Every species had its own misconceptions about Octarian society, that much was certain.
With the flow of information tightly controlled by the mysterious military-industrial machine, the peoples of the outside world knew very little about the engineering and architectural prowess of the Octarians - not even themselves.
By the Council's design, every species' misconceptions about Octarian society could be true, or they could be false. The enemy was kept guessing at all times, forever ensuring that the enemy could not stop them. With the Octarians themselves even kept out of the loop, not even the most effective enemy interrogators could get anything of value out of their captives, either.
For all their faults, the Council knew what they were doing, keeping Octavio's practices alive despite the elderly cretin's continued absence from society.
The skyrocketing desertion rates all but necessitated their continued use, after all.
Proactively limiting the intel falling into the enemy's lap was nothing but good practice, and the process worked thus far - only a select few knew anything remotely approaching the full extent of the Octarian military machine and its problems.
For example, consider the common Octarian Dome.
A grand complex, built to survive some ancient war or apocalyptic event by a long dead ancestor race. Many Octarian habitats, homes, and military organizations were built inside long abandoned Domes, utilizing the spaces that were already there, dug out and reinforced, and then abandoned by their previous owners. Why build your own city when you could just shake out the skeletons and cobwebs from these already existing structures?
Granted, it led to a bleak existence for most citizens, but the times called for necessary sacrifices. Like many facets of the culture, the Domes were held together by spit, glue, and hope, but in some places more so than others.
One such place was Special Defensive Installation Zero-Five-Two, a surface installation not far from Dome Zero-Nine-Five, the Dome beneath the area colloquially known as Octo Valley.
And for a certain Octoling engineer working within SDI-052, this was a lesson he was only now beginning to learn.
"Alright, exposed wires. No time for proper rewiring, but with enough electric tape…"
Within the guts of a great machine, surrounded by steel beams, bright wires and mechanical bearings, Vehicle Engineer Timaetrius (or "it's just Tim, please" to virtually everyone he met) crouched on a precarious perch of metal and electronics.
Above him, a bright spotlight shone down into the machine's chassis, illuminating his latest source of mechanical misery. Working on damaged wiring in heat and humidity rivaling that of a Dome reactor complex did not do wonders for his mood, and the cramped quarters and hot spotlight simply did not help.
It was difficult work, sure, but who said his dream would only be lollipops and rainbows?
...whatever those were. For all their fancy language and descriptive prose, the old books never really actually described what lollipops and rainbows were. Another mystery to add to the list of mysteries he thinks about after work, Tim supposed.
If nothing else, this new occupation validated his strange childhood love of showers and plumbing, so he had that going for him. Granted, the sweet relief of actually taking a shower had to wait until after this little checkup was done with. Though, considering what he was working on, him wanting a shower had a little bit of irony going to it.
Hmm. With some fiddling with piping here, maybe I could… eh, nah. It'd be quicker to just fix the damn thing and go to the barracks to take one.
The frayed wire in question was an easy enough fix, as Tim thoroughly sealed the exposed copper with a bit of electrical tape. It was a quick fix, but he made it a note to let his CO know that they'd need to properly replace the wire at some poi-
"Tim! What the hell is taking you so long? I was assured you'd be done and out five minutes ago!"
The boy winced at the shrill disturbance, nearly losing his balance and falling deeper into the beast. Tamarin. His CO, and another damper on his dream. Why did she always have to be so damn high strung?
"Wait one, ma'am! Was just finishing up!" he shouted back, putting the finishing touches on his patchwork fixes.
Those wires had been the last check on his maintenance checklist, and technically, he still needed to tag those repairs in their logbook, but he'd do that later. Dealing with his CO came first, and he wasn't all that thrilled at the prospect of dealing with her again.
As Tim climbed out of the chassis, taking great care not to bump against any of the more delicate components, he steeled himself. You're a machine, unbending metal…
Not that it helped much when he was back on the temporary construction catwalks, facing down her ugly scowl. They were up fifteen feet over the ground, the scaffolding and catwalks built around the frame of a Great Octoweapon; an Octo Shower, to be specific.
"Didn't break anything, did you?" she hissed, a critical eye glaring daggers into him.
"No ma'am." Tim managed in response, only the slightest bit of fear in his tone (which was a lie. He was scared absolutely squitless of her.)
Lead Engineer Tamarin was a shorter woman in her late thirties, a relative rarity in the younger Octarian forces. Usually, most Octolings who aged out of military duty returned to civilian life, working to keep the lights on and the rations coming.
Exceptions, of course, included those whose skills were too invaluable to part with, whether it be in military operations, training new recruits, or in Tamarin's case, engineering. She wore the colors of an Elite with pride, her ceremonial kelp wrapped over her forehead like a bandana, yet had no goggles to speak of.
"Seems like you're actually learning! Color me impressed!"
Oh, and how could he forget? Tamarin despised using personal protection equipment, which was Tim's belief on why she kept yelling everything; she was practically deaf, and perhaps a bit blind too, as she kept having him do the machine checkups, despite not trusting him in the slightest. That would probably explain the odd, gray flecks in her eyes.
Though, maybe her volume problems came from her years in busy workshops, shouting over the noise of machinery and progress. That in and of itself was a far cry from the present, though; the hangar they were working in was as quiet as can be, considering that it was long after sundown and mostly empty of both personnel and machinery.
"Thank you, ma'am," Tim had learned to just capitulate to whatever the loud Elite said, considering the outcome would always be the same. He didn't quite like her, yet equally, she was his only shot at leaving the monotony of vehicle engineer life.
Grin and bear it.
Following that mantra was only growing more and more difficult, considering that Tamarin had only grown nastier over the past few weeks. She was more confrontational, snappy, always huffing about this or that. And, tapping her right fingers against her left arm while her hands were crossed; she only did that when she was stressed out.
Currently, those fingers were tapping up a storm. Tim swore he could hear their dull reverberations echoing throughout the empty space.
She spoke again, her voice quieted down a few decibels, sounding almost subdued compared to her usual self.
"Everything checks out. Warm the Shower up for a minute, make sure it's functional. If we're good here, run your usual sweeps then dismiss yourself for the night."
Her scowl hadn't vacated, but for a brief moment, he swore her voice had caught at the word 'functional.' The barely-noticeable hesitation was strange, though the task wasn't out of the ordinary; every night, she had him do a sweep to check for broken lights and the like.
"Yes, ma'am." Tim replied, already making his way to the ladder that would take him to the hangar floor, a good fifteen feet below them. It was only when he reached the bottom that Tamarin spoke again.
"Good. Stay safe, and stay vigilant."
Not shouted, but almost spoken softly.
"Yes, ma'am." he replied with confidence, but he felt a twinge of unease in his gut. What was the old saying? Once was a coincidence, twice was confirmation?
As he made his way down the ladder down to the hangar floor, he looked back and noticed that Tamarin had vanished, presumably having gone into the Great Octoweapon itself. It had been Tamarin's main project for the past couple weeks, the engineer Elite spending her days taking the machine apart and modifying it to her heart's content.
He had asked why she was tinkering with it, but whenever he did, she pretended that she couldn't hear him, or worse, told him to 'not question your fucking superior.' The finger tapping was a constant during those situations, however.
Stress from the job? Shell if he knew.
Tim could understand that, honestly. His own anxieties spiked as he meandered out of the hangar, the grand empty space setting his nerves on edge. Thankfully, aside from the Shower and three gravitic platforms the space was empty, a far cry from when years ago the hangar was full of their aircraft.
Or, that's what the old, framed picture he'd found had shown. The engineers in that photo looked a lot happier than the guys who worked with him today. They had quietly built up their reserve for years, but during the more recent conflicts involving the zapfish, their fleet had been reduced to this paltry handful. It was a shadow of their past strength.
Now, it was just three platform craft and a Shower versus the world.
Three circular hunks of flying metal to scare Inklings with, and one giant half-functional inklayer to slowly perform area denial work with. He doubted other reserves and armories were better stocked.
Suffice to say, not the best odds.
Shaking his head, Tim eventually stepped into a small side office near the hangar door, where he wiped his face clean, grabbed his toolbox, and put on a headlamp. He felt no need to bring his Explosher or body armor tonight, considering he wasn't on guard duty. Which, to be fair, he hadn't been on since these little end of night 'patrols' had become a thing.
Mumbling small nothings to himself, the boy left the hangar, where instead of being greeted by the warm and bright interior of a Dome, was met with cool, fresh air and a darkened, star filled sky.
Above ground, the world was much different when it came to Octarian society. There were almost no surviving ancestor race fortresses to burrow into, nor was there much value in building and maintaining brand new structures. Of course, every rule had its exceptions, and much to the chagrin of Octarian leadership throughout the ages, there were some niche functions that simply couldn't be replicated underground, even to the efficient and pragmatic Octarian species.
Thus, why SDI-052, Tim's current workplace, came into being.
Special Defensive Installation Fifty Two, or more commonly known as the 'the Dump' to those who had the misfortune of being assigned there, was a rather compact airfield built at the bottom of Octo Valley, one of the only above ground bases situated there.
It was an impractical monster, only held together by spit, glue, and hope, but the same could be said for most of the machines, base personnel, and vehicles situated here.
Tim could understand why it drove everyone a little mad. Aside from the Dump's small outcropping of civilization, they were more or less cut off from the Domes entirely. Sure, communications worked fine, but getting to and from the Dome nearby and the Octarian transit networks was a hassle. Since everything the Octarians had was underground, the men and women of the Dump were all but isolated.
It bred an odd sort of divide within the base; generally the personnel sent were the outcasts and loners of the army, individuals who could take the quiet well. There were always concerns of some guys running off, leading to a small group of Elite enforcers like Tamarin remaining on site at all times. It was a necessary measure; there were always a few soldiers who smelled the fresh air, and realized that there could be something more out there.
Tim didn't really want to consider himself part of that group, but he could see where they were coming from. Sim-lands in the larger Domes like 019 or 023 simply couldn't hold a candle to the real deal. However, he was content with his meager existence here. No adventuring nor defecting for him, no sir.
His boots crunched on gravel underfoot, the path taking him away from the main hangar and into the dark proper, out of range of the dim lights set up all around the Dump. His headlamp helped him see, but the range was rather lacking. Technically speaking, he was supposed to be using his goggles' night vision systems, but it was easier in general to just use a regular light, especially when he was looking for malfunctioning components.
Sure, he understood the reason as to why he shouldn't (using excess light would attract unwanted attention,) but his little blip of a headlamp was surely invisible compared to the base's few necessary light fixtures.
He shivered, in spite of his self-assurances. Resolutely, Tim's pace quickened, propelling him to the south end of the base, the closest to the hangars. If he could get this done faster, he could get out of the dark and back into the safety of his barracks. A brief observation revealed no issues; little surprise, considering the only accompaniments to the perimeter was the electrified fence and security cameras. Onto the west.
While he did kind of enjoy the scenery and air, it did come with a few caveats, such as the night patrols. He never liked being out at night. It always felt like there was a set of eyes boring a hole into his soul, somewhere beyond the base walls. In the darkness, anything could be lurking. Trees, rocks, bits of scrap, all manner of things that could hide something, or someone.
Much like a quantum particle, something could be within the dark at any spot. But if he was observing something, it wasn't there? Was that how that worked?
Butchering of quantum mechanics aside, he just didn't like the security situation at this backwater base; they needed more floodlights pointing outside of the base itself, even if it was largely superfluous and the rough equivalent of a neon sign shouting "Hey, here we are!". Sure, this was one of the Octarian's few aircraft outposts and were meant to be discrete and hard to find, yet at the same time, it was buried within the valley, far out of reach of the enemy, but still, having them would have made his nerves a bit less pronounced.
And who even was the enemy anymore? Sure, sure, there were the Inklings, but that war had gone cold years ago, just leaving an odd absence. Certainly there was less of a reason to re-ignite that war now, considering that more and more Octolings were deserting by the day. Such a war against his own kind would be… fruitless, to say the least.
He didn't really blame them, all things considered. Sure, the Council was better than Octavio, but they didn't embody his charisma, nor his drive. Tim had many opinions on Octavio; warmonger, stubborn, petty, unethical, but damn it all, he got squit done. The horrors of his brainwashing and mind control aside, he was a rather effective leader. It didn't surprise him that after Octavio vanished, desertion rates skyrocketed.
Really, what else was to be expected? The army was at a standstill, effectively directionless in goal save for 'maintaining our strength.'
Speaking of maintenance…
West side, no issues. What else was to be expected? This place was dead, a dump. With a sigh, Tim kept moving. Onto the north.
Despite all that, Tim stuck around. Not out of any loyalties to the Council, but more because of his dream. The idea of dropping everything and screwing off to the Inkling city didn't appeal to him, but the opportunities he had here, back home? With Octolings rapidly becoming a valued commodity, many doors had opened up to him. Such as, right now, his 'internship' with Tamarin.
With many of the deserters (Tim never liked calling them 'traitors') being from fields like his, engineers and specialists found themselves in short supply. In desperation, the Council decided to start sponsoring those who didn't necessarily have the aptitude, nor the spark of genius. They were scared, and that was something he intended to abuse to its fullest if it meant he could fulfill his dreams.
Unfortunately, Tamarin wasn't thrilled with having to teach, as she so eloquently put it, "a fucking brainlet."
Ouch.
Still, he would do whatever to be recognized as an engineer, and thus be able to escape the Domes and actually work above ground. Sure, the night creeped him out, and the weather was a bit more extreme and inconvenient than he had expected, but such was variety, the spice of life.
Tim himself had never really liked the Domes, but it was their dark underbelly that terrified him to no end, the horrors that lurked within the forgotten, darkened sub levels. Originally, his room while he was a child had been located near the bottom of the Dome, and he could hear Them slithering through the ventilation.
Those who spoke Their name disappeared, never to be seen again. He'd learned that before he'd learned his alphabets.
Some childhood he had.
While it was nice to be outdoors, having to deal with the all encompassing night was another matter. Objectively, he knew there wasn't much up here to worry about, but there was that more primal part of him that was apprehensive. They were still deep down in the Valley, after all, close to hell.
At least They weren't up here. He'd take the surface's creatures of the night over Them. The old ghost stories about landsharks and gigantic amoebas within the surrounding forests didn't hold a candle.
Thankfully, his walk was uneventful, albeit on a nervous edge. The north side of the base was fairly isolated from the rest of the compound, considering it was on the other end of their shorter drone runway, and consequently, was the largest section to look over.
Best to get this done quickly, then. He hated it out here.
Per usual, he went along the fence line, looking for any breaks or faults. It was more of a formality at this point, considering, again, just how far they were from… anything, really. Literally, outside of this compound, the only other thing that existed down here were a few trees and an ink lake or two. Octo Canyon's bottom got all the terraforming funds when it came to that, leaving the valley's own topography mostly untouched.
But, formalities were formalities at the end of the day. While the fence would probably never be breached, it always needed to be checked, just in case something were to happen. Although, if it got to the point where they were legitimately concerned about the fence being breached, there were probably bigger issues to worry about.
…he had only started these patrols a few weeks ago, now that he thought about it. Beforehand, it had been a weekly thing, not a daily check. And considering how on edge Tamarin has been recently…
Not a good thought. Nope. Not out here where his fears could manifest and play in the dark.
Why did he always have to have these thoughts while on patrol? Especially out here, as he was halfway down the north fence of the Dump in the dead of night. Logically, there was nothing to fear out here, but then again, his earlier butchering of quantum mechanics and sloppy comparisons aside…
Cod. Why did his life always have to bring him to these squitholes?
Now thoroughly unnerved, Tim continued creeping along the fence, looking over it despite his beating hearts.
Gotta finish the patrols. Really, there was nothing out here, why was he being like this?
But, as he kept going, and his headlight kept sweeping through the fence and to the land beyond, revealing nothing over and over and over, he could feel his fear begin to fade. He just had a little more to go, and-
He paused, hearts jumping into his throat.
What the hell?
He squinted, taking a closer look…
…
Was… was someone out there?
The moonlight was hard pressed to reach down here, but he swore there was a silhouette of someone out on a nearby ridge, unmoving. His headlamp didn't nearly reach out far enough to confirm nor deny, though, the more he thought about it, the crazier the idea seemed.
Who'd be out here? This place was a dump.
Nobody was there. He's just freaking out. Nerves. His nerves were just getting the better of him. Yeah, that was it.
As the seconds stretched on, and nothing jumped out at him, he began to relax. Slightly.
Though, as he made his way back to the hangar proper, he couldn't help but shake off his unease. And as if his thoughts were a harbinger, when he was halfway back to the hangars, his radio sprung to life, Tamarin's voice recognizable through the static.
"Timaetrius. It's Tamarin. Hangar, ASAP. We're doing overtime."
"W-What? Why?"
"Will brief you here. Get moving. Now. Out."
As if to make things worse, he heard footsteps passing by him, and his headlight caught on the burnished metal and goggles of a security patrol, fully armored and ready for battle. The squad itself was made up of five elites, each carrying a heavy weapon and clad with night vision goggles.
"The shell are you lookin' at? You heard the lady. Go!" one of them barked, as he readied a noticeably modified E-Liter.
Spurred on by their presence, Tim stammered out a "yes, sir" before starting his run back to the safety of the hangar.
Just what the shell was going on?
Far beyond the fence, the shadows wrapped around her shoulders like a grim cloak, Emily glared at the Aberrant's pitiful 'air base.' Through her helmet's lenses, she watched the lone Aberrant turn tail, his dim headlamp turning away, leaving the fence vulnerable. She gave him half a minute before she exhaled. Too close.
"Finally, I thought he would never leave…"
Swiftly, she bounded up to the fence. It was easily twice her height and topped with barbed wire to disallow climbing; a surprisingly intimidating sight, all things considered. It looked much, much smaller from the top of this valley. Now, climbing was out of the question, considering the barbed wire garnishing the top, and while she didn't have bolt cutters, she did have something a bit better…
Emily held up her hand, lightly grabbing the fence with her middle and index finger. As she did so, biological extender gel broke through the surface of her arm's armor, following the contours to the fence. The strange glowing substance wrapped around the links, forming a hard coating.
"It's made of metal, a generic conductive alloy of sorts. Approximately four thousand volts is currently being run through it. SAD! GIMME A SEC." a tinny voice whispered in her ear.
It was a versatile construct, but also an… annoying one.
No matter how much Emily had pestered Daedalus over the past few days, the machine had refused to divulge any more details on where they were headed, save for cackling like a loon and saying, "THE SURPRISE IS TOTALLY WORTH IT, SWEET CHEEKS! I AIN'T SPOILING!"
It was annoying, yes, but as she worked her way through the wooded countryside, there was an undeniable spark of excitement in her step, something that kept her going.
Since the Flood, she hadn't had any good surprises, but ones that were more along the lines of "Surprise! Almost everyone you know and love drowned!" or "Surprise! Some ugly fuckass squid people killed all your coworkers because they cut off the facility's power to the cryopods!"
Emily didn't quite like surprises anymore, but this one held promise. Even though this was supposedly an integral part of their plan, and any information she had could be vital, she supposed there were sacrifices to be made in the name of whimsical excitement.
At least, it was enough to stave off the urge to vaporize Daedalus while it was doing its newfound creepy routine of asking "MOOOOOOM, ARE WE THERE YET?" despite the construct being her GPS. She wasn't sure if it was genuinely malfunctioning from degradation or isolation, or if he was trying to annoy the crap out of her.
(If it was the latter, it was absolutely working.)
Either scenario didn't strike her fancy. And if it turned out that it had been purposefully programmed to be an annoying and creepy little shit, she would resurrect the bastard at fault and then tear them apart at the molecular level.
Emily considered herself a patient woman. Still, by the time the two made it to their destination, she was almost ready to bite Daedalus' stupid goddamn head off. Of course, she was too busy scheming now to really go through with that, and as much as she hated him, she did still kinda need him. So… that was that.
Still, just give me one reason, and you're gone.
After a moment, the ink flowed back into her armor, a section of the fencing clattering to the ground, neatly cut with atomic precision. It may have been an annoying construct, but it did have its uses - albeit limited ones. After she crept through the gap, she asked if it could repair the fence, so as to not arouse suspicion if a patrol passed by it. She could kill Aberrants, yes, but not permanently. If anything, she'd prefer to save her ammo as well.
Not to mention, a gang of them could probably kill her. Vaguely, she was reminded of a group of bees smothering a wasp under their mass. Damn, did this make her a wasp?
Daedalus cut her insectoid thoughts off. "My reserves are insufficient at this time- OHHH, GET REAL! BREAKING SHIT COSTS LESS THAN MAKING IT, LADY!"
As annoyed as she was by the AI's goofy-ass antics (seriously, he could've just said something like 'creation is more expensive than destruction' or whatever,) he had a point.
This had to be quick, and she didn't have the time nor care in the world to make this look like a clean job. That, and if that Aberrant with the headlamp saw her, she wouldn't have long to sit around and fix up the fence anyway.
Well. Now or never.
With no further fanfare, she broke into a careful walk. Much like a bony cat, she crept through the wild grass, a cowardly predator in the thicket.
She couldn't lie, she was admittedly nervous about this whole operation. Sure, she had pulled off similar thievery stunts in the past in that Aberrant city, but never without the fear of one mistake toppling the fragile house of cards that was currently her life. And now, that threat was amplified to a significant degree. She only really had one chance at this, and right now, failure equaled death; and she would be damned if the last hope for humanity fell on that species-traitor guy. Always trust Polaris to spew out subpar failures!
On the other hand, if she could pull this off, it would be the last real hurdle they would have to contend with. Transportation, safety, everything she would need for a long while hinged on her success here. It would be difficult, yes, but if she succeeded, it would be the slickest thing she had ever pulled off.
In short, she was here for their aircraft.
Well, 'aircraft' in the loosest sense of the word, considering where exactly this base was located.
She had found the base nestled near the bottom of a large valley of sorts not far from the Aberrant city. The proximity to the city was one thing, but she also swore there wasn't such a geological feature so close to the Japanese coastline. Oh well. More geological mysteries for her to think about later.
Was it somehow created between the flood and the twelve thousand year slumber? Or rather, did her prolonged cryosleep fry her memory?
Regardless, it was quite the sight. It almost reminded her of the Grand Canyon from back home, if it had an overgrowth of outcropped, rocky Octopus tentacles. Those couldn't be natural, that much was certain. Some sort of stupid artistic statement?
(..though impressive from a technical perspective, she gave them that.)
She had staked out on the valley's edge for two nights, watching and waiting. She had a hard time seeing from so far away, but she could just make out what Daedalus wanted to show her.
"OOH! OOH! LOOKIE LOOKIE LOO! IT'S A UFO!"
"Yeah, yeah, real funny, jackass-"
Out of the large hanger, a crew composed of the tentacle-bodied freaks pulled out a saucer-shaped vehicle onto the concrete. A stereotypical looking UFO, if she had anything to say about it. Guess she did get led to Area 51 after all.
"So that's what you meant by callin' me a space alien the other day…" she muttered.
As a silver lining, it did confirm they were using anti-gravitic drives then. It certainly would explain why this supposed air base didn't have a runway, or more obviously, why it was situated deep within the earth. Paltry advantages to be gained from those drives, when the issues they had ran deeper.
Part of the issue they weren't used more often was due to some… conflicting design views. Conventional aircraft flew by generating lift with wings and rudders and all sorts of other fun things. With less conventional aircraft like helicopters and VTOLs, lift was generated by spinning tiny wings or firing off engines straight down like a space rocket.
With AG drives, however, things were different.
AG drives worked on what Emily could only really sum up as Weird Voodoo Shit, where some sort of field is generated that repels the thing with the drive away from the ground. Building them and maintaining them was almost comically expensive, and putting them to use led to the very conflict that led to their disuse - everything made with AG drives was all but forced to be goofy looking flying saucers.
Something about weight imbalances, the last she heard. Considering Aesthetics™ were still an important factor, such a limitation was crippling. The freaks down at Roswell were already enough of a headache, and conventional aircraft were just better overall. Better aerodynamics, easier logistic support, cheaper production costs meant AG crafts never really caught on.
Most AG craft ended up being barely armed or equipped with much of anything beyond the essentials, or in rare cases, relegated to transport vessels for material or personnel. Whatever the case, it didn't exactly affect the fact that the Aberrants had them, and that this annoying fucking AI was going to try and get her to hijack one for herself. Granted, one would make for a good mobile base of sorts, but still..,
"I am nothing but amusing, Engineer Hawthorne. With this machinery in our hands, we will have free reign of the island, and VICTORY WILL BE MINE! WITH SEVERAL EXCLAMATION POINTS!"
She sighed. Stupid bot was getting ahead of himself again.
Tuning him out, she ran through some quick mental dissections of its components and the physics needed to keep that hunk of junk in the sky. It certainly wasn't a Borealis design; most likely an original Aberrant creation, then. Despite the circumstances, the thought did bring a wry grin to her face; it truly was an 'alien UFO' after all.
As its systems powered to life and it began to rise into the air, she was hit by an odd sense of nostalgia; it reminded her of a few generic 'gray men' alien movies from her childhood, the titles long lost to her.
…
Okaaaay, stop dwelling on that before you start crying again, or something. Change the subject.
"How exactly are they powering it?"
Believe it or not, it took a significant amount of energy to levitate a ship, considering that in order to even achieve a neutral balance, the weight of the craft had to be negated, and that UFO had to be a few tons at minimum. There certainly were… workarounds back in her time, but nothing that was long term or necessarily stable.
(Though, the test footage from one prototype craft exploding during a test flight due to an experimental fusion reactor was pretty badass. Was a pain to explain to her superiors though. That was NOT a fun day.)
As usual, however, the AI's answer was vague…
"FISH!"
…and kind of fucking stupid.
"Fish?"
"Yes. Forced psycho-somatic evolution is a funny thing, Engineer Hawthorne."
Just as helpful as always, it seemed, with more of the usual weird technobabble bullshit between incredibly vague and stupid statements. She didn't exactly have any recourse against the AI, so she had to play its games. But did he really have to be so cagey about everything?
Well, if anything this was why she was relying on information she'd gathered herself, of which was certainly useful now.
She had roughly figured out the times of their security patrols, and combined with the sparse lighting of the base, made slipping through the dark rather easy. That aberrant earlier had been an anomaly, but ultimately, didn't amount to anythi-
KH-THWACK!
What felt like a sledgehammer slammed into her shoulder, staggering her back. She stood dumbly for a moment, shock freezing her in place.
Then, the pain set in.
Instinctively, she fell to a knee, clutching the affected area, her flesh throbbing in a painful beat. Even through her gloves, she could feel the sticky ink that had coated her shoulder.
Ink? How… that felt like a bullet… How did they…
Another shot whizzed just over her head, the inky aftertrail spattering over her armor.
You're busted, champ, her mind dully muttered, the shock of it all not having fully vacated her.
"AH, AH, AH! NO DYING YET, EMMY! GET UP!"
Daedalus's yelling jolted her back to reality, eyes widening at the piercing scream in her ear. Mirroring her shock, her vision exploded into color and light; the darkness had been driven away, her surroundings as bright as a summer afternoon. Were it not for the dark sky above, she would have sworn time had jumped forward.
And within the now brightened field, she saw several silhouettes within the tall grass; five heavily armored aberrants, to be specific, all wearing goggles of some sort, night vision of their own.
"LIGHTS ON, EMMY! TIME TO GO TO WORK."
At his words, her adrenaline kicked into overdrive, heart beating (unnaturally) out of her chest. In her overwhelming bloodlust, she drew her pistol, thoughts of conserving her limited ammunition thrown to the side.
Fuckers have night vision, huh? They want light that bad?
Well, might makes light…
A pull of the blocky Kamabo weapon's trigger sent a blazing comet of star matter forth, in the blink of an eye nailing one of the guards. The sheer energy of the shot vaporized him, leaving behind ash and charred metal.
…and boy, did she sure feel mighty.
The aftermath of the shot was something to behold, as the air was filled with pained shouts and yells as the aberrants stumbled, clawing at their eyes from the sudden burst of what was essentially a miniature, short lived sun. Emily was quick to capitalize on this, holstering her pistol and bringing her hook to bear.
With all concepts of stealth absolutely destroyed by her new pistol's outright deletion of that first dumbfuck Aberrant, she was now fully within her bounds to start hollering like a deranged maniac.
And holler she did, as she charged the remaining group of Aberrant soldiers, hook in hand.
The first one went down hard, a shoulder check to the poor bastard staggering them and opening them up to a hook through the neck. The body lost cohesion not a moment later, the freak of nature dissolving into a purple ink stain within the span of two seconds.
A whirring caught her attention, an Aberrant to her side revving up what looked to be a sort of ink minigun. This moron was next.
Emily launched herself at the minigunner, but not before the man managed to fire off a burst of souped-up ink blobs at her, throwing her off slightly. However, the minigunner didn't account for momentum, something the human all but certainly had on the lightweight evolutionary fuckups that the Aberrants were.
Another stab, another rip, and down that one went.
KH-THWACK!
A shot similar to the one that hit her earlier impacted her lower left back, knocking the wind out of her.
She clattered to the ground with a snarl, her balance shifted by the shot hard enough to send her rolling by whatever the hell mystery weapon had her in its sights. She swore there was something solid in those shots.
Since when did they figure out actual projectiles?
Before she could react, another Aberrant was on her, a loud sloshing of sorts filling the air seconds before her world all but exploded.
A blast of steaming ink sent her flying, the force of the detonation getting her a solid two and a half feet of airtime. Then, gravity took hold, her body meeting the ground with a harsh thud and a whole two lungs' worth of air leaving her body.
Thankfully, her newfound position got her a great view of her latest assailant, a man running at her with what looked like a miniaturized boiler of sorts strapped to a bunch of handholds. With a quick lurching movement, another blob of sizzling ink was sloshed out of the boiler at her, bouncing along the ground right towards her.
The blob detonated right above her, driving her into the dirt a bit and adding yet another tally onto the hits this boiler-wielding shitbag was going to receive once she got back up.
God dammit! That Polaris guy - that twink motherfucker from that dream forest, the species traitor! How the hell did he pull this off!?
If that man wasn't lying, he'd gone through a Shelter's worth of these exact pricks with nothing but an ERA suit and a dream!
Why was this suddenly so difficult for her!?
Emily struggled on the ground, trying to get back up. The barrage had ceased, the three remaining combatants taking stock of her, talking amongst themselves with their disgusting bubbly language. Did they think they had her?
Hell no, they don't.
For a moment, she stilled, gathering her strength as the Aberrants closed in, blabbing in their strange language and fiddling with their equipment. Letting their guard down.
When they got close enough, she made her play.
With a roar, she leapt from the earth and drove her hook firmly into the boiler guy's sternum, following that up with a solid haymaker to the head that sent him sprawling. She lost her grip on the hook, however, the blade jammed so hard into the man's body armor that it'd need a little bit more effort to yank it free again.
Whoops. Guess it'll be the gun for these last punks, then.
Turning her attention to the other surviving Aberrants, she took quick stock of them. One held a goofy looking sword, the other an umbrella of sorts. The usual, then - more goofy Aberrant weapons that don't make much sense to her human mind.
With a warbly war cry, the one holding the odd, whirring sword ran up to her, raised in a deadly arc. Big mistake.
Emily sidestepped the swipe, gasping in pain as the action exasperated her bruisings. The whirling sword (windshield wiper thing?) whizzed through the air, a spray of ink from the violent action painting the ground around her.
The swipe left him open, and on instinct, Emily's hand flung out, quick as lightning, gloved hand closing firmly around the whirring blade. It wobbled about in her grip, the goofy device actually fairly difficult to hold onto, yet she managed to keep hold on it. To sweeten the deal, the expression on Aberrant's face was priceless.
Perfect time for a cheesy quip, she figured, a smug grin growing on her masked face.
"Nice knife. Shame you brought it to a gunfight."
Before the windshield wiper Aberrant could even begin to parse the strange guttural language he'd just been subjected to, an energy pistol was planted beneath his jaw. With a deafening CRACK, the unmatched power of the Sun immediately disintegrated him. Two shots, two kills.
Only one left, one holding an umbrella. Despite the rest of her team having been eliminated and her own absolutely ridiculous choice of weapon, she still stood. With a garbled shout, the Aberrant's umbrella blossomed into an open parasol facing her, ink shooting out from the tip like a shotgun.
Naturally, this one all but ceased to exist as well, a lance of hot cosmic small-arms fire atomizing a hole through the strange umbrella and reducing the Aberrant behind it to her component molecules. Make that a third pistol kill.
Inefficient, but sometimes, you gotta be inefficient to be efficient.
Now…
Right. Boiler moron. He's still on the ground, with my hook jammed up his ass. Time to deal with him, real quick.
With a yank of her hook out from the Aberrant's writhing form, the man's body all but popped like a balloon, armor and clothing sinking into the corpse-puddle left behind. Five kills. Three with the gun, two with the hook.
And like that, the night was still once again, not that the adrenaline pumping through her veins cared. The carnage of their little fight was scattered all around her, much of the surrounding area now covered in the Aberrants' purple ink. It was a messy way of fighting, both figuratively and literally.
But, they really did leave a lot, enough to the point where one of the bastards popped out of the layer, trying to pelt her with ink pellets from his industrial-grade squirt gun. He was cut down quickly, but she could see the ink beginning to churn with Aberrant reinforcements.
"Thermal imaging capabilities are now online. Apologies for the delay, but now I THINK IT'S TIME YOU GOT THE WHOLE 80'S SCI-FI HORROR EXPERIENCE! HAVE FUN!"
With a slight click, her helmet's optics flickered to life, the world recomposing itself into the blues, greens, and reds of thermal imaging. Through them, she could see more Aberrants swimming about in the thin layer, their heat signatures standing out clear as day despite blending into the ink.
Ooh. Groovy.
With a twirl of her hook and a quick cartridge replacement for her pistol, she put herself into a ready stance. Her form practically burned with energy.
Now, let's go do some alien monster shit. I got a UFO to catch.
By the time Tim managed to reach the hangar, the place had quickly devolved into a chaotic mess of Octarians, machinery, and yelling.
Usually at this time of night, this place would be deserted, silent, and dark, with maybe the occasional creak of a security camera to break the monotony. But now, it was a hive of activity, bristling with soldiers and engineers. Tamarin had called it their rally point, and with the base's commanding Elites out on the offensive, she was ultimately left in charge of the defense.
Their forces were spread thin enough as is, leaving only a few proper Octolings and some of the soldier tentacles left. The rest were out hunting the intruder, who was proving to be more of a… problem. While he had been terrified enough from what he assumed to have been his brush with them, he had thought that they would have been taken care of by the Elite team he'd seen going in.
The loud cracks and distant screams didn't exactly give him much hope, however.
Initially, Tim was curious about why they had sent out their most heavily armed troops right from the start, but when that same team (minus three soldiers) staggered out of their respawner, their weapons and armor warped, melted, and in some instances, seemingly vaporized, he was… less than enthused, to say the least.
Three final deaths, and no doubt more to come.
…he should really be taking this much worse than he is, though. A weird, shaky calm had come over him, one that kept him focused. Still terrified, but focused.
Tamarin, on the other hand, was a total nervous wreck. Her tapping had long been replaced with near constant shaky mutterings and a sheen of sweat on her brow. As more and more Octolings stumbled forth from respawners (or didn't come back at all,) she grew ever shakier.
Just who was this intruder, if they managed to reduce even the most hardened Elites Tim knew to quivering messes?
"Doesn't need to be perfect! Just get the fucking thing ready!"
Thankfully, she was still shouting every now and then. He'd never thought hearing his CO shouting would bring him any semblance of joy, but knowing that Tamarin wasn't broken kept his spirits a little bit lifted.
They'd need the boost, anyway. Tim and the other engineers were swarming over the Octo Shower's chassis, feverishly preparing it for active use. The chassis itself was more or less ready, and while the systems within the machine were still incomplete, they were at least operational. It was only a matter of mounting the heart of the device, the controller tentacle.
Thankfully, the hangar itself did come with a ceiling mounted pulley system, of which Tim was working with. He had hooked up the controller tentacle's cylindrical tank, the organ itself pulsating obscenely within the carefully concocted ink suspension. It was agitated, lashing out from all the activity. It could sense that the fight was almost upon them; the shrieks, screams, and weapons discharge sounded dangerously close.
They didn't have much time left.
"Ok, we're almost there. Just stay calm, okay? Just a little longer…"
Despite Tim's placating words, the tentacle refused to obey; instead, it only freaked out more, jerky movements rocking its container. This was going to be a pain, and definitely against safety protocols, but desperate times…
He gestured to the engineer managing the crane's controls, who with a reluctant sigh, eased the systems to life. With the churn of a high powered motor and hook system, the tank was lifted up into the air. Tim crouched on the top, precariously balanced against the chains. It was terrifying, but despite it, he kept whispering soothing nothings. Whether they were meant for himself or the tentacle, he was unsure.
It was just a pressure, pushing up against his skull more and more, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. It just needed a little push.
And that push came in the form of them.
He had a perfect view, from his perch on the scaffolding.
The fighting outside had reached a climax, suddenly ending with the guards outside evaporating into orange mist. A figure stepped through the remains, tall and lanky, their form silhouetted against the fading glow of the cosmic hellfire that all but deleted the Octolings out front.
Tim hadn't known what to expect the intruder to look like, but he did give it some thought; his imagination having conjured some sort of colossal, shadowy entity that'd dwarf every Octoling in the base. It may have been some sort of coping mechanism, considering his mind blanked out whenever he tried to figure out how the intruder was savaging the Octarian's equipment. It simply defied everything he knew.
The real intruder, though, was far more… mundane looking, in a strange sense. They were a tall person, wearing some sort of dark body armor over a deep red jumpsuit, with a small white blocky shooter of sorts in one hand and a angular knife hook thing in the other. He couldn't quite process it; this was the intruder? How much damage could those two tiny weapons do?
(He swore he saw a bit of glowing teal ink slip out from their armor. Were They involved somehow?)
They were slow, movements jerky, yet they felt unstoppable. The remaining troopers showered her with ink, yet they somehow shrugged it off. Without warning, their hand shot into the ink, pulling out a swimming Octoling and slicing them down with their fish hook weapon. Against another target, she dodged a flurry of shots from his weapon, and countered with a searing light from their own gun, utterly vaporizing them.
A soul didn't leave the cloud of former Octoling dust. In fact, a soul hadn't left the others either.
Oh, no.
Despite everything, it seemed he had gone unnoticed. If they ignored him a little longer, he and the other engineers could activate the Great Octoweapon, and put a stop to this madness.
Yet, it would be close. He realized with a growing horror that they were losing numbers fast, and a quick glance down at his hip to see his respawn anchor had gone dark; offline. How did they…?
Ohhhhh, no.
Every death was a final death, now.
But, they were so close!
Tim didn't consider himself patriotic, nor someone who was willing to die for the cause, but if he could avenge his friends, then so be it.
The core had just finished lowering into the Octo Shower, where Tamarin was already working on rousing the great machine to life, the all-important zapfish having already been put into service within the machine earlier.
The last of their forces fell as the final hatches were shut, and after a moment, the eyes of the Great Octoweapon flashed to life. With a deafening roar, anti-gravitic drives within the hull screamed to life, rattling the scaffolding around it.
The Shower lurched upwards, tearing itself free from the scaffolds and sending engineers scrambling for purchase on the quickly collapsing structure. Much like a tea kettle gone mad, an industrial, whistling shriek of defiance erupted from the weapon, steam pouring out of its sides in great quantities.
Deafened and shocked by the machine's war cry, Tim finally lost his grip, plummeting from the scaffolding to the solid hangar floor below.
The last thing he remembered was the Octoweapon's attention falling square on the intruder.
And then-
CRUNCH!
All was still.
…
…
…Was he dead? Was this what death was like?
Why didn't he care? His thoughts felt… slow.
"So, you finally made it. Welcome back."
Was… was that Tamarin's voice?
It was unwelcome and all muffled, but it jolted some feeling into him. Numbness replaced nothing in short order. As far as being dead was, it could be worse-
"I know you're awake."
When Tim opened his eyes, it was with confusion. A bright light was shining down from high above, blinding him, even as he squinted. Only then did her stern face pop into view, blocking the light from up above. Without the light in his eyes, he could see the familiar steel bars and concrete that made up the Domes.
So much for going to the good place.
At least it's home, though…
"Oh, uh… hi. Ma'am." he murmured, trying to blink away the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.
Trying to sit up, Tim was met with a screaming headache, but it didn't stop him from seeing the rest of the barrack-like room. It was a standard affair, save for the respawner he was sitting on. Plenty of other Octolings were milling about in their ruined armor, chatting, patching up their wounds, and some staring at him.
What?
"You and I, we've got a lot to talk about," Tamarin, for once in her life, looked genuinely concerned for him, "but first, did the Octoweapon finish activating?"
Tim blinked. "Uh…"
What was… ok, realign yourself. Break through the fog.
He was Timaetrius, an engineer in training. He had been working at 'The Dump', when they came under attack by an intruder, where they then…
Oh, right. An undignified death on his end. Squit, was he concussed?
"...yeah, it was. Took the scaffolding with it, but it definitely got off the ground."
At that, Tamarin cackled. "Hah! A good parting gift, then. A damn shame it came to this, but we'll at least have something fighting back. Hopefully, the modifications will be enough."
"I…" Tim stopped, trying to choke down his nausea, albeit barely. "H-How are we even alive, ma'am? Didn't the respawner go down?"
Tamarin nodded, her prior mirth suddenly dropping. "Yes, sadly. As if it mattered, in the end. That monster's weapon could destroy souls."
"But we're… here?"
"Well, someone evidently thought it was a good investment in building a secondary respawner for us back in the Dome. Our luck's still holding out for us, Tim."
Tim tried to speak again, but Tamarin cut him off, "I'm sure you've got more questions, and I damn well think you deserve answers, but for now, just… get some rest, kid. You look terrible."
"Y-Yes, ma'am. Thanks." he shakily said, before rolling and trying to get himself to his feet.
With a grunt, he managed to get up, legs shaking the whole way. Evidently, walking was a poor idea, as halfway to one of the cots, he collapsed, adding yet another concrete floor to his list of 'concrete floors I have hit my head on in my life.'
Okay, if I wasn't concussed already, that just did it.
Ow…
So, this may be the longest gap between chapters since that one half year hiatus I did back in 2020. I'm really sorry for that! Between some real life stuff (Full time job, college, and the like) and issues with getting the chapter itself written (the boneyard of this particular chapter is about 4k words), progress was rather slow. But now, here we are!
I don't really have too much else to say honestly; this chapter has been in the works for a long while now, and we're just happy to be getting it out. According to the plan, we should start moving back to your regular slice of life content after the next chapter.
I guess for a fun bit of trivia, I met some of my beta readers this summer! Took a little cross country trip, and met Falk and Spoopy in real life! Pretty good time overall, I think they're scared of me now, but can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs.
(He punched me, I went 'owww,' and we got pizza after. Shit was great. Expensive, but great. Also, he dresses like a dad. Button-up shirts and all. He looks 15 years older than he actually is. -Falk)
(Falken isn't lying about the dad stuff. He showed up to my house and we drove to a local Mexican place, he told me that he always had bad experiences at Mexican places so I was glad that this was the first time it wasn't. Then we visited the park, it was nice. -Spoopy)
(I dress responsibly and respectfully. First impressions are important, you know! -Piston)
(You still look like somebody's dad. -Falk, again)
Hopefully next chapter will come out a bit quicker. Again, sorry for the wait, thank you for reading and reviewing, and be seeing you next time!