butchered them in whatever creative ways they could dream up. However, all good parties had to come to an end.
The time they had all collectively waited for had finally arrived. Their greatest enemy was gone. It was time to revive the Prince. To bring him back to their world, and in so doing, revive the Legion as a whole. To lay claim to the world and cover it in salt.
There was only one problem. Someone had to stay behind. A decision Ezekiel refused to budge on. Jerusalem was dangerous. Likely a place under constant android surveillance after the Prince's first resurrection a few hundred years prior. There were bound to be a lot of hostiles in the area. Ezekiel needed at least five for the job and one to stay behind.
One person to remain in the region that was once Shinjuku and continue monitoring the situation. The Shadowlord may be dead but there was no telling what other tricks the local androids may have under their sleeves. Were they to attempt to revive the project while the team was away, it would not bode well.
The choice was unanimously hated even by Ezekiel himself. The debate that ensued turned violent at one point. A fight broke out between Ezekiel and Obadiah. A fight that did not last long as the rest of the squad swiftly moved to separate them.
After much telepathic debate, snarling, and growing to one another, the decision to draw straws was made. Ezekiel placed a number of them in an old can, drew one, and passed the rest around. First to Isaiah, then Obadiah, Jeremiah, Jubal, and then finally to Amos.
With a deep breath, he took hold of a random straw and slowly pulled it out.
It was just a bit on the short side.
More hissing and occasional fist-throwing ensued. Amos did not take part in any of it. He was quick to accept his fate to be left behind, just as they all had been left behind that wall so many years ago.
Jeremiah was the one to get into a physical altercation with their leader that time. A telepathic plea was made. To at least allow one other person to join Amos. Just as Ezekiel was on the verge of relenting, Amos stepped up and ended the discussion. He was under no illusions of the dangers bound to be lurking in the Legion's former nexus point. Ezekiel was sure to need all five of them.
And just like that, Amos was to hang back in Shinjuku. To keep an eye on things, and wait for their return.
That was no problem. He knew they would return one day with the Prince in hand.
One day…
Amos would not follow the order perfectly. As time went on and the hivemind remained silent, he ran his own expeditions across the world to find them. He searched high and low. In the thousands of years worth of free time he had, Amos ventured to just about every continent.
The only location he did not dare check was Jerusalem. He never had the courage to go there.
After all, why would they still be there unless they were, perhaps, dead? Such a thing was impossible. If he had survived for so long alone then they simply must be out there somewhere.
In all that time, he forgot almost entirely about that woman. The girl the Prince so desperately sought to find.
At the center of the room, 9S sat with his bejeweled sword proudly displayed toward the camera. Devola and Popola knelt to either side of him, each resting an affectionate hand on his shoulders.
Amos worked to set the camera up. He picked an angle. Devola's flashlight was left switched on and aimed at the center of the room to give the image some desperately needed light. A photo was only helpful if one could actually see what was depicted.
With his tattered sleeve, Amos wiped off some dust from the lens. The camera was old. Just as archaic as everything else in his possession. Despite its age, it still somehow functioned. It clung to its original purpose regardless of the passage of time. He took a moment to gaze into the lens. In the darkness, Amos could barely make out a reflection of himself in the glass.
A voice echoed in his thoughts. A memory began to surface.
"Rookie! I want a group photo taken. This way we can look back at our human selves way down the line. Can't forget these handsome faces, right? I'm worried we'll lose our ability to think like the rest of those pale zombies. So, let's get this picture taken and I want you to hold on to it. It'll be our tether."
The words belonged to one of his teammates. He could not place the voice. The memory was too distant. Much too vague.
Amos propped the camera up on a chunk of fallen, mildew-infested wood. He set the timer and rushed into the frame. Being the tallest, he knelt towards the back.
"You too, 153," called Popola.
The pod hovered near the ceiling but lowered herself at Popola's request. She got into frame just in time.
A single flash shined out in the bleak room.
The memory had been captured.
Note: Now, this chapter was a problem child. I redid this one over and over again. I had a bunch of flashbacks planned but including them all just felt like too much so I had to pick and choose. The first drafts of this chapter also involved Amos alone. Adding Emil, 2B, and 042 was a last-minute idea.