by Hugo Damas
The back of the grey armor abruptly birthed fire. Four flames ignited in an instant, replaced by vapor the very next moment, all to the noise of motorized turbines grunting into existence. The rush of smoke pushed the man forward as he also jumped, increasing the speed with which he moved, and with which he came down to punch the Circus Freak.
The Circus Freak did a little ballet twirl and easily avoided him, laughing as the man sunk his armored heels into the ground, scraping open a three-feet long gash across the floor as he forced his body into a stop.
Literally laughing his butt off, the Circus Freak turned and sped away.
But he quickly stopped and turned around, running backward at a speed that was still beyond theirs to catch, unless they used that crazy propulsion. In case that happened, though, he could just hop aside and out of the way.
“Oh right, that saying I have for ya, Magician!” the Circus Freak yelled.
She frowned. The Magnificent Magician knew better than to give chase, she knew there was no use.
“See ya!” The Circus Freak hopped to the side with another deft spin, avoiding a motorized tackle from one of the brown armors. “Don’t wanna be ya!”
The Circus Freak dove through a window of a house. His cackling filled the interior before another crash sounded out as he shoved his way out the front door, which was on the opposite side of the building. He turned a corner, and then another, and kept making corners while heading back to the barn where a man was waiting for him with a sword in hand.
“Is this your hor--” The Circus Freak had had enough fun in that country, he was now very focused on extending that fun into other parts of the world. Because of that, he offered the man no time for a quick jape or any such theatrics, but rather rushed past him with a quick jab that instantly knocked him out.
The Circus Freak freed all the horses before mounting his own. He yelled to scared them away, knowing they would provide additional tracks so that he wouldn’t be so easy to follow.
The Circus Freak was very fond of saying he was crazy, not stupid.
Then he mounted and galloped away.
Uhm…wait a second. How do I get in contact with the Shadow Conclave again?
They had not let him know. Perhaps they didn’t want him to return, but if that were the case, they would be sorely disappointed. The Circus Freak bet if he went back to the tower, he would find the cane man again.
Griff, right? Hugo wondered, pretty sure.
If not, eh, the tower was full of people, so whatever happened, the Circus Freak would have his fun.
That was the truth he lived by. He started laughing again, and actually sensed uncomfortable apprehension coming from the horse. That made it even funnier!
Yes, no matter what happened, or where he was, the Circus Freak would have his fun.
IV
The Enemies Within
Unparalleled Genius
Days had passed, days, and still his sleep went on troubled. Ever since that night, unfettered indignity and hate would keep him awake. Remorse, and the need to right the wrong. The necessity to make them sorry they ever said what they did, kept him wide awake.
Seething. Boiling.
It reminded him of his time in prison, when claims about his state of mind were being made every single day while he was incapable of defending himself. It had been during that time, because of all of that, that Falk had decided to prove them all wrong by showing them what it was like if they were right. About him.
It all culminated in that Shadow Conclave. When he received the opportunity to lead an invasion force of supernatural destroyers unto unstoppable victory over humanity.
Falk kept thinking back to his infiltration of their vessel. That long moment throughout which he could really taste ultimate success. He could imagine the world pleading in desperation.
“Why? Why, Goldschmidt?” They would have asked.
“This is what you said I was,” He would explain, and gladly so. “Notice how once I decided to actually become as you said, it took but a decade for your world to fall and crumble.”
Vindication fully realized.
Yet, there he was, employing his intellect for the sake of the world instead of against it. It was unfortunate, but priorities were important. Those who would question his intellectual prowess, his incomparable genius, so directly as to call him obsolete, were far more deserving of punishment than those who would call him evil. The world had misjudged him, yes, and ruined him on a foolish whim, but never had the people not recognized his genius.
Falk rotated his ocular enhancers, which were at that moment thin and extended so as to provide his vision with greater range. That allowed him to see the submarine. It was docked at a secret port in a closed off island to the east of Norwayaka. Grunlandia, it was apparently called. It was a small thing and,contrary to what maps would have people believe, it was all but occupied by the organization who owned the submarine, contrary to what maps would have people believe.
It was a remote ice-coated existence explorers had found out about recently, and almost confused with an iceberg. It was uninhabited, and no one had really wanted to change that since its discovery.
It had taken Falk all of one day to figure out how to track the vehicle. The method he had employed would not work in the future, a sound-based system that emitted a noise, imperceptible to humans but likely annoying to some of the sea animals. It would bounce off metallic bodies and reflect back at the source. It was very much like how some animals managed to perceive their surroundings. The distance at which this sound could travel underwater was remarkable.
Falk had sailed for three days until he finally caught a signal, which led him to the island. He was using a boat he had built himself, having employed an engine none had ever engineered before, steam-powered, of course. The thing was almost the size of a small child and yet managed to be so much quieter. It also had a redirection system for the vapor, to send it down into the sea. That way, his approach had been, and would continue to be, completely unnoticed.
It might not be all too environmentally friendly but who really cared? Not him.
Now to infiltrate their island, find out where the main compound is, infiltrate that, and then have a talk with the leader of this whole silly enterprise of theirs.
They would likely have scouts on the edges of the island watching for undue approaches. Falk considered the problem for about ten minutes, and came up with the solution. Spot them first. They would, after all, be using equipment that was not a match for his own.
Falk had a thirst for results and research that was, in his opinion, unheard of. Despite that, he was also proud of the restraint he was capable of exhibiting. Why, sometimes, it almost resembled patience.
Falk staked out the patrols and figured out their patterns. It took the rest of the day, but once night fell, making it even harder for them to see, he made his move.
Falk docked near one of the beaches, though that word was used loosely as there was no sand, only snow which led to a layer of ice that thinned and cracked the farther it got, bleeding into the sea. The ice silently and obediently broke away before his boat.
Once his feet hit the ground, Falk activated the self-sinking part of the boat he had built. There were plugs below the floorboards, on each side of its stern. He had but to turn a lever to open them, and the boat would start to sink. It had enough metal and iron in it that it would not float.
Falk did so and then kicked the boat away. He planned to return to civilized lands using the submarine. Or failing that he had informed key members of Led by Anarchy of the location of the base. If all went well, he would be long gone by the time they reacted, otherwise, he was due for a conversation with them in any case. He assumed all members had decided to help the Beasts, much as he and the Eye had. It would be ideal to confirm their intentions and get a more accurate sense of their plans, and while he did that, he would acquire transportation.
Falk was wearing a cape-like coat that was design
ed to envelop him. It had a hole in its center through which he fit his head. The man he had purchased it from called it a poncho. It was fitted with a hood for added protection, not that there was that much left of him to feel cold’s pinch or the sharpness of freezing, but on the other hand, there was a lot of him to rust and freeze, and break down.
Falk had installed micro-furnaces around his joints, fumes were already exhuming from his leg and arm through tiny exhaust ports, but they were mixing with the humidity in the air before properly escaping his cape, making it flutter ever so mildly.
Notably, the garments were white so as to provided him with adequate camouflage in the island. The fumes were also white, as he was using water as fuel. Falk could conveniently refuel using the ice.
However, even with all the preparation and all the technology, there was no beating weather that bleak. Falk was going to freeze in due time, his limbs were already growing sluggish. Well, his metallic ones, the normal ones just hurt a bit.
It was all a tad annoying. By the time he landed eyes on a building, he had pretty much convinced himself he was going to blow up the whole void-forsaken thing, with everyone still inside.
Make me come all the way up here… Falk was aware the reaction was largely emotional, but he didn’t care so long as the response was scientific. And one would be hard-pressed to find anything more scientific than explosions.
Falk sniffed through an already stuffy nose and looked up at a steel-plated gate. It had a roof of snow three feet high and was wide enough for four of him. He grunted and shuffled towards the right, finding three wheels there, each connected to a pipe, all three plugging into a larger one that went into the walls.
“We-e-ell--” His mouth shivered from the cold as he found himself trembling. In a grunt of impatience, Falk brought out a tiny blow-torch.
If they expect me to suffer through whatever puzzle they concocted here, they have another thing coming. Falk turned it on. Any type of security is just a lock, a lock which simply blocks a connection. I have yet to find a lock I have not known how to surpass by simply severing that connection.
Falk conjectured, successfully, that the wheels were turning tiny yet very strong rotors that were blocking what was coming from the big tube to go into the three, and then down and to the side of the wall. It took him a while, but he eventually finished his work.
Falk sealed the passage on the big tube, then opened the three, turned the wheels to place them in the right position, then welded everything back together with the use of some iron plating he could spare. Finally, he broke his own sealing on the big tube.
They threatened to burst and explode but hesitated long enough for the gate to creak open. They trembled, they whistled as ruptures surged in across their shells, but despite that, Falk calmly waited for the gate to open enough that he could walk inside without ducking.
The time came and he stepped inside, walking on. Falk didn’t react when the tubes finally burst apart, and the gate crashed shut. He would find another way out.
Falk would ordinarily have dropped the poncho, but he had to admit he was still too cold to do that. He did, at least, pull the hood down.
Now, Falk thought, too embarrassed by his stuttering teeth to try and use them, to find out who these people are.
It didn’t take him long to find individuals. Four workers hauling crates, which was a scene so typical and quaint it worsened his mood. Their appearance, however, was curiously familiar. Goggles and a vest over a body suit. The goggles, specifically, seemed to tug at his memory.
Where have I seen that particular model before? Falk asked himself, working his memory.
Falk didn’t stick around to remember, mostly because he didn’t like the feeling of knowledge that he had clearly learned but couldn’t properly dig up. His mood worsened.
Falk left the large unloading bay and entered some kind of tunnel, a hallway sunk in snow, and followed it. He kept moving like he owned the place, but his eyes whined as they gyrated and angled around, taking stock of everything ahead of him. His arm was engaged in weapon mode, hidden inside his poncho, in case he had to shoot someone on short notice.
There was something to be said about having a cape which conceals everything inside, it did afford a certain extra confidence to the way he handled himself, and that was saying something. Confidence was the last thing he lacked in any way at any time.
Falk ran into a room which purpose seemed to be file archiving. Curiously, he pulled up a dossier, filled with sheets of paper, and perused it.
It was mostly engineering designs. Falk saw weapons and body enhancement gadgetry. He wasn’t that impressed with what he saw in the first few pages, so he threw it aside and pulled up another folder.
They were a collection of maps pointing out the locations of the headquarters and outposts of several secret organizations. Starting with secret spy agencies belonging to a few nations of note, followed by the Tech Guild itself, the House of Magni, Kagekawa and the rest. Most notably, Shadow Conclave, which was famous for having all their outposts and safe-houses completely secret. Yet, they were all listed on the maps. Or at least, many of them were.
It was followed by a list of names with markings in front of them. The marks either said “alive,” “turned” or “out.”
They’re taking over the organizations? There was a lot of ‘turned’ and ‘out’ markings. And doing so well, too?
It was at that point that his ego finally allowed for the consideration that whoever those people were, they were actually competent, and doubtlessly rich in resources. To the point where it was odd that he had only seen two workers.
Maybe they had abandoned the base, but if that was the case, why would they leave such secrets behind?
And so unguarded, as if asking to be read. Which takes time. And one’s attention.
Falk reflexively looked back, but not a sound seemed to be present, and no one. He took an annoyed breath and threw the file with maps to the side. He continued to go through what documents he could find.
That was, after all, part of his mission.
Falk found contracts to assassinate a few heads of government, agreements signed by men who were now heads of guilds and other such corporations. He found a tally of a merchant’s agreement concerning selling weapons and drugs. They were cheaper in some areas, unavailable in others.
Falk was reading up on decades worth of a concerted and organized effort to destabilize and control. Take control of what they can, and weaken what they can’t. They registered the failures as well, Falk noted how most of them involved the triumvirate of Magni, Kagekawa, and Scavengers. He also noted how they were far reduced in number when compared to the success they had and were still having. They were also, apparently, constantly at odds with his own association, Led by Anarchy.
Anarchists like him were hard to pin down or predict, so they had unknowingly been the cause of a considerable amount of setbacks for the organization.
Falk’s mood worsened when he found a file on himself.
It described him as too erratic and untrustworthy to even try to talk to. He was marked as alive, but a note had been made that no attempts should be taken to turn him. Falk would die. It also contained information that was, for lack of a better word, private. Information nobody should have. They knew Falk had not actually lost his eyes, for instance.
Falk looked at the ‘dead’ note again.
Falk crumbled the file and threw it aside. “We will see about that.”
So the organization, yet unnamed, was in direct competition with the Shadow Conclave, and unknown to everyone else, it seemed. The amount of information they had made it clear, however, that they had spies everywhere. The files they held about himself, and all the other thieves who had participated in the Shadow Conclave, were too detailed. Too well informed.
They had people close to every one of them. He made a mental list of all three individuals who he suspected had betrayed him, all whom knew he had not actually lost h
is eyes in the fires that had scarred him forever and claimed his limbs. It was a lie he allowed to propagate because it helped people judge his intellectual capacity more accurately.
Falk left the room, thinking of how he would find out which one of them he had to kill. Or rather, he was trying to decide whether he would kill Amanda or not. The other two, he didn’t mind eradicating just to be on the safe side, but Amanda was about the only person in the world who could satisfy his palate for food, conversation and companionship.
It was then that he saw someone new. Some sort of young tinkerer who was marching across the corridor, too immersed in the gadget he was screwing to really notice Falk.
His mood worsened.
* * *
“Greetings.”
The young man jolted, glaring at him in surprise. “Wha-what? Hey, who’re you?”
Falk finally pushed his poncho out of his shoulders, aiming his gun hand at the foolish boy who had the gall to not recognize him.
“You tinker with that thing like you know what you’re doing, and yet you fail to recognize the greatest inventor in the world?!” Falk asked, menacingly.
The boy obviously failed to even recognize his gun hand as a weapon because his reaction was to raise an eyebrow and, without a worry in sight, pronounce a very dubious, “what? You?”
His mood worsened considerably.
To the void with stealth, Falk thought, shooting the young man in his arm. His wrist-gun silently spat a spinning disc, sharply bladed, which shot at great speed to cut across the young man’s arm. It made a deep cut.
The fool yelled in a panic. Dropping whatever menial box he had been playing around with, he stepped back to the wall, gripping at the wound. “Whyyyy?? What the Void?! Who are you?”
Falk’s forehead creased.
“I am Doctor Goldschmidt, you insufferable well of infinite ignorance!” It felt good to terrorize and establish his superiority, but his mood only worsened further due to the need for further explanation. “Falk Goldschmidt!”
