by Marc Mulero
Even if they were dizzied and lost, once the tremors had subsided for over a moon’s past, once there was a second to breathe, the Rogues realized that they should be grateful. They should find their builders and hug them tight. So that’s what they did.
This wasn’t a war where soldiers were celebrated. It was the citizen’s turn… the essentials. If not for the thoroughness of their work, everything they knew would have perished.
Phew. A collective sigh.
Now that safety was found, the quest for information commenced. What was the extent of the damage? Who got hit the hardest? What was the state of the hierarchy?
Thankfully, there was a way to get answers, and Rogues had gathered in the upended hall in search for them. The Holo-Vision device - someone slapped it to get it to work, but all they heard was some rattling and hollowed metal.
“Hope it still works,” a gritty woman spoke.
“I hope broadcasters are still out there. Can’t be just us, right? Shh, shh, something’s coming through.”
“Pfeh,” she spat, “more Dactuar dogs, feeding us their readymade horse shit.”
Everyone inched closer to the device when a holographic image burst to life. Finally, some way to claw out of the dark. A fading connection caused the image of a mocha-skinned man to flicker. He stood wearing a heavy, double-layered robe with broad lapels and a silver Dactuar pin fastened onto his left breast.
“Hmph. What did I tell you? The lapdogs are still trying to depict status… after all of this. Scum.”
Wham! The broadcaster slammed his hands down and grasped the edges of his triangular shaped desk to emphasize the immediacy of what he was reporting.
“Ho! Maybe not!” the other said.
Engineers stood with their tools at their sides and goggles raised, desperate for some information. Volt Units and lower ranking soldiers rested their weapons over their shoulders, all draped in green cloaks, black rubber gloves, and silver plates covering critical areas. Their gear counted for nothing over the days of tremors. They were helpless to protect those they loved. That feeling lingered, still written on their gaunt faces. Fathers, mothers, and children held one another, all the while keeping their eyes glued to the projection.
“No one is safe,” the anchor’s voice cracked as he lost composure. “Orders from the great city are set in stone. I should know… my daughter was executed!” He looked to his right, making it obvious that he was communicating with someone on the other end. “I will no longer be labeled a lapdog of the Hiezers. Whoever is listening, hear this: the elites have barricaded themselves in their fortresses, and left the other classes to rot. We’ve been abandoned and betrayed by our so-called protectors. The estimated casualties are a billion and counting.” The distraught man clenched his fingers harder around his desk. “Stand up to the Quarantine,” he pounded his fist onto the desk. “Don’t buy into their words. They don’t value the lives of the world’s citizens. They only seek to preserve their chosen. If you follow blindly still, then you deserve your fate.” A set of pearled eyes looked into the camera, glazed over with a layer of tears.
He stared on, irises trembling, then winced hard when screams shot out of the projector. The front row of Rogue onlookers jerked back at the sudden increase in volume, making them feel like they were there. Gunfire sounded. The anchor’s lips curved inward in reaction to the turmoil… the broadcast room that he’d spent endless hours in many times before was now a mess, much like the world. His eyes still peered into the camera, to his audience. The image of the man was a memorable one, and thankfully he didn’t have to suffer any longer, because a shot to the temple shoved the Dactuar awkwardly to his side. His head slammed onto a corner of the table before the signal cut out.
Everyone drew in their breath in unison, a collective gasp to break the silence, followed by frantic mumbling that overran the space. It was terror in its truest form. A Quake, then Quarantine. Now this? Murder on a global broadcast. Where would it end?
Most began to exit the hall in worse spirits than when they’d arrived, but there were a few that had to stay vigilant for their people. Coe, Vleece, and the flashy pyro who loved to butt heads with the witty hunter.
“Welp, I guess the world’s gone to shit again, huh guys?” Sabin sat back on the floor, letting his head bang onto the wall. He stroked his wolf’s black and white coat while the others looked down at him. “What? Am I wrong?”
Coe shook his head and looked away to his fellow Rogues. “We’re still no closer to getting them back, you two. Our families are still inside those city walls, as hostages.” He ran a hand through his blond hair. “We have to find a way in.”
Sabin pushed himself up with a groan. “That’s what you’re worried about? Sheesh, my father taught you well about being narcissistic, I see.”
“Hold your tongue or I’ll burn it out,” Jayce promised.
Sabin shivered mockingly, prompting the pyro to raise his harpoon.
“Will you two stop!” Coe shouted.
“Alright, alright. How about this, you boneheaded ‘overseers’ - did you ever stop to think: hey, maybe the most guarded place on the planet, and likely the safest, would contain prisoners that are also alive and well? Better than us even? I would rest easy if I were you, and maybe focus on the wellbeing of your community instead.”
The others exchanged an embarrassed glance, but the hunter wasn’t interested. He said his piece and then it was gone from his mind.
He held his head and groaned again. “Guys, are you sure that the Quake stopped? I mean, things are still shaking for me.”
“Quit complaining, golden boy.” Jayce rested one foot back on the wall behind him. “Everyone is dealing with the same motor brain that you are. Though yours is probably bouncing around a bit more considering it’s the size of a peanut.”
“Ohh! Look at this guy, making jokes. Hilarious. Hey, hey, I got one. You should totally let me shoot an apple off your head right now. I swear, I’m a great marksman,” he smiled.
Jayce’s feathered hair shook when he let his foot hit the ground. “Was this Blague’s grand plan, to send a clown to ease our woes?”
“Well he wasn’t going to send another sour hothead to your leadership. You guys have enough of those,” the hunter countered.
Vleece pushed her large hammer out from her cover, pointing its face to Sabin’s chest. “Do you take nothing seriously, hunter? Every person the three of us fight to protect is in chains.”
Sabin lightly moved the hammer from his way. “Everyone that you fight to protect is alive,” his golden eyes scorned. “I guess that gives me an advantage. I can see clearly while you sulk.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but clenched her jaw instead, humbled, looking downward in reflection.
“The world is being browbeaten by the Hiezers. It’s not just the Sins or the Yuprains anymore. It’s everyone. You’ve just gained millions of allies. Maybe, just maybe, that’s where your focus should be right now.” Sabin began to dismiss himself from the overseer’s circle. “You’re the most experienced exterminators on the block, so why don’t you go show the world that?” He poked Coe in the chest on his way out.
“Don’t you mean ‘we’?” Vleece asked to Sabin’s back.
The hunter put up a hand while Mars padded beside him. “Sure... we.”
Biljin sat across from the Champion, Melissa Brink, waiting patiently and thrumming his fingers on the table separating them, like a jester entertaining a guest. A weak jester at that.
They pretended not to hear the muffled commotion coming from beyond the door - work orders being shouted, the mothers and fathers hollering at one another or their kids. It was all simply noise to a couple of commanders. Thankfully though, the fourth floor of the central Senation fortress was high – blocked off, far removed from everything. Well, mostly at least.
“Blague will be here momentarily, then we can begin your orientation,” he assured.
Melissa nodded, her head about to e
xplode with questions. “We’ve been hysterical since we were rejected at the Gates of Eternity. There’s much to discuss. Catch me up, Biljin. My brother, what do you know of him? What has he done?”
Biljin sat back and crossed one leg over another, his robe’s Obsidian clasps glimmering in the light. “I’ve only really heard Blague and Eugene speak of him, but their stories have led my imagination on a healthy run. I’ve equated his image to another of old history. There was once a man who was considered the embodiment of evil. He had such a unique and eccentric appeal, that he could eventually will his agenda through his followers. He persuaded his cronies to worship, to listen, and to murder. His abnormity lied in how much he believed in the unpredictable thoughts that came to him, and how he could then transfer that belief unto others. His name was Charles Manson. And if Charles had access to the crimson smoke that you battled in, I would imagine he would be something like your brother.”
The Champion was puzzled. “My brother, a mass murderer?” she questioned, thinking back to what Orin had said upon his arrival. “Jason was always curious, but never showed signs of evil. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Biljin rubbed his cue ball head. “Perhaps your brother is a good man who was corrupted by that substance. But that’s speculation. What we know for sure is what we experienced. You were in there with me. Hell, you ran in like you owned the place.”
Melissa smirked at the comment.
“But then something happened. You felt what I felt, I’m sure of it. My thoughts raced faster than they do now when I passed into the smoke, and my world came out from under me. To fight past it was next to impossible, but Orin waded through it as if he’d been living in it for a lifetime. We wouldn’t be here right now if not for him. And you heard what he said about Jason… we would be fools not to listen.”
Melissa’s smirk was pulled into a frown of hard swallowed truth. She thought back to the shrieks that nearly burst her eardrums, and to the red decrepit hands forcing her to the floor. “I fought through it, for a time, but it came to be too much. The pull felt so real… it paralyzed me, forced me into submission. Such power has no equal.” She shook her head. “And yet that strange man raced around like he was hastened by it. That bastard flung me into clean air and did the same for my Crescent. He saved us… but how… how could someone embrace such a thing?”
“It was you who suggested that the world is not what it once was. I would expect you to embrace it before I did.”
She let out a sigh of frustration. “How could Jason be connected to all of this?” she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow in disdain and alternated his crossed legs.
After brief silence, Melissa slapped the table and sat straight, reassuming her regal composure and ignoring her wonderment. “Dismiss my shock, Biljin. Let us talk of matters we have control over. I have a lot to atone for, representing the wrong side for my entire career and all.”
What Melissa lacks in intellect, she makes up for in heart. Fascinating, how under the right circumstances, the correlation of risk and reward can be so satisfying to test. She could have stabbed me in the heart ten times over before I could’ve reacted, but instead she joined me, and turned the tide of battle.
“Our efforts will take us far, Melissa. As my foresight of the Hiezers’ totalitarian agenda comes to fruition, I recognize how right this rebellion is. This Quake shook more than our bodies. It rattled loose all of the Hiezers’ rubrics from the public’s mind.”
“That’s right,” Blague said while entering the room, his eyes stuck to the floor ahead of him. “We’ve received word from numerous locations and various classes. There’s one constant among all that we’ve heard so far - obedience to the Hiezer regime wanes. The Quarantine Initiative has dispelled the illusion of freedom instantly,” he continued, taking a seat beside Melissa. “But I can’t help but question if this is what my brother wants.”
Every time I visit, Blague seems a different man. This tranquil version of him beats his fits of despair. I wonder what that shadowy figure did to him… Aslock and his realm of “science” that he claims to study.
“We have much to discuss, and there’s much I must know,” Biljin spoke.
The Sin Leader gave a slow nod. “Yes, but first, let’s not be rude to our guest.” He gestured to the armored woman. “Champion Brink, Biljin and Drino told me much of your past. It’s clear that your résumé coupled with your aid to the Sins absolves you from any evaluations. I hold the families that we protect here very dear. Their survival is largely due to the intervention of your soldiers and your medics. And for that, we are in your debt.”
Melissa’s stern demeanor didn’t falter, and the compliment didn’t faze her. “The Dactuar Crescent and their Wings are obliged to help keep the Sin heart pumping. The true threats are clear now. We are at your disposal.”
Biljin’s eyes shifted between the two, his mind racing.
Sabin was dispatched to the Templos Rogues, Volaina is bound to a hospital bed, and Lito has fallen in battle. It appears that a Sin commander’s career is short-lived. There’s only one move here, and I’m sure our chess playing leader is about to make it…
“In a time of great loss for our people, we’re fortunate to find some sort of gain.” Blague’s piercing eyes shifted to the genius physicist. “Given the Quake’s devastation, we’ve taken in more refugees than we can handle. Not just from Senation, but from all over the Old US. Anyone who’s heard of the walls that bend and adapt like water have sought us out, in fear.”
“You’re pulling me as an infiltrator and redefining my role,” Biljin said impatiently.
“Precisely. Your great mind is needed here to manage the difficulties to come. I’m sure it can shift gears,” Blague challenged.
“It can,” Biljin confirmed.
On with it, Blague… now induct the Champion as a Sin commander. Biljin fought hard from rolling his eyes. Get on with it so you can speak of the guy who knocked me unconscious a time or two.
“And you, Melissa. You can be the first symbol of the rebellion’s growth. I would like to skip the induction process and welcome you as a commander, but not a Sin commander.”
Hmm, what’s this?
The Champion raised her brows in tandem with Biljin’s thought.
“Yes, that’s right. I want you to retain your status as a Dactuar, and become something this rebellion has never dreamt of having. An interclass commander. Validate the hierarchy again, in our image, in our way. For freedom, Melissa. Let’s topple the Hiezers once and for all.”
In that moment, Biljin was reminded of when he’d first met the Sin Leader.
Impressive. Your second-rate mind has its moments.
Melissa stood up, her metallic leg clicking as she rose. Plated armor extending her frame and a massive shield peeking from over her back spoke to the strength that she brought to the table. Eyes locked in agreement, and then with a clenched jaw, she offered her hand. “I accept. Finally, leadership whose integrity I can align myself with.”
“Perhaps, but this road is more grueling.” Blague rose out of respect and sealed the deal.
“Great! Now please, sit back down so you can tell me about Aslock, the ‘Neraphis,’” Biljin babbled.
Blague looked down at the seated scientist and grinned.
Cherris sat in a private medical room in the Senation mansion, resting with a heavy heart at Volaina’s bedside. Her arm was extended, and her soft, comforting hand wrapped tightly around her friend’s.
“Oh my,” she shook her head slowly.
The spy’s skin was pale and cold, and her hair was plastered to one side of her forehead. She was saturated with sweat, and obviously in a heap of pain. Cherris wanted to cry for her, scanning her grim expression, listening to her weak voice mumble quiet nothings.
And what’s worse, it was obvious that she was suffering nightmares by being a tangled mess within her bedsheets.
Thankfully though, intravenous needles kept he
r nourished. Sticky prongs were slapped onto her body to monitor her life, but nothing could stop the tornado running rampant in her mind.
“Enough time has passed, my dear,” Cherris said in a soothing tone. “You should be up and moving. Come back to us, Volaina. Your team needs you.”
“I should be dead, rotting on that cold cliff in Old Naples,” she replied weakly. “I did my part, and I was meant to pay for my crimes up there.”
Cherris’ lips curved inward in dismay. Strands of silvery blond hair fell over her face as she tilted her head down. She cupped Volaina’s hand with both of hers. “You know, I used to pray to my old god. I would to go to church and beg for everything to be okay. That was before the first Quake took everything from me. My parents, my husband, the helpless child growing inside of me. The powers that be crushed their bodies and stopped their hearts. But the cruelty in all of it was that mine kept on beating.
“I lost faith for so long that I almost forgot what my Catholic practice had preached. I wandered hopelessly for years. I didn’t fight when I was accused of kidnapping. I didn’t cause trouble when I was shipped here into exile. It wasn’t until I found myself face down in the dirt, being whipped by Hiezer authority that a long-forgotten voice sprung up. It was my voice, uttering words that I had spoken long ago. It was that day that I began to pray again. I did it quietly, internally, and for what reason I couldn’t tell you. My prayers didn’t erase my struggles, they didn’t fix my problems. But they did do one thing - they gave me the strength to pick my face out from the dirt and carry on. What else can we do?”
Volaina snatched her hand away and winced in pain, pushing herself to turn her body so that her back faced the woman trying to provide comfort.
Sabin’s family… I cursed him to be as empty as I am. Why did I choose to kill her? I could have turned my gun and given them a chance. It would have been a noble death. But I made my choice and now my spirit has left me. I’m no good on the field, and I’m wasting resources lying on this bed. What have I become but a useless shell that causes more harm than good?
