Chapter 12: Infection
Parasitic infections are any illnesses or conditions caused by parasites living and reproducing in your body. Parasites are organisms that need another living thing (a host) to get the nutrients they need to survive.
I felt embraced.
No, I was being enveloped.
Pain. Sharp, and encompassing.
My gut felt like it was being rearranged by invisible hands.
My ribs were breaking under their own stress…
….My head! Oh god! My head!
HElEP MeEEEeee!
My eyes were opened, yet I saw no light.
I felt the extremities that was my limbs, but I felt nothing save that every hair was on edge.
I felt light, but at the same time, I felt as if I was in deep waters.
What was this?
Wait, who…..
Who is that man beside me?
What did he want from me?
…
Why did he frighten me?
I chose to scream. Yet, I found no sound escaping my lungs.
The man watched.
I chose to push away with everything I had. Yet, my body would not move.
The man watched, smiling.
I chose to cry. But there were no tears to be had.
In the end, I could only try to look away.
And found my eyes could perform a full rotation.
Only then, I realised.
I had no body.
And without a mouth, I could not scream.
My fears did not subside.
But the man had taken initiative.
He spoke.
He said.
He complimented.
He chastised.
He pointed out.
I relented.
I defended.
I deflected.
I replied.
I highlighted.
Our dialogue was strange. It was without voice, without motion, without cues.
He spoke with image and concept.
I made do with my soul.
There were designs presented by him. I abhorred apart of it. Yet, I knew I had no choice on the matter.
Free reign was given on the outcome, and the choices.
But either way, I was forced to act.
The tomb had been a gift. I openly objected.
Once more, he pressed. The ichor will be of great use.
I couldn't be more against.
Finally, he tells me to do my best. All that is, will not fail. He spoke of having faith.
Approach, the figure did.
I wanted to punch him. He knew, and only laughed.
I received a 'punch' in return.
White engulfed all.
First thing I noticed was the gridlines fading into view before me.
Next was the feeling of….. hardness.
Spasticity had a grip on every muscle and joint. Breathing was hard. Thinking was hard.
And this tube down my neck wasn't helping, either.
What was it? Hours? Before I'd gathered enough will to force my eyes to move to their periphery. Even then, it felt like I was moving them with needles down the centre. My efforts were mostly for waste, for the gridlines above me seemed to stretch further than my limited sight would allow.
Next, obviously, came about trying to move my head. I was quick to find out it was strapped to whatever surface I was lying on. That served little more than to build on the pressure in me.
"HRRHRAGK!"
It was this building force that got me to involuntarily flex my right arm. The pain that followed sucked the air from me lungs. Pain that was complemented with the discomfort of the damn tube.
My coalesced will shattered. Each became an independent that took control of my body parts. Each stretched and stiffened otherwise untouched muscles, and had I not have my mouth and oesophagus stretched, I'd been screaming something fierce.
Instead, the best I could manage was gargles and heaves. Whatever it was that restrained me was a tight bind. It attracted a constant beeping.
A very annoying beeping.
Wherever the sound was coming from, it served the purpose of bringing someone to me. I barely heard a gasp before the shouting began.
Black silhouettes danced at the edges of my periphery. It only made me spasm harder against the restraints. One of the figures grew in size, until it took up two-thirds of my vision. Something was pointed over one of my eyes, and my resistance doubled.
Cool, smooth extremities suddenly wrapped my form.
"HRRRRHGGGH!"
Fucking light! Fuck! Turn it off!
Pass the pain. Pass the cool extremities. Cracks of bone and perhaps skin could be felt as I forced a violent head jerk to the side. My captors' -or was it captor?- hold on my head was loosened.
Shame I didn't count on the light poking my eye.
"URRRGH!"
"Goddammit! Hold him!"
"We're trying."
….What?
Whose voice was that? It sounded familiar.
More extremities appeared, and I was helpless as they forcefully pushed my head down onto the surface.
"Bloody hell. Was he always this tough?" I heard a distorted voice.
There was a shrug. "Beats me. I'm no fighter."
"Why'd he stop anyway?"
A moment of silence.
"… Thought he pissed himself."
"Or," the silhouette with the light spoke up. "He's finally able to hear us clearly. Isn't that right, commander?"
The grip of the extremities grew tighter. My discomfort over their features grew. If only they'd take off this damn tube so that I can tell them off.
"Easy, sir," they- he spoke. "You've been out for a long while."
I breathed.
Soon the light went away, and in its place, a welcome sense of emptiness. Shame those extremities -hands I recognised now- weren't as willing to part with my skin.
"You all can let go now."
Speak of the devil, thank you.
The silhouette appeared once more above me. It reached out to the sides of my head, and with a click, my restraints were removed. The tube was pulled out as well, and I made very vocally clear that it wasn't a nice process. My head neck still felt uncooperative despite this, but at the very least, it was far less vexing than before.
Along with the lessened burdens, a memory- a name surfaced.
"Benedict? That you?" my question felt far from my own. The voice brought pain from the depths of my throat and up to my jaw.
"Seems your more intact than we assumed, sir," the commentor sounded pleased.
I blinked. Hard. Turning my head, my sight slowly returned to me. Mostly, for the world seemed… off, somehow.
"Why…..the getup,….. doctor?" I spoke between heaves.
Some part of me, that was only now awaking, already knew that answer.
"To put it bluntly, sir, you were exposed to a large amount of gaseous substance from the Tiberium Riparius strain. While your PPE was able to mostly prevent a fatality from direct exposure, contamination still occurred from being in the direct path of the gas blast, along with fragments of whatever triggered the initial explosion."
Blearily, I recalled the sharp pain I felt in my back. The ceramics: fragments must've penetrated the suit.
….. Rain, and the others!
"My men…. Those in the tomb…. They…,"
The medic's face contorted. "Not all made it out safely, sir."
No….
"Of the fifteen, all five engineers were either killed immediately or in the following moments. Your guards, they mostly died afterwards evacuating both you and the Mistress. Fortunately, all remaining personnel were able to escape without issue, and have so far not shown any symptoms of Tib-Poisoning over the past nine weeks you were comatose."
Comatose, nine weeks?
"I…..need a…. sitrep," I belched out, dry, spiced air grazed my rigid tongue.
"With respect sir, you need rest. You do realise that up to this point, you were well within the criteria of being euthanised. Protocol states that any and all personnel showing recovery from Tib-Exposure is to be placed under strict surveillance-"
A hand creeped up and grabbed the doctor. Every ounce of strength was used to go through the invisible masonry that thwarted the action.
Pulling the man down by the neck, I whisper-growled.
"If you won't tell me what's been going on, then find me someone who will."
She had nightmares.
In those black dreams, she saw a familiar face. She watched them melt and devolve, not even being able to scream as their entire respiratory dissolves, and the only real form of breath escaping being an emerald cloud.
She watched, transfixed, as fingers fall off and scurry away as independent vertebrates, as arms split into mandibles whilst legs became flat and wide.
All along, as dark eyes stared back at her in silent plea, before bloating into bags of puss.
More than once these dreams came, more than once she awoke to empty her meals in the bathroom. More was spent trying to wipe tears away.
Try as she might to maintain her composure, what didn't help was how fast the news had spread post-incident. Many turned their scorns to her. Many looked to her for either demands or explanation.
It got to the point that a few were put down. She knew well enough the consequences. Yet, that didn't matter in the slightest.
She'd held onto the hope of revitalization, and she'd been answered in earnest.
She was down in the medical sector now, having brisked all the way from her usual station in what was now known as Central; the originally Communications Centre, now turned brain and nervous system for the ever-growing base.
Most gave her a wide berth, and she ignored them. Their opinions and perception of her didn't matter.
Walking to a specific area, she inputted the passcode in an almost autonomous manner. The alphanumeric being a mere synapse within the mind. Going past that, she was greeted with an entire medical bay separate from the rest of the sector.
There were more than a dozen minds here. Three-fourths of which produced specifically for being at the forefront of Tiberium-infliction based ailments. Beyond these experts and their instruments lay a wide reinforced glass window, and beyond that, said experts' patient.
In silence, she marched up to that transparent surface. This should've been nothing new. She'd done this every day at least once before going about her business. Yet, when she now looked into the room, she felt a tug that threatened to bring her to the floor.
There he was, sitting up and hunched over. It could be hardly said that he was in anyway animated, but the way he raised his head enough to look her in the eye spoke enough. Whether wittingly or not, her hand reached to palm the glass.
And was forced to pull back when a high-pitched hiss was heard to her right.
Exiting the pressurised door, five men walked out. One, the Head Medici approached her. His eyes were noticeably darkened along the edges.
"Report, doctor."
"His vitals have normalised, as far as Tib-cases go. However, as you can see, he can't be removed from the intubation completely. It's the only thing keeping the airflow open and what's used to clean his airways."
"Is this the worst case?"
"Heavens no," came the gentle force. "If anything, the fact he has thus far been well receptive to any and all forms of treatment thrown his way is nothing short of miraculous. Plenty have died from less, and he isn't even what some would consider strongly resistant to regular diseases."
Both turned to look at the youth on the bed. It was hard to see the motions of his breathing, let alone the fact he was staring back at them, eyes cast with equal parts curiosity and suspicion.
"Talking to him, he is at least fully cognizant of his situation, if occasionally delirious from understandable discomfort," he turned to her. "And he's more or less been asking for you."
She felt something strike her heart. It took a lot out of her to avoid making a physical expression.
"Permission to go, Mistress. I need to share my findings with my colleagues. Also, I'll need to see White, we'll need to begin making the appropriate preparations to return him to active duty."
She nodded, turning to away from the man beyond the glass to look at the medical expert.
"Your contributions have been immense, Doctor Benedict. I'll be sure to discuss with the commander in good time to have a suitable reward given to you. Until then, do as you must, and send the reports to my desk; standard time."
"I live to serve the Brotherhood," replied the man with a chest salute and gentle bow.
They both parted ways. One to resume his efforts, the other to meet with the superior.
The patient's quarter could only be entered with special procedure, as it was to prevent anything from getting in and out, namely the latter.
As such, the figure that entered the room was clad fully from head to toe. It would've been difficult to tell who was who unless they spoke. Yet, this didn't stop the soft look shown their way from the patient.
The approach was steeped in caution. Within the room, there was no mistaking how pale said sick man looked. His skin was taut, and the bones beneath seemed to be peaking out around the neck and joints. This was all on full display as they only wore special pants to protect their modesty, which in turn exposed the back, and the skin crusted in patches there.
Regardless, the patient found it in themselves to straighten up. Their face spoke of the turmoil it took to perform the act, along with their mouth visibly clenching and morphing around the tube.
"Huulaaaieeenn."
Their voice spoke as one would expect with something shoved down the throat. A bony hand was raised slightly in her direction.
The figure was quick to palm the terminal on the wall, ensuring privacy for the time being.
Before rushing up and embracing the patient in a gentle, but much needed hug.
"Thank goodness," they breathed. "Thank goodness."
On and on they repeated. The patient, despite having gone rigid at first, gently reciprocated the gesture.
They were that way for a while.
Benedict had the foresight and kindness to leave behind clipboard, pen and paper for them to communicate.
"When we realise what'd happen, Stana was the first by your side. He carried you to the surface all the way. Sadly, what'd you'd heard from the doctor was true. He and the rest of his unit had to be unfortunately euthanised due to severe infection."
"Then, how come you're fine Rain? Last, I remembered, you weren't exactly out of the way of that blast to begin with."
She smiled bitterly. "You'd have to thank Sargeant Stana for that as well. For a mere grunt, he made a convincing argument about how one of us had to be healthy enough to ensure the Brotherhood's survival. He had me rush back up for aid, and to seal off the tunnels. Not to discredit you for taking the shrapnel for me, too."
"I see," she noted his head tilt. "What's the status of the mine, then? Don't tell me its inoperative."
"Not at all, while the initial quarantine prevented the contamination from spreading, the Tiberium growth eventually grew out to encompass the entire network. By then, however, we'd already evacuated everyone and set up an entirely new containment chamber. The Sarcophagus has been guaranteed to me by Engineering that no stray particles could escape. We've even constructed an improvised refinery and harvesting operation. Suffice to say, our economy has stabilised."
He visibly rumbled. "Sarcophagus? Was the engineer in charge a Chernobylite?"
She didn't respond to that. He, in turn, switched the topic.
"Our timetable has been altered. This form of mine is a restriction."
There was the visible writhing. She frowned.
"Benedict ensured me that you were stable. Their working day and night to hopefully cure you."
"That, I'm afraid, may not be as wise as it may seem."
"And why is that?"
"Because I met my 'benefactor' whilst in slumber. He has high expectations on me. This 'Gift' is a collateral."
Her pupils narrowed into pins.
"Y-You… I-It can't be…"
He snapped towards her. Eyes brokered absolute silence, before swiftly writing on the paper.
"None must know of this. Destroy these papers once we're done."
With little grace, he tore the paper and handed the shredded pieces to her. He then wrote on a new piece.
"We must begin our move now. A year has passed. I want us to be on the world stage in the next thirty-nine. Begin the creation of twelve groups. I will have to leave it to you to flesh out the details for now, but to start, I want you to bring back Stana, and his men. That is assuming, they aren't already around."
It took her longer to respond to that, than she would've liked.
"I….. I'll get to work."
"Good."
That was all he wrote before leaning back, slightly. His gaze turned downcast.
"I'm sorry to have to spring this on you, so suddenly. If I'd been any better, I'd probably would've been able to…. Well."
For her part, she didn't feel any less about him, let alone offended. Cupping his head, she closed in until their foreheads touched.
"You being alive, and still yourself is all that is needed. Remember that, and remember I will always be at your side."
Hearing this, she felt him lean into the gesture. Alas, they couldn't have it as long as before. For the new plans to work, they needed to be implemented now.
However, as she was heading to the door…
"Hullaaain."
There was the audible sound of boots swivelling on the floor. She was greeted with him holding the clipboard up.
"Thank you."
Sergiu knew that something was up the moment he came face-to-face with a dead man.
Artificial lighting be damned. You couldn't fool a man seeing living flesh. Let alone one that belonged to a man that shouldn't be breathing.
"Sergiu?"
"Stana? What?"
Two men stood face to face with one another within the hallway. The Militant-Captain felt frigid in his bones. His breathing had never been this way outside of combat and….
"You got any idea why we're here this time around?" asked the dead man.
"No," he answered. "You?"
"I haven't been back for more than thirty minutes. You tell me," Stana's lips were pressed.
Something -a thought- flew and clanged within the interior of Sergiu's skull. Alarmed pulsed in his heart as he put together a few details he and his subordinates shared.
Everyone knew of the executions carried out. The Mistress made no intention of hiding. In return, no one was wise to make another move. Not until there was new updates on their Commander's state.
In the meantime, no one wanted to mull over their current, uncertain future. Again, the Mistress had intervened and told him at face to double down on the training and to sent dispatches for those who passed the basics. It was a way of building experience that would've become useful for the planned expeditions.
That changed some ten days ago. It was felt in the air, and soon there was a growing franticness into everything.
And then there was this.
"What happened back then?" came the question from Sergiu.
"….."
"That bad?" the senior mulled.
"Try a bullet to the head for a reward. Try going above and beyond for your boss, just to be told by a bitch to blow your brains out."
Every word that left the sergeants mouth had enough venom to kill.
"You can't say it wasn't necessity. I read the reports. You know the regula-"
"I know the fucking regs, Sergiu!" snapped the militant.
"…. So what's got you twisted by the balls?" he prodded sternly.
Unwilling to meet the other man's gaze, the former bodyguard continued.
"You ever seen a visceroid be made in person?"
After some thought, Sergiu slowly shook his head.
"It's fucked up, man. Worse, once the meat finishes throwing itself up, it'll try and merge with whatever else is nearby. Often, other meat like it. I didn't want to go that way man. Shit, I ain't even sure whatever the fuck happened to those engies that got it."
The militant growled. "I did all I could. We did all we could. Covered all the way back; kept ourselves for last… and for what? Just so we could be told to go back in. We busted our asses trying to save him, and Goldibitch just tells us to fuck right off and die!"
Fidgeting, the man's bare arms were flexed and his knuckles white.
"Woulda given her a nice time with a right hook had she been there in the Hand."
Now it was Sergiu's turn to swallow. Truth be told, a part of him had felt compelled to reach for the pistol on his thigh. He didn't know what it was, just that it took plenty out of him to not execute the man before him.
His former subordinate's outburst was the last piece in the puzzle to frighten him of the current setting. It made him wish that the Commander had never went into that goddamned mine.
Where would they be now had that not happened?
Hiss.
Both men snapped to the end of the hallway. The elevator had arrived, and there was one occupant within.
"He will see you both now," spoke the Mistress. "I'd advise being on your best behaviour, and to keep any comments to yourselves."
Sergiu had seen a dead man return.
So, what was it that sat before them now?
The figure before them, its head was pale, smooth, with only the faintest trace that the hair was just regrowing. It was covered from the neck down in dark skintight that blended naturally with the dark of the room.
It - He sat behind the desk, with both hands clasped in front of their face. Eyes closed, and with form so still, it could be mistaken that they were sleeping.
But that wasn't true.
The door behind them closed silently, but whoever it was in front of them seemed to know this. He then spoke, somehow.
"Stana, Sergiu," he greeted. "It's been sometime. Nice to see you both are doing fine, speaking of the present of course."
A voice mangled yet muffled. Mechanical, yet lacking any particular quirk of normal speech capacity. The voice that came from almost everywhere.
Sergiu's instincts made him step back. The figure realised this, and if he had eyebrows, then it would've been less difficult to not recognise a frown.
"What's wrong? Do you not recognise me?" low-boomed the voice oncemore.
"Who, are you?" shivered Stana beside him,
A flash of… hurt seemed to pass the man. From where he sat, the man manipulated something on the surface of the desk. Soon, what was once a dark space was illuminated, enabling them to see the rest of the room. Not that it helped much, since no one else was allowed into the MCV's fourth level, except for two individuals, the Mistress being one of them…. And…
"Commander? Is that you?" Sergiu asked, brows furrowed.
"Yes, captain. It is."
Without, the dark, they could now see where the voice from earlier had been coming from.
What was most striking had to be the tubes sticking out of his mouth and nose, trailing down in a curve to a support rig mounted around the neck; three collars stacked on top of one another. Without any covers, all could see the naked construct, including the internals which consisted of more tubes and small canisters mounted around the neck and trailing towards the back.
The skintight as well had similar tubing, but they seemed more akin to wires than apart of whatever apparatus was around the young man's face.
Speaking of, said man gestured with an open palm.
"Sit."
Both obliged, but neither rested their backs. Instead, opting to remain ramrod straight.
They watched as their commander inhaled, wince, and with a brief jolt as a mechanical whirr filled the space around his head.
"Damn, sir," came the quiet, nervous comment from Stana.
"You don't know the half of it," came the gargled reply of their leader. "Never thought breathing would ever be a trouble for me."
Then he readjusted himself in his seat, eyes trained forward and looking between the both of them.
"I sincerely apologise for the delay in our plans. Me being out of commission for so long is nothing short of a grievous sin. One that I intend to not repeat again anytime soon."
"With all due respect, sir," Sergiu took point. "Given the state you were in, we're just lucky to still have you around."
"Flattery, will get you nowhere, captain."
"I don't speak of niceties, sir. I've seen firsthand the effects of the Crystal. The fact you walk and talk with us now, where others wouldn't is a gift on its own."
His superior went silent, then turned to Stana.
"I heard what'd happen to you and your men. I am in your debt, Stana. Don't forget that, and I'll see to it a reward is appropriately given."
The militant in question gave a seated bow. "I serve as I must."
"Good," another pained attempt at breathing. "Good. Then, I'll endeavour to keep this short. This damn thing doesn't give me much room for…"
A jolt forward, retching and much hacking erupted from their leader, both men sprung into action. One for the door, the other to their side.
One hand was raised. "Lraarph!"
Both remained still, forced into inaction. They watched and heard as the gags and heaves continued, until a mechanical hiss sounded. The commander straightened; a small trail of gelatine escaped the gaps between one of his nostrils. With his body still mid-seizure, he slowly lowered the hand and went silent.
Another deep breath, another hiss. This time, there was movement around the lips. Blinking, the leader became relaxed once more.
"Damn thing…. Likes to slip in the throat…," spoke a voice both mechanical and strained. "Anyhow, long-winded talks aside. Both of you must prepare. We'll be commencing the expeditions into the West as soon as we can."
"How soon, sir?" asked Stana.
"Unfinalized, but I want by next year if possible."
"What's the objective of our forces?" questioned Sergiu, his presence still next to the commander.
"Syncretism," the leaders craned, barely to the captain. "Remember that debrief months back? I'll handle the recruitment-spawn pools. Just handle the training regime. Raine will prepare the non-combat arms."
He then turned to Stana. "I….. need you to get strong. Stana… I mean this with all the trust I can give. You, and your men, as my protection detail, will be at the forefront of developing our combat doctrines. Every bit…. Of … experience counts. Battlefield analysts will need it. Knowledge is power."
Another hiss. "Once those eggheads perfect this…. breathing collar. I'll join in the efforts."
"With all due respect, sir," Sergiu argued softly. "You're putting yourself at unnecessary risk, being out in the field in your state. You trying to get yourself killed?"
In response, the leader's hand shot out. Far stronger than anticipated, machinery whirling at the increased intensity of air within the throat, the commander stood. Sergiu, wide-eyed, found himself looking up, partly suspended by the grip on his collar.
"Do NOT take my form with pity, militant! Concern is fine, but anymore than I'll…!"
Wheeerrririrere!
The machine around the neck was beginning to sound visibly strained. Stana could only look on, every fibre of his hair standing whilst a dreaded sensation filled him.
It was happening. The crystal was already turning him.
Soon, gone will be the naïve boy they'd barely tolerated.
"I was hoping to do this with your understanding, but perhaps, I'll capitalise with surprise."
Neither of the two understood what was going to happen. They watch, intently, as their superior breathed hissed once more. Eyes closed and opened, once.
"Tzayet."
It is hard to described, this pain.
Yet, one word…. Came to mind.
It was… by all accounts… a violation.
Speech was painful. I was warned that strain would cause the respiratory structure to react violently to the tube system. Feeling it in person? Well, perhaps there was still worse forms of pain out there.
My sight had nearly blacked out just now. Damn it, I felt the flesh within me writhe. I took notice to my heart, and how it hammered hard between what I imagined were swollen lungs.
The machine voiced its own displeasure.
Pressure built into the sides of my head as I drew strength to focus and clear my blurred vision. There I saw, Stana stood ready to bolt for the door. It was…. Almost funny to see his underlying hysteria.
Now, where was I?
"I was hoping to do this with your understanding, but perhaps, I'll capitalise with surprise."
That voice. Apart of me still felt horrified. My own voice.. was not my own, no longer. My teeth grinded against the reinforced tube to no avail. The rest of me focused on hardening myself for what was to be done.
"Tzayet."
Obey.
A word left me. It sounded no different than any other word a mouth could say. However, something about it coming from me had an effect.
Stana, who'd been standing with trepidation, suddenly became relaxed. No, it was more to say he had stiffened. His posture betrayed nothing, except for a calm, quiet confidence.
I turned -careful not to strain the collars- down to look at Sergiu. Likewise, he'd gone from rigid shock to rigid calm. What drew my attention, however, was his eyes.
Both iris and sclera were black. Not a trace of white. It was strange.
I released my grip on the captain's collar. In fascination, I noted how he remained in that motionless state as if time had paused around him. It certainly wasn't comfortable as well, I'd reckon.
"Stand." I bided.
The militant obeyed.
"Turn." And he did.
"Walk. And join Stana." And he followed. I did so too.
I ordered them to stand side to side.
Both groups now faced each other. The table to my right, and their left. Slipping out my handgun, I pulled the slide back to check the inside. Nodding to myself, I handed the gun to Stana.
"Take the gun. Point it to your captain. And pull the trigger."
Ah, now I noticed something difference. There was in fact a conscience behind there. If the minute tremors on the sergeant's hand was any indicator. Be that as it may, there was little I could do to stop it.
Once an order was given, it couldn't be taken back.
"Tzayet," I reinforced. "Obey the command."
The sweat in the room was palpable. It even passed my tube-clogged noses. Despite the artificial light, I could see just how drenched their respective uniforms were.
And strangely, I felt light… elated.
The trigger was pulled.
"What. Were. You. Thinking."
I winced. I'd swallow too if it had been still possible.
"You told me that you'd be sure to inform them of what you were going to do beforehand," she then pointed at the door. "So, what was that!"
Deep breath. Shrivel. Let the buzz feed.
"They… I…. needed to get the point across," came the drawl through the speakers. "Couldn't let them think I'd been weakened from the incident."
"Weak. Master?" She repeated. I could already feel where this was going.
"In my defence, it isn't like they'll remember any of it, right? …. I did make sure to use the Voice to…. Block the bit with the gun out," I attempted to defend.
"You do realise that's only superficial, yes? They're still aware that something had happened in here. If word spreads, there's no telling what the rumours would do."
My ears perked at the last bit. "… Rumours. Interesting."
"Jared…." She sighed.
"Add it to the mission lists. The Friar Brethren are in this for the long haul…. Best give them an equally long goal."
Friars. Confessors. Pastors. So many titles. So very disorganised. What the hell, Kane. I get decentralisation is key to the Brotherhood's outer shell. However, there is a level of absurdity when your command structure becomes vapid outside certain circles.
Rain took a seat in one of the two guest chairs in front of my desk. Her hands went to her face, made circular motions. Glimpsing in between the motions, I could've sworn she aged a few years more than I did.
A moment of silence. "….. I'll be sure to make it up to them. Both are valuable for their own reasons. But until then, we need to discuss another matter. One equally as concerning."
Blue eyes looked up between fingers. She looked harrowed, and it made my heart sink. Still, I pressed on, as the problem was that dire.
"What good are commands….. if there isn't….a way to reliably oversee its fruition," another choke, vehemently resisted. I pressed a few tabs on my desk and forwarded a data packet to her WMT.
A light flashed on her forearm, and with a few flicks, she was soon reading the contents. A brief moment later, she turned to look at me once more.
"Jared, what is this?"
"Monolith. An assurance…..in case something happens to me….. Also, a guarantee for any unwanted inconveniences."
"What will the men think if this gets out?"
"None the wiser. They'll only know of him as an external node. Should prove useful as well to keep the more extreme cases suppressed," I sniffled towards the end.
"You do realise this will conflagrate even worse rumours?" Rain added with raised eyebrows.
"No one is above…. But the wise ones learn how to use them for their own design."
Days would pass once more.
Word of the commander's revival and new plans had spread fast throughout the base.
Despite the tragedy in the mines, a steady source of TibUnits was readily available. In the nine weeks of his absence, engineers had worked hard in constructing a massive pipeline in order to send the processed materials from Refinery to Industry. Experts on economics speculate the vein to last them for a moderate amount of time, ranging from years to decades depending on production priorities.
In the meantime, a handful of minds continued to plot, execute and observe their own designs.
One in particular, noted the interesting tidbits in the most recent reports. Namely, the extracted data on his superior's altered physiology.
"And you're certain of this?"
"Positive sir," replied the science subordinate. "I've run the tests myself with smaller scraps of tissue from what we've got. If what I've observed is consistent, then -by all accounts- any direct, remotely significant exposure to this… Dust as he calls it would result in near radical mutation to his physique. The tissue with garnered from the Visceroids in the mine had a similar effect as you remember."
The science superior hummed, remembering the incident, but he was far from amused. They were fortunate enough to have 'recruited' some grunts beforehand. Otherwise, he'd rather not be having to explain at gunpoint why a giant ball of meat was in the base and slowly absorbing everything in its wake.
"Should this be shared with the Two?" followed up the subordinate.
Raising a finger for pause, the superior pondered first before answering.
"No, not yet at least. We aught to be certain just what we can fully exploit from this. No sense in raising unwanted paranoia. I want you to tell our friend in Medical to keep our agreement in wraps, and to send us more tissue and other related medical data our way."
"And what of the Visceroids?"
"Don't bother," waved the superior's hand. "It's an open secret anyways. I'd say it'll do well to crush whatever naivete is left in that ephebe."
"You think that kid has got the stomach to go through with our Destiny once sees them?"
White didn't answer, not immediately anyways. His gaze turned back down to the opened file in his hands.
"Destiny implies a choice and personal commitment. If anything, his fate was sealed and branded onto him now."
An evening sun was on the horizon. The last rays bathed the mountain in a crimson-orange glow.
The throng had gathered, surrounded by the horde. They were all mostly shared in confusion, curiosity and suspense for what was to come.
When the sky was turning from crimson-orange to crimson-red did the man of the dusk hour appear.
"People of Nod, its warriors and its craftsmen, its builders and its labourers, and those of you whom are still learning of our ways.
I preface by saying that my absence has left us severely setback in our progress, and that the only one who bears that burden is I, your leader. As I've been informed, some of you had even gotten motivated enough to act on your own interest. Those people, in turn, have and will continuously be dealt with accordingly.
However, if I were to stand here… bemoaning our loss… then I have no right to be your leader any longer.
The incident in the mine will weaken me, but in return, I promise to become stronger. Until then, I will perform what I must to ensure I future likewise, shines brighter.
With much aid from those subordinates closest, your chiefs and officers, I have prepared the design for a grand Exodus. Go forth, many of you shall, to disseminate and mingle with those beyond the sands. From here in the East, wander West, North and South and across where all the Winds reach. Become the heralds of the future and bring our tidings, our knowledge and most of all our STRENGTH! To those who will be needing us.
Thou shall be armed, thou shall go with wiles and laudable, and thou shall serve as the face of the future. Our future!
Nine weeks I lay bedridden, but in half that time, you can see with your own eyes the motion happening. The March is at hand, and beyond that, a promise to all!"
The figure produced something from its pocket. A vial; one that it threw to the ground in front of it. Conveniently, it was mostly warriors, engineers and liaisons in front. The figure then produced a second vial. One glowing just as green and just as portent.
"An unlikely serendipitous gift from Beyond! Our Brothers were here before us! The incident in the mine was a design! Our cause has Heavenly Just!"
The ocean stirred; waves began to form. Every line, every syllable had a positive fleck to them. Excited, eager and maundered, a willingness rose like a tide.
"It is only a matter of time, but what gives that final end worthiness…. Is on you! Do….. not fail! Do not fail in the March, the cause…. Or Him!"
If you were close enough, you would've heard the loud mechanical screeching as the collars strained to perform their function. Behind and almost out of sight, blue eyes could only gaze on in silent fret.
"This is your Struggle! Your Jihad! All I ask, is for your bid, and from this moment on, I will follow you every step of the way! Your tender, your steward, in time, I will learn to be your Elder, but know I will always be watching."
Booms and whirls now bubbled, and the sea was no longer capable of being settled. The tide will have its crescendo.
"One day, some of you will look back from where we started, and you will rejoice as we reign over a world of prosperity! There will be none to stop us! No GDI, no UN, and no folly from our own. This world, from this moment on, is ours to earn and keep! ... By Blood…. By Fire…. By Right!"
"Peace!"
"THROUGH!
"POWER!"
A crash. The mighty wave roared. The throng was frightened. The sheep only now realising they were among sheep. The lambs among them, however, were more in awe and sparking with aspirations.
"Remember now! Remember then! Ready yourselves for what is to come! Whether a decade or a century! We. Will. Bring. The Dawn!"
A second wave. This one leaped over the first and lanced its way through. Synergy had been reached, and for addition, the tower beamed a bright green.
The figure retreated from stage. Its duty fulfilled. Its attendant, the same watcher from before, was quick to their side, sliding underneath an arm as said figure began retching and choking. Two individuals approached as they went under the umbra of the tower.
"Had your fun?" quipped one of the two, earning a glare from the attendant.
"I'd ha..ve… added….bonus script…if your work wasn't…shit," the figure bounced back between gargles.
Said individual hummed. "Didn't know you were this spiteful?"
"One… With… the People. Brothers… All… aren't we?"
"…. Perhaps," was the cryptic response. "I'm taking steps to rectify. You should be better off in a few weeks' time."
"Good enough," the figure drawled. "Let us be busy until then. The Annals… won't rework themselves."
The figure departed, the attendant assisting every step of the way until they were within the base grounds once more, where they soon stood and walked on their own.
"Jared?"
"Hm?"
"Are you certain this will work?"
He chuckled.
"Have faith. Its all we can hope now. That, and our metic..ulous… Planning."
A/N: That wraps up the prologue. It only took me twelve chaps. Lol.
So, we have our plot tools. We have the ideas. Now, comes the interesting bits.
The next few chapters will be rather vaguely connected. Pure worldbuilding, if you will. All to set up the stage for the bigger machinations.
I did say that this wasn't going to be a straightforward Nod story, yes? In pure terms, I set out for lore Nod. The one that runs like a cult, and secret society. Have patience, and we'll see the tools and toys come into play.
"Alone -free- the human being is always defeated. It must be so, because every human is doomed to die, which is the greatest of all failures."