Within Octarian society, there were several, immovable conventions, as true as the mechanics of gravity.
Their right to existence, for one. The superiority of their technology, another. And, a much more practical thought, the invulnerability of a respawner. Nothing could harm it; no ink weapon, great or not. And like the device that laid before them, this ideal had been shattered.
Everyone had fallen silent, all staring at the now destroyed respawner. Or, more accurately, the gaping hole punched through the floor.
The "floor" was nothing more than a large platform, far above an inky uncomfortable realization did nothing to assuage their fears, especially considering they were standing over a gaping chasm without the grace of a respawner. And frankly, neither did the charred body armor lying still in a puddle of its former owner's ink.
The Octolings grew still, whispering fear growing in their ranks. Something like this had never happened before. Something like this was never meant to happen. It defied everything.
And… where had Dirk gone? He had been caught up in the explosion, and now...
Rebecca was shaken to awareness by the silence, the collective fear of dozens of now-mortal Octolings permeating the air. Hushed whispers. She could barely hear one praying under their breath.
She raised her bleary head from the metal floor, taking in the scene.
The stranger up above, descending upon them like a feral specter. Slow, measured steps rang out as they took the last flight of metal grate stairs down to the ground level.
The moment their boots met ground, her siblings broke.
Never mind their superior numbers, their still effective ambush strategy. Only the thought that they could truly die remained. They ran, only caring about putting distance between themselves and that killer. All of them, running to the main elevator, abandoning their posts. Preserving their lives.
Abandoning her as well, she realized after a moment.
The thought made her body go cold. Alone here, left to the mercy of a vengeful ghost, one who had proven they were out for her blood.
They had destroyed the respawner.
They'd made her, and all her siblings mortal.
The adrenaline shock at the thought forced her to her feet, forced her mind straight. Enough to see that her siblings were just getting on the elevator, and a vengeful stranger approaching her, almost casually.
She needed to get the shell out of here. Now.
Her siblings wouldn't hold the elevator for just her. Especially not for her, considering she was the… that monster's prey. But maybe if she were just fast enough, she could still make it!
She dove into the ink, swimming as quickly as she could to the elevator. This was her element! A shot futilely cracked out, missing entirely. Yes! The hope and tension burned in her chest, propelling her forward.
Almost there!
The elevator had kept rising during her escape, and was almost out of reach. Almost being the key word.
She jumped from the ink, higher than she had ever jumped before. Her momentum drove her up, hands outstretched to grab the edge. One of her siblings, a brother, had rushed to the edge of the platform, hand outstretched to grab her.
Her fingers felt the cold steel of the elevator, the hand of her savior. Barely.
For a moment, she held on.
CRACK!
The Stranger fired a shot at the elevator, missing her by centimeters. But, it was close enough to send her brother reeling back in fear, losing his grip and sending her back to the ground.
She could only stare dumbly as the elevator ascended well out of her reach, leaving her alone. The last she saw from the elevator was her brother staring over the edge, guilt written across his face.
She laid there, watching the elevator finally ascend out of sight.
But not for long.
She had missed the rapid footfalls behind her, but not the boot that pinned her by her torso. A familiar boot. The severe pressure was almost too much, pressing down on her vital organs. Enough to the point where she couldn't transform, to her mounting horror.
Who else could it have been but the Stranger?
Their charger was focused right on her head. For once, she had a good look down the weapon's barrel. The inside was molten, melted metal and plastic glimmering within. A drop fell onto her armor, hissing. Behind the charger, the same, feral eyes were behind the mask, staring directly into her own.
Guttural sounds slipped past the mask, patterned and deliberate…
…gloating, she realized after a moment. The boot was on the other foot now (literally,) and there was no doubt they loved it. Anger and rage, molded through combat into some perverted feeling of justice.
And now, it was going to kill her.
She was fighting back tears, choking down the bile. She didn't want to die! SHE DIDN'T WANT TO DIE!
Threatening, begging, scrambling like a deranged fish, anything to stay alive! Anything to postpone the inevitable!
Every indecipherable word they spoke signally one step closer to her demise.
"NO! STOP! DON'T KILL ME, PLEASE!"
…
Their finger flexed on the trigger. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face as a familiar electrical whine assaulted her ears.
And a beastly, mechanical shriek shattered the air.
ROOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR!
Rebecca, delirious, barely heard the guttural shriek. But, she felt it. The very cells of her body shook, threatening to rip her apart, while the ink under her dissipated into nothing. She could barely hold herself together, pain coursing through her head.
Through her scrunched eyes, she saw it break the stranger's attention. And on instinct, they turned to confront the unknown threat. It did nothing to calm Rebecca's panic; rather, it only inflamed her struggle. Her kicking and screaming grew more violent, only prompting the boot on her chest to press down harder.
The stranger's screams of fear matched her own.
CRACK!
The same, mechanical shriek replied.
Only then Rebecca realized what had happened, and in an instant, her innards went cold.
The Octostomp.
Never in her life had such overpowering hope and icy fear fought within her. Even to their allies, the Great Octoweapons were abominations brought to life by an unholy fusion of flesh and machine, tolerated only due to their destructive potential. The thought of being close to an awakened one, even if it had inadvertently saved her, made her sick.
CRACK!
Each shot from the stranger's weapon did little of anything, instead harmlessly punching through its armor and creating small, cascading waterfalls of ink. All it truly accomplished was to anger the beast, its enraged shrieks deafening her.
It wasn't just their bodies that made the Great Octoweapons engines of destruction. Each one was sapient, biological at their heart. They could, in a limited fashion, feel emotions and think. Each core was a massive mass of Octarian tentacles specifically bred for intelligence and aggression. And when thrown into the armored chassis of a Great Octoweapon, the result was a sapient superweapon that could operate independently of oversight, not to mention possessing a large capacity for anger and hatred.
Hatred that was now solely trained on the stranger.
In response to the ineffective hail of fire, the Octostomp leapt into the air, impossibly high for its bulk, intent on crushing the Stranger. Who was still PINNING HER DOWN!
Suddenly, the stranger's own preservation instincts kicked in, and they bolted away, leaving her on the ground gasping for breath. She could barely move!
NOT LIKE THIS!
In a desperate penultimate act, she shifted herself into her octopus form. Pressure rapidly built in her body. If she pulled this off…
Just before the Octostomp slammed down on top of her, she shot herself sideways. A risky move, to superjump without a target, especially sideways into a wall. Hitting said wall at superjump speeds hurt, but it beat dying.
Rebecca fell to the ground, reverting back to her humanoid form as she did so. Her body ached fiercely, alongside severe nausea, not that she cared.
It… oh cod, it worked…
The moment of elation quickly fled her; a nameless fear pricking her muscles to motion. She was still in danger.
Less danger, thankfully. The stranger had lost all interest in her, more focused on the Octostomp as it chased them around, barely slowing down despite the many holes the stranger's weapon kept putting in it. It was… kinda cathartic to watch, in a horrific way. Like watching one's hated enemy be swallowed by a Salmonid Maw; incredibly gratifying to witness, yet disturbing all the same.
Marshaling all her self control, she stood, pressing herself flush against the wall. She was still all kinds of jittery, and now, escape was her only real priority. Her mind rapidly flipped through her options.
The ancient elevator would take too long; it'd need to come all the way back down, and who knew how long that would take? She would be too exposed while doing so, anyways. The surrounding complex, on the other hand, would be too risky. It may have been safer, yes, but who knew what else was lurking in it right now? After the stranger happened, she wasn't boxing herself in like that again. She had been given a second lease on life, and one she didn't intend to waste!
The only real option Rebecca had was to get up on the walkways. While not a permanent solution, it was better than being in the middle of this brawl. Let the Octostomp fight the stranger down on the bottom, while she stayed well above the machine's jump height and the stranger's charger fire.
She just needed to get to the stairway up to the walkways. Which… wasn't too far from her actually. Whew.
Another lucky break.
I'm gonna fucking die down here, aren't I?
In seconds, the advantage that he finally had on the pseudos all but collapsed, as a biomechanical horror lept from the darkness of the ground floor.
He cursed viciously, leaden legs barely keeping him ahead of the cube-shaped antithesis of physics and engineering. The power trip he ran wild on after sending that pipe-wielding freak to the grave and taking their respawn device with him quickly ended, as The Cube made its grand and terrifying appearance.
Now, he was operating on instinct. Run. Think. Shoot. Live. Core instincts any good scientist worth their salt always had!
Run: he was doing just that, hauling as much ass as he could when tired, sleep deprived, starving, and in a bulky FLK-brand hazmat suit-shaped coffin.
Think: what did he know about his enemy?
The Cube was, well, just that. A cube, a big freakishly large cube made of scrap metal and purple mystery goo. He didn't get a good look at the rest of it, but he sure did see the big frowny face on it, beady eyes trained on him like some kind of rabid animal.
The Cube was fast, too. It was keeping pace with him easily, jumping and landing where he was mere seconds prior. Stopping for just a moment meant death. Real, tangible death. Not to imply the threat of death was new, but granting mortality to an immortal race really helped remind him of his own.
After all, an ERA couldn't do anything against literal tons of metal.
The shadow suddenly manifested over him. Oh hell.
Go! Keep running!
SLAM!
The horrific machine smashed down behind him, barely missing him. The floor beneath him shuddered, sending him stumbling. Air blasted past him, dust and pink goop spraying as the Cube's miniature earthquake ran its course.
Now…
Shoot: blast the fucker in whatever counted as a vital component, if it even had any!
Before he could blink, let alone bring his rifle to bear, the mechanical horror was already moving to crush him yet again.
He couldn't kill this thing; he was little more than an ant, and his weapons little more than his inconsequential sting. It just pierced right through, missing anything vital. All that leaked out of the punched holes was that same, vile ink.
Live: he needed to get away from the Cube! Fast! Very fast!
SLAM!
The thing crashed down to the floor behind him, narrowly missing him again. Another terror-fueled spike, one that caused him to almost miss the large Japanese text printed on the wall.
施設入口
Something 'entrance.' Where was the entrance? There!
A giant metal door sat inlaid into the wall, hidden by the darkness of the ground floor. If he could get that open, he could duck into the Shelter complex proper, where the Cube physically couldn't follow. If he could find another exit through there…
SLAM!
Dammit! He wouldn't be able to get the door open in time before this friggin' Cube came down on him! Frantically, he looked around, trying to find any other option. Anything.
A blur of movement caught the edge of his eye.
The pseudo, the one he had almost killed, was blindly running across the space. And just as quickly, she was at the steps up to the catwalks, and ascended rapidly. That works!
He could get up there, away from the Cube's jump height! Use his last bit of ammo to end that purple bitch, then if he needed to, deal with the neon freaks he had to fight off up there too! Then, back into the complex, just like his plan with the door. This could work! He could do this!
He… just needed to get there.
Easier said than done.
After the initial shock had passed, Three still felt uneasy.
Maybe not uneasy. Uneasy implied she was simply off balance, which was far from the truth; her leg quivered helplessly on the ground, and the idea of not being connected to a respawner unnerved her greatly. The thoughts she held were tipping dangerously on the thin line of rationality.
The howling agony of her leg did little to help the balance.
Not to imply the inner turmoil crossed her stony face. She needed to stay strong, a stoic facade, a stiff upper lift.
They were still in enemy territory, and without the safety net of a respawner, every move was now vital. It was an odd pressure, one she hadn't felt for a long time, and one Four didn't know at all. Any hint of fear or panic from herself could very easily cause a cascading effect on Four. She was not about to die due to Four freaking out.
Even now, she wasn't sure how Four was feeling about it. The young agent was watching the events unfolding underneath, a simply unreadable expression on her face. Was she okay? Was her psyche currently as fragile as a piece of porcelain? Three couldn't tell, and it upset her internal balance further. Four was never this hard to read, and unpredictability in this theater of war could prove lethal.
"Four, you good?" Three asked, nudging her slightly. She tried to keep the edge out of her voice, but failed miserably.
"Uh… yeah," She replied, sounding dazed, "J-Just… watching the show, I guess."
Ah, so she was too overwhelmed to properly process this situation. Or ignorant to the true danger here. Both were concerning, but not catastrophic.
Or, maybe she was simply mesmerized by the utterly strange display below them.
The dormant Octostomp was dormant no more. It must have been activated, a diversion tactic, perhaps? And, it was completely focused on the Stranger. The great weapon proved unstoppable, nothing slowing down its crushing advance. And not for a lack of trying.
The Stranger's own charger, an exceptionally dangerous weapon in its own right, did nothing. Each shot seemed harmless.
And it was so, so cathartic to watch.
Despite the situation, Three couldn't help but just stop and stare. Yet, as the catharsis grew, so did her annoyance. This was the same person who broke her leg and kicked Four upside the head? The same asshole who managed to single-handedly thrash an entire force of Octarian soldiers? Octostomps were easy to deal with; yet this guy couldn't even slow it down?
It was pathetic, really. Dishonorable even. To think this scum laid her low honestly upset her.
Like, right now, for example. They'd stopped trying to fight the Octostomp, now just intent on trying to flee. Suffice to say, it wasn't going well.
They had gone for the stairs up to the walkways.
A decent idea, but using it against an Octostomp was stupid. Octostomps were stupid, and that happened to synergize well with their one useful trait; wanton destruction.
But, Octostomps weren't that stupid. So, when faced with a fleeing target, it did the only sensible thing it could think of; charging.
The stranger managed to see this and dodge, yet it did nothing to stop the Octostomp's momentum. It rushed past, smashing into the stairway with a great and terrible crash. Just as suddenly as it attempted to bury itself into the wall behind the stairway, it was back on its feet, leaping towards the stranger at great speeds.
The bent, crumbled remains of the stairwell fell to the ground. Some of the metal seemed to jerk in the air, dust and metal swirling in an odd, airborne dance a bit under the stairway's base. A patch of anti-gravity, no doubt. She was wondering when one of those would show up.
Domes always had all manner of strange quirks about them, including fun little patches of anti-gravity that were always a treat to find on missions.
As for the stairway, though; the stranger's thread of escape had now been snipped, albeit with the grace of a drunk whale.
Like she said, stupid, but not that stupid.
But, immensely satisfying. She could only imagine what thoughts were running through the Stranger's head now. Probably nothing pleasant, that much she knew. When the only things her Metro-provided gift could get out of the stranger were angry swears, she didn't really have much to work with beyond 'angry gun-toting moron.'
Three usually wasn't so cruel, yet here she couldn't help it. They'd snapped her leg like a twig, given Four some nasty head trauma, killed someone, and taken away their safety net from death. This was all well deserved, and she wasn't going to pretend that it wasn't.
Her throbbing leg only solidified this stance.
It still gave her grief, even now. Though the cartilage break was clean, it still rubbed uncomfortably against her skin, threatening to poke out. Aside from feeling awkward, it was quite painful, especially when moved. What truly scared her was the potential of it to actually break skin. It could very well cause her internal pressure to go off-kilter, popping her from the inside out like some kind of balloon.
It was… a rather distractingly morbid thought.
Enough that, when someone tried to sneak past the two of them, Four reacted first, weapon snapping to attention. Specifically, at a certain Octoling who was trying to sneak past them.
…
"Don't shoot! Please!"
Rebecca had stopped dead in her tracks, frozen in terror. And for good reason, seeing she was staring down the business end of two raised weapons. Two weapons specifically held by two Agents. What was once a minor threat grew to a monumental status now that the respawner was gone. No second chances.
The tension proved thick, unbearably so.
...
Until Three lowered her weapon, judging her not to be a threat.
Rebecca let out the breath she had been holding.
"Try anything, and I'll kill you." Three said, a surprising amount of bite in her voice. Though, it lost some of its effect from her stance. One leg bent at an unnatural angle, as if warped and twisted, and due to this, couldn't carry any weight. Thus, she was left leaning against the railing. Were they usually like this?
It wasn't as if she had ever met the Agents before, thankfully.
These first impressions were quite strange, to say the least.
"O-Of course!" She stammered, involuntarily taking a step back, "S-See, I'm not armed, just… not wanting to die!" The stress was getting to her, making her babble inane dialogue. Here she was, conversing with these accursed two, who wouldn't be nervous?!
Another voice broke her calm.
"Chill." Four grumbled. A grimace disgraced her countenance. "We got bigger problems, and you're not one of them! Three's injured, the Respawner is gone, and we're stuck here now!"
Rebecca blinked.
The diminutive girl, just a bit younger than herself, up against the railing was Four? Not that Rebecca was any less frightened by the outburst. They were the Agents, after all. But, why hadn't she noticed all this while they were attacking? Larger than life, that was what they were.
Rebecca gulped, "Yeah… we do- ahem, have worse things to worry about." A nervous laugh made its way out of her.
It was strange to be talking with her enemies, with Inklings, and especially talking with them in an almost pleasant manner. Pleasant, in this case referring to this informal cease-fire.
Four was taken aback, her scowl softening. Rebecca swore she saw some glimmer of regret.
"I… Sorry about that. We're just… a bit stressed, is all." Four mumbled.
Huh. That was an understatement.
Rebecca cautiously approached, an irate Three eying her the whole way. Mostly; half of her attention was focused on the battle raging on the ground. And from what Rebecca saw, it was… strange, to be honest.
She'd figured the Octostomp would have been reduced to mincemeat, being nothing more than an effective distraction. Enough to get away, then to pray that the stranger went along their merry way. But, life was quite the trickster today.
The Octostomp was still kicking, and, if her eyes were to be believed, was winning. The Stranger couldn't do anything to it, even with their super-weapon. Each shot seemed to do nothing except punch small holes into the thing. And all the while, it forced them to remain on the move, to react, to control the fight. And those few shots were only barely gotten in edgewise. No escape for the stranger, just insurmountable odds.
It was… cathartic, honestly.
To see this murderer at the mercy of an Octostomp, of all things. Proof that this scumbag was nothing but a cowardly, powerless bully, who had only gotten this far because literally all of the factors were in their favor. But as soon as their luck changed, it was all over.
She hoped it squashed them into oblivion. Didn't they realize destroying the Respawner put them in danger of death as well?
Feh, bastard deserves it.
The venomous thought didn't feel like her own, but it felt so good.
"Hey, that's close enough." Four spoke up.
Rebecca blinked, stopping. She had been absorbed watching the fight, to the point where she almost bumped into Four.
"Sorrysorrysorry!" She stammered, her fear re-ignited.
Another flash of pity on Four's face, "Again, chill." she paused for a moment, "Look, 's long as you don't give us a reason to do anything, we're cool, alright?" Three gave Four a look, one of annoyance.
Ignoring Three's silent protest, Four looked back to the fight going on below. "Feel free to wait this out with us, if you want."
Rebecca blinked. "That's… generous." The last thing she was expecting from these two was mercy, much less casual conversation.
Today was turning out to be so strange.
As if having read her thoughts, Four piped up, a small smirk playing across her lips, "You expecting someone a bit more bloodthirsty?"
"Well… You kind of repeatedly splatted me and my friends over and over again twenty minutes ago, not to mention your whole reputation with us." she said, trying to keep the spite out her voice, "I'm just… surprised, is all."
Still, friendly or not, they were enemies to the Octarian race, and even in her fear, she wasn't letting that go. To say it to their faces though, what was she thinking?
"The whole enemy thing… It's complicated," Three said, speaking up for the first time in a while.
"What she means," Four picked up, "is that it's not personal. I mean, we don't hate Octolings. Just…" she waved a hand ineffectually, "it's our job, I 'spose."
At that, Rebecca grimaced, "You're still ruining our lives, you know that, right? We need that electricity as much as you do, and you taking our Zapfish is only making things worse!"
Four sighed, but didn't respond. She simply switched her attention back to the fight. As did Rebecca; they may be in a cease-fire, but these two still were her enemies. Even with all the honeyed words in the world, it didn't change the fact that these two were solely responsible for much of the misery of her society.
Was she still a part of it? She had been left for dead, and would probably be reported as such.
The thought was… distressing. She… ugh, she didn't want to saddle her parents with that kind of news. They didn't have the best relationship ever, but they were still family.
She didn't want to think about it. Especially now.
Unfortunately, it seemed the stranger had graduated from running about like some single celled lifeform to something that could think. The panic was less pronounced, replaced by more calculated movements, albeit exhausted and minimalist. They were being worn down, thankfully, and best of all, they still couldn't do much against the Octostomp.
It had been riddled with a few more holes, yet was still in near perfect working order. Though, one of the eyes had been shot out… not that it would be too effective, maybe. She wasn't sure of how the Great Octoweapons operated, that was the job of their engineers, but she did know the "face" was fairly superficial. Though, perhaps they did indeed only see out of the eyes.
"Heh, look at that." Three muttered. "Looks like the Stranger's finally figuring things out."
"Stranger? You're calling them that too?" Rebecca said quizzically, turning to Three.
"The shell else are we gonna call 'em?"
"Stranger it is then." she conceded, turning back to the fight.
Let's see if you've still got some fight left in you.
He was beginning to understand.
Knowledge assembled from fragmented glimpses and exhausting experience, despite how little it truly showed. Yet, it could be enough. Everything felt… distant, yet sharp.
The Cube, while mind-bendingly large and just as mind-bendingly nimble, still had limits.
Intelligence, for one. Presumably, it was running on a relatively simple AI. Enough of a mind to try and crush him, nothing more. He refused to believe there was any organic oversight involved here; it would have tried something different by now. The crushing seemed to be its only real method of attack. Blunt force trauma.
Brutish, but effective. Yet, single-minded, and utter insanity from an engineering, economic, and common sense standpoint.
The point being, it was easy to bait around. And combined with such a simple mind...
He made a dash across the space, forcing his already beaten body further forward. Every step sent small shocks of pain through his body, his chest especially. It was distilled agony, yet in the moment, something he fought through.
He had to fight through it; it was life or death. Small tears forced past his eyes, a potent cocktail of his pain and fear. It spurred him to greater speeds; anything to not die!
Almost… There!
He had reached the sizzling hole within the floor the respawning machine made, where he skidded to a stop. From it, he could hear a dull roar emanating far below; rushing water, perhaps? A lethal drop, for sure.
Not that the Cube cared. It had been close behind him, and seeing that he had stopped it once again leapt into the air, aiming to crush him, just as he expected.
This time, he was ready.
He swiftly moved, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs.
He had the thought that the same bulk that made this thing so deadly could be turned against it. Gravity had proven to be a cruel mistress, and this floor was relatively thin.
Even if he wasn't an engineer, he did know a few basic principles. One of them being that large objects have plenty of mass. As such, all that dense matter was sure to possess plenty of inertia. Inertia that, if used on a weak point in the floor, could perhaps send it to its grave.
And when the Cube impacted the floor, missing him entirely, he watched, transfixed and dumb. As the floor shook, cracked, and buckled under the sheer weight and force of it, he crossed his fingers.
...
The floor stabilized, and the machine jumped back to its feet(!?).
It had paused in action, simply glaring down at him with its beady, one functional eye. Almost as if it were mocking him for his oh-so feeble attempt. Shaking off his stupor, he raised his rifle to target the other, but the bulky machine leapt backwards, almost to the wall of the Dome.
How…?
The action utterly blindsided him. Enough so that when it charged at him, sliding across the floor in an utterly obscene display that left smears of purple ink, he didn't react fast enough. He stood dumbly for a moment, watching the impossible display, before his legs took over, throwing him to the side.
The behemoth missed him, but he was close enough to be knocked to the ground by the shockwaves. Even if his backpack cushioned the fall somewhat, his ribs shrieked in agony.
But the Cube wasn't done yet. Its momentum was too great to stop, and as a result, it slammed into the opposite wall, cracking the concrete and exposing one of the Shelter's hidden support pylons. Several tremors accompanied the action, but thankfully, the structure held, even if several chunks of old worn-out concrete crumbled from the ceiling.
So this fucker had the same idea, huh?
He wanted to drop it down a hole by exploiting a structural vulnerability, and now this freakishly large cube was going to drop the Shelter on him by exploiting a structural vulnerability.
How pathetically ironic.
...
He really was going to die here, wasn't he?
The tremors from the rogue Octostomp were rather concerning. Or, more specifically, the ramifications of a cave-in.
Suffice to say, the three cephalopods were now rather nervous.
"Ok, we're interfering, now!" Four suddenly shouted, tightly gripping the railing. Her voice had taken on a delirious edge,"I am not being buried here!"
Before they could further themselves into the rut of panic, Rebecca spoke up.
"Oi. Calm down."
The two simple words fell over the two, pausing them. Rebecca took advantage of the opening she had created.
"These Domes are seriously reinforced." she said. "That Octostomp's not going to bring it down, even if it tried. It's all just superficial damage."
A beat.
"And you know this how, exactly?" Three finally asked, her face tense, "I know you kept your little weapons far away from your standard Domes for a reason. What makes you think this one will be fine?"
Rebecca sighed, bringing a hand to her furrowed forehead, "Look... I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but a few of our engineers had a look around before we set up shop here."
"And?".
"This place is seriously reinforced, way more than anything back home. The durability they estimated it at was, frankly, ludicrous. Whatever this place was built to take, an angry Octostomp's nothing compared to it."
Rebecca could almost see the lightbulb light up over Four's head. "So you're saying this place is a fortress?"
"Yeah. It would have been great if you never found out about our operations here." the thought made Rebecca sad, of all things. She didn't particularly care about the strategic importance of this place, yet, all this bloodshed could have been avoided.
"And yet," Three said, a rare note of smugness entering her voice, as if reading her mind, "you would have had to deal with Mr. Homicide down there regardless. They were the one to lead us here, indirectly, y'know."
"Oh, shut it." Internally, however, Rebecca faltered, "You're saying that you don't know who they are?"
"If we knew them," Three said, an icy note in her voice, "I probably wouldn't have a broken leg right now. We're in the dark as much as you are."
"Oh." There wasn't anything else to say to that.
"So… just wait around and watch, yeah?"
"Yeah."
The silence returned, broken by the occasional charger shot and Octostomp crash.
…
"Squiiiit, now I want popcorn…"
"Shut up, Four."
He was running out of options, fast.
The Cube sailed past, narrowly missing him, slamming into the opposite wall where it became stuck. It wouldn't stay like that for long, but it was a small respite for him.
Yeah...
Not that he was being overwhelmed, but rather, couldn't do anything. Nothing he did had left any real damage, and all his attempts at trying to drop this thing down a hole had failed.
On the other hand, now that he had gotten his bearings against this foe, it had lost its full power. Aside from the obvious fear factor and bull like demeanor, it honestly couldn't do much against him either. It was just a giant metal cube with strange, doll-like legs slapped onto it.
An odd stalemate.
Yet, one that was slowly breaking. Every dodge, every action was wearing down his already exhausted form. He was almost down to a nub now.
His rifle was beginning to fail too, he realized. Looking back, the flashes each shot had given off recently weren't really supposed to be there; rather, the protective metal coatings within the barrel must've given out. Each flash wasn't some cool muzzle effect - they were bits of the inner barrel coming out as plasma from the sheer friction of each shot.
Overcharging the rifle to take out that mothership thing back at Polaris probably ruined the inner linings. Meaning, each shot was scraping off more and more of the barrel, ruining the weapon further and further. How it had lasted up to now, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't holding onto the hope of it lasting much longer.
Regardless, he was beginning to regret much of the past few days.
As such, he had stopped firing in retaliation. It was pointless, anyways. Not like it had been doing anything. Not like he could do anything.
Except dodge.
It was wearing him down, and that thing knew it. It didn't matter how clumsy or inaccurate it was, it would still get him in the end, not if things remained unchanged.
...and that would kill him.
It made him feel powerless, in a way that almost being shot in the head had failed to do. He was going to die, crushed like an insect under the uncaring face of an automaton.
There was one last thing he wanted to try. Something that he had only just received the nerve to do.
There was one of those gravity distortion fields, over by the stairway his frantic escape attempt had accidentally destroyed. Even now, some bits of the metal grate stairs still aimlessly floated about.
It gave him an idea, one forged from desperation and good-old-fashioned "outside the box" thinking. Those spaces essentially canceled the force of gravity. If he was lucky enough, the field was high enough to effortlessly get him up to the surviving bits of stairway. From there, it was back up to the catwalks, then… he didn't really know.
Getting there in the first place was easier said than done. The walkway was at least thirty feet above the floor, and the issue of heights was enough to freeze his blood. He had been able to fight through it while on the walkway itself, but jumping up to the walkway within zero gravity was a whole different matter.
This is going to suck…
He took a breath in, then took off running. The Cube, having managed to free itself from its newly created prison of smashed-in concrete, followed behind him, intent on stopping him.
Breathe in…
Just before he hit the zone, he jumped. And the bottom of his stomach fell.
It was a crude mockery of flight, but his momentum was enough to push him forward, push him up.
It was working!
But alas, luck wasn't on his side.
The field wasn't high enough, and as such, his momentum carried him not towards the stairway but rather the wall beneath it. Right before he hit the wall, the field gave out, unceremoniously dropping him over twenty feet down to the solid metal floor.
All he could do was lay there, every part of his body screaming in pain.
The Cube took advantage of this weakness, pouncing upon him. It only missed by a few feet, put off by being at the edge of the Dome.
He would have screamed, but the fall took too much out of him. He could only look on in mute horror.
And like before, it quickly sprung up.
But, it had landed in the zone of null gravity. Not a problem when it tried to crush him, but when rearing back up…
The zone threw off the momentum. A carefully calculated leap back to its feet thrown off by the brief lack of gravity. Rather than land on its legs, it instead flipped back from the thrown off jump, landing on its back.
From his position, he could clearly see its underside. Nothing of much significance, except for its two, small flailing legs, not to mention a clear underside of vile ink, seemingly filling the entire machine.
Disturbing.
Then the realization hit him.
If he couldn't destroy this thing…
With some effort, he brought his rifle up to his shoulder, fighting off the burning of his muscles, the agony of his chest. Silent prayers slipped past his lips as he looked through the scope.
One more shot, don't fail me now!
Aim…
Fire!
CRACK!
The shot flew through the air, the ejected plasma lighting up his eyes. The rifle sputtered once again, cracking further, yet in the moment, it didn't matter. The round flew true, directly punching through the little bit holding the legs to the machine chassis.
It broke in a shower of sparks, ending the flailing.
Not that the machine cared.
It corrected, jumping back to its legs. Legs that no longer worked.
Without correction, they shattered. The bulk of the machine fell to the ground, now just an immobile cube. The thing screamed in utter rage, the face bulging obscenely mere feet from him, yet, it couldn't do anything. Except glaring balefully at him, shrieking at him, to enact some form of pitiful trauma.
...it was effective.
Enough to send him into a cowering fit, his nerveless body just wanting to get away.
And so, he did, frantically clambering to his feet and tearing off in a random direction, rifle forgotten by the wayside.
He just wanted to run away.
Anywhere but here.
"That's… unorthodox."
"But effective."
"Indeed."
Rebecca couldn't help but grimace at the conversation. Like vultures. That's what this whole situation was. They were vultures, heartless ones.
Near the end, the two had begun narrating over the fight, talking. Even if the person beneath them did deserve death, it still felt wrong, as if this was nothing more than a game. The idea was disgusting, especially considering that death was very much a real possibility.
And for the Octostomp, an inevitability now. It would've been possible to repair, but that seemed unlikely. Especially now. No doubt this place would be condemned, the Octostomp never recovered. It's Zapfish, the power source, probably would be retrieved, though.
Well, definitely, but that would take time.
"Should we…?" She asked, trailing off. She wasn't sure if she would have finished with 'just wait here' or 'euthanize the Octostomp'. Neither sounded good.
"Yeah." Three said, monotone as always, "Four, kill the Octostomp. I need to have a word with this Octoling."
As Four vaulted over the railing, Rebecca noted that the Stranger had disappeared. Strange.
Yet, it did little to distract her from the last bit of Three's statement. She felt her stomach flip at it. While the two agents were merciless and horrible, at least Four was less so. Three, on the other hand, was the stuff of nightmares. A literal reaper, someone Octarian parents threatened their children with.
And now, she wanted a word with her, alone.
Realistically, she knew it couldn't be too bad. If Three wanted her dead, she already would have killed her. At this point in time, she would be fine with just getting out here alive. But, the thought still sent shivers throughout her.
"I gotta ask," Three started, "How'd it feel?"
Her question threw Rebecca for a loop. "What?"
"Almost killing them. How did it feel?"
"Uh… Who?" What? Out of everything for her to ask, that… had to be the strangest.
"That murderer. They didn't have a respawn anchor. You almost managed to kill them. How did it feel?" Three repeated again. Rebecca swore a manic gleam had entered Three's eyes.
She wasn't sure why she hadn't noticed until now, but the Agent's eyes were glowing. A sickly teal, that only grew brighter the longer she stared.
"I… I don't know," Everything that had happened was a blur, she could barely remember it, never mind in detail. She would rather not think about it.
"Oh… Figured." Three paused, thinking. Eventually, she spoke again, "Topic change. You said the engineers came through here, right?"
"Yeah?" She nodded, glad for the change of topic. Still, why was Three curious about how it felt to almost murder someone? Even if it was an accident, she hadn't even considered the lack of an anchor. It made her a bit more sick.
"Perfect. I know those eggheads always keep explosives around. Point me to them." Three never broke her calm, stern stare while she said this.
"...why should I?" As much as Rebecca may have been scared of Three, she still had her limits! And giving over such tools of destruction was a step too far, regardless of intentions.
"Because," her tone took on a hard edge, "We have no other choice left. We're gonna destroy this place, and bury that freak in the rubble."
Everything felt off.
He was walking down a dark corridor, nursing a minor headache. He… couldn't remember exactly how he got there. Why? He had… wandered off? There was the hazy memory of a steel door, then this.
Where was his gun?
He had never liked the idea of mind-altering substances. Something about losing his mental faculties always terrified him, as strange as it was. He had always been that one friend, the permanent "designated driver" as a result. Something he didn't mind, honestly.
It was always fun to mess with people drunk out of their minds. If he had to be honest, it was the superiority he got from being the sober one that made it feel so good.
Sinful, yes, but human nature. It was easy, he didn't need to give up much, save for his time. Holding that relative power never lost its appeal, even if it came from some inane Great Uncle-induced phobia of his.
Going under in Polaris had been terrifying, suffice to say. He had been under anesthesia before, yet it did nothing to dampen his fear. He could still remember when they started the medicine stream; he had begun praying out loud in earnest, genuine fear driving it.
The first time he had prayed in years, actually; some things never really did abandon him, he supposed.
And right about now, he was feeling that same fear. It did a good enough job of overshadowing the other bits of fear fluttering about, namely, walking around newly unarmed in a darkened hallway within this husk of an abandoned facility.
What had happened to him back there?
That was what he pondered while he poked around. He should have been paying better attention to his surroundings, but his thoughts refused to remain focused on the task at hand.
He had… he didn't know what had happened exactly. Anger wasn't foreign to him, but that… that overpowering rage, desire to kill, was that him?
By no means was he a saint; but this was something else entirely.
Which was where his fear stemmed from. How much of it was him? Was… this something that he had kept buried deep, deep enough for him to forget, or was he well and truly degenerating? Had the cryo-sleep actually given him brain damage? Was he of sound mind? Was he!?
And the worst part was that he didn't know.
As much as he hated to admit it, the feeling of being able to fight through the horde of pseudos, even with all the difficulty, honestly, it made him feel powerful. He had been a metaphorical chew toy for this world, and now, he'd shown them that he wasn't to be trifled with. It felt wrong in his head, yet so, so right.
He wanted to push it to the back of his mind, forget about it, but he couldn't. It simply refused to be relegated for later, unlike everything else.
It was a matter of his being, the culmination of himself. If he couldn't trust himself, what could he even do?
Even now, after coming down from his adrenaline high, after being snapped out of his rage by that machine, he felt different. Like his perception of reality had shifted subtly, like something had taken off the sunglasses or whatever.
There wasn't much point in pretending otherwise; he had been through a deluge of horrible, frankly traumatic events recently, and after this was all over, he needed to talk to someone about this. And have a good cry or three.
But now wasn't the time. Even if his mind wandered, he still had a job to do. If he stopped his march, even to rest, he didn't think he could get up again.
Because, there had to be something here. After everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed, there. Had. To. Be.
He… didn't know what else to do, otherwise.
Honestly, he should have tried to leave this place, but at this point, he didn't care about how much caution he threw to the wind. Sunk Cost Fallacy be damned. If he left, he may as well give up on trying to save the rest.
Which was what kept him moving forward, even as his bones, his flesh rebelled against him. He was injured, yet not horrendously so, thank the Good Lord. At least someone was looking out for him.
...why did he think that?
Christ. These dark corridors were eating away at him.
He couldn't quite remember when the Shelter complex lights had suddenly flickered away. It did little to impede his progress on account of bright red emergency lighting, yet it still left much of everything overlaid in shadow. It all reminded him too much of Polaris, and all the baggage it brought along with it.
Except Polaris had been untouched, sealed. Even with all the death, destruction, and fear that hung over its halls, the pseudos hadn't bothered it. It was home turf, completely free of external influence.
Those were the simple days, ones that felt millenia away. When his biggest worry was just getting out of Polaris, blissfully unaware of the living nightmare he would be dipped into. The batterings he had taken were only half of the proverbial knife; the other was the stress on his mind.
And what he had found only increased that load.
He'd found himself at a large maglock door, pried open by a pseudo device of sorts wired into its controls.
1F-D25 / 制御室
Master control room?
If it was the Shelter's central control room, it'd be what he was looking for since he got here. Well, that, and either a whole lot of dead bodies or captured Japanese government personnel or whatever.
Neither of the latter two were in this room, though. Instead, the space was dominated by a large rectangular machine in the back, untold amounts of wires radiating outwards into pipes and holes in the walls.
The machine itself seemed out of place - an addition made after the Shelter's construction, if the angular gunmetal gray casing and English text printed on it was any indication.
NERU-SHA MILITEK ™
LONG-TERM AUTONOMOUS CONTROL UNIT
REVISION 02/2055
His breath hitched in his throat.
Was… was this it?
If this was the Shelter's master control unit, this was a veritable treasure trove of information he could get a hold of. Automated reports, security camera footage, logs left behind by Shelter personnel, the list goes on.
Evidently, the pseudos thought the same thing, though. Hooked up to a nearby human display panel was a pseudo laptop, if the alien key layout and pile of chicken scratch notes nearby were any indication. If they'd figured out how to break into these systems too…
…yeah. He didn't really want to think about it.
Instead, he set to work - setting himself down in front of the more human-friendly keyboard and screen setup built directly into the machine itself.
Cracking his knuckles, he tapped at the spacebar to wake the machine. In truth, he didn't quite know what he was doing here; this was quite out of his area of expertise. Standard computer work was child's play, but this specialized machine was something else entirely. If it was using some proprietary operating system or whatever (or God forbid, asked for security credentials,) he was out of luck.
But, he now had all the time in the world now to figure this out, hopefully. Everyone should have left by now, fleeing from him and his… no reason to sugarcoat it, his rampage. It hurt to think about it like that, but why shy away from the truth? Why try and cover it up?
He had a few obvious answers to those questions, but they could wait.
But for how much longer? He really couldn't keep doing this. Bottling up everything; It had all exploded back on those catwalks, and now, he just felt… he didn't know, empty? Not exactly empty, no, just… exhausted. He was physically and mentally exhausted, yes, but… he was just tired of it all. Tired in all aspects, in a way he just couldn't explain.
And when would this all end? After he got out of here, then what? Live off in the woods for how much longer? How would he even get back to Polaris? Was fleeing that city the right move? Had he inadvertently doomed himself by doing so?
The thought consumed him as the machine sprung to life, a thankfully familiar OS greeting him. The last guy to use this had left his account logged in and set to view the system in English, letting him poke through at least some amount of potentially useful data.
He now had a place name and affiliation, at least.
SHELTER 77 - KUMOTORI
Privately owned and operated by a 'Neru-sha Militek,' the same company that made this computer. It explained the lack of any real identifying iconography down here, if they'd just recently managed to buy the place from the Japanese government before the Flood.
At least that question was answered. As for the others, though…
Much of the other files meant nothing to him, unfortunately. Automated logs, basic information, things that didn't exactly tell him what happened to this Shelter's population. He was searching for whatever he could, but as the search lengthened, his attention wore down. His head was growing increasingly heavy, eyes starting to sting, and he was beginning to nod off. He had been up for about… twenty hours now?
He… gotta… yeah, he could do this.
The fatigue was dragging him down, impairing his functions. The words had long since lost meaning, he was just staring at the screen now, aimlessly scrolling the Shelter's announcements tab for anything that stood out to him.
-MENTS HAVE ARRIVED. FABRICATORS NOW AVAILABLE FOR-
-OOR SEAL TESTING HAS CONCLUDED. THANK YOU FOR COOPERATING-
-MINDER: CIVILIAN + EMPLOYEE FIREARM POSSESSION IS NOT-
-ONFIRMED: AN EXTINCTION EVENT IS IN PROGRESS. CONTINUE SHELT-
-OFFEE MACHINE TWO-THREE IS CURRENTLY OFFLIN-
He blinked.
He went back, reading one particular sentence in full, exhaustion dissipating, falling to the sinking feeling in his stomach..
CONFIRMED: AN EXTINCTION EVENT IS IN PROGRESS. CONTINUE SHELTERING IN PLACE UNTIL THE ALL-CLEAR IS GIVEN.
Clicking on the announcement revealed further text, in the form of a short blurb appearing beneath the all-caps title.
All non-essential personnel are to continue sheltering in place in room 1F-D23 - HIGH STRENGTH SEALED CHAMBER until the crisis period has passed and Shelter maintenance technicians have cleared the facility for use.
Room D23.
If anybody was anywhere in this place, it had to be room D23. The complex and Shelter itself had been utterly empty thus far, devoid of any human life. Thus, all hope rested on D23.
This room was D25. He wasn't far. Good.
Getting up, he stumbled out of the room, marching down the hallway until he managed to find door D23, ominously lit by red emergency lighting.
A heavy looking maglock door awaited him, with a keypad off to the side. If Great Uncle taught him right…
Hold down 0 for 10 seconds… then hit 1, 9, 6, 9…?
BEEEEP! A series of green LEDs lit up on the door. Unlocked.
He chuckled softly to himself. Every time. Maglock door manufacturers always left changing the master access codes up to the end user, and ninety percent of the time the end user didn't even know they existed. With another beep and some sketchy-sounding metallic grinding, the door slid open, revealing…
Nothing.
Pitch black.
Sighing, he swung his bag over his shoulder, fishing through it for his flashlight. It took him a moment of digging through damaged tech and miscellaneous clothes, but he managed to find it. If his flashlight still worked after all this, it'd be a miracle-
Click!
Bright white light filled the room, blinding him and his poor darkness-adjusted eyes.
"Hello?" he called out, voice barely audible even against the silence of the Shelter.
No response. Just more silence, as he'd come to expect from this place.
Then, his eyes finally readjusted.
He fell backwards with a scream, the flashlight clattering to the floor as he tripped on the maglock door frame and tumbled into the hallway. It couldn't be…
It couldn't be!
No…
Shakily, he retrieved the flashlight, and shone it back up into the room.
Bodies.
Human remains.
While his tolerance for death and decay had all but exponentially increased over the past day or so, it still shook him to his core.
All around him inside the room were skeletons, in varying states of disarray. Some of them apparently civilians, the rest presumably Neru-sha employees, still in what looked to be their uniforms. Untouched by pseudo hands, at least. But the fact that they were all in here…
The Shelter announcements on that machine back there did say this was a sealed room, after all. They'd apparently all ran and hid themselves away in here when the Flood hit, while techs outside in other parts of the complex kept an eye on the Shelter's structural integrity.
But something went wrong, somewhere.
And they'd all… They'd all died. He didn't know how, and in the moment, it didn't matter to him.
What mattered more was that the pseudos didn't capture them, and neither did they kill them. The door was still locked when he got here. The pseudos hadn't even realized all these people existed.
A burning fury engulfed him.
So what the fuck was I fighting for then, all this time?!
All those pseudos I killed? All to find this!? Skeletons of people I could've never protected, let alone saved in the first place?
Then, the rage turned to despair.
The pseudos hadn't done anything wrong. They were just explorers, not murderers or kidnappers.
He'd gone on a rampage of wanton destruction against them, almost gleefully sniping at them between bouts of close quarters combat. He'd put his heart and soul into fighting the Cube, just so he could survive and save the people he'd so fervently believed were down here.
Instead, all he'd done was piss off God-knows-who and God-knows-what, gunning down anything and anyone that stood in the way of his crusade. One that was ultimately useless. Nothing of value was accomplished down here, except shaving more than a few years off his post-apocalyptic lifespan and making further enemies of the hapless pseudos who'd found this place.
All this, for no goddamn reason.
Whatever could count as a reason died 12,000 years ago, no thanks to terrible human engineering or sabotage or who-the-hell-knows what! He'd been chasing ghosts all this time! He'd killed for these people!
God, where did he go so fucking wrong?!
He… He didn't know. He didn't know what to do.
Standing up, he said a silent prayer. He wasn't a religious man, not anymore, but he figured he owed the bodies down here something. An apology, perhaps. Closure.
With that, the maglock door was sealed and locked once more, the hermetic seal reengaging with a hiss and a click.
Slumping against it, he settled down to the floor, head in his hands.
In the silence of the Shelter, surrounded by ghosts of both the past and his own actions, he wept.
/ REWRITE A/N: /
Another day, another rewrite. Falk here, once again.
On that real somber note, we're out of the action and into the aftermath of the so-called Dome Arc. Our adrenaline-fueled protagonist has racked up a body count, pissed off at least two military/military-adjacent organizations, and had at least two mental breakdowns all in one go! Not to mention all the skeletons in the oversized hermetically sealed closet being revealed, either.
Now, though, with getting into this 'aftermath' will come all sorts of different challenges, both for us rewriting it and for all the parties that got involved in the mayhem that you've seen play out over the past few chapters. Get ready to have a lot of perspectives to keep track of…
…in future chapters of THE POLARIS PROJECT, of course!
Christ, that's cheesy. Whatever. I'll hand this off to 2021 Piston to take us home. Hopefully you enjoyed, whether you're a new reader or an old head coming back to see what's new, and hopefully you'll stick around for the rest! Have a good one!
/ ORIGINAL A/N: /
Another chapter down! Definitely a bit different than what had originally been envisioned, but I think it turned out pretty well, in all honesty. This was another chapter that I had been planning for a long time now, and to see it finally written is a huge relief. I'm hoping you all enjoyed it, and if not, I understand. Some sections are definitely a tad iffy.
I swear this whole little "Dome Arc" wasn't meant to last this long, but thankfully, the next chapter should end it. We're almost to the end of it, I promise!
And again, apologies for how long this chapter took to come out. It was a bit challenging to write, and of course, I can be quite lazy XD. That is why I keep AncientDragonDuelist around, I suppose. He is definitely an MVP when it comes to that.
Anyways, thanks for reading and all your kind words, and see you next time!