NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire

by Jason Crutchfield

  “You sure you don't wanna stick around for a bit? We're kinda heroes. They might even treat us to drinks and those women could become our fans. Well, my fans anyway. You can have a couple if you swing that way, I guess. Man, I could go for some sludge right about now.” Crelyos stuck close to my right as we passed through the giant arch leading to the elevator station. I ignored his mindless gibberish with the exception of a single statement.

  “Heroes, huh?” I laughed softly as we approached the shack housing the dim witted elevator operator. “I wonder how many heroes in history books are considered such from a coincidence like that one,” I mused and glanced over at the large man. My cryptic statement was enough to garner his attention.

  “What do you mean, 'coincidence?' The town can rest easy from Joachim and his thugs, and we're marchin' on our way to take care of Raze and his gang so the menfolk can go back to livin' normal lives and providin' for their families. That sounds pretty heroic to me,” Crelyos snorted.

  “I'm after Bradich. None of that other stuff matters. If there was an easier, more direct way to get the information I wanted without wasting time fighting idiots, I'd have left this town to rot. If they're so weak that they can't fend for themselves, then they deserve that fate. It's none of my concern.” I felt flustered, and blood rushed to my cheeks. Was I experiencing frustration? I buried the thought the moment it arose. The cold mist of my breaths contrasted with the fire in my face. A loud smack interrupted my thoughts; Crelyos slammed his hand between my shoulder blades again. His robust laughter accompanied the playful assault.

  “Aw, that's cute. You know I've thought this for a while now, but you're not very good about bein' honest with yourself. You told the mayor you'd make Raze pay for what he did, but now you're talkin' stupid about weak people deservin' their fate. Haha, I think you're really just mad that Joachim smacked your ass around like he did. Made you feel weak, yourself, eh?” Crelyos' words cut me like a razor.

  I instinctively wanted to slam my fist into the underside of his chin, but despite his crude manner of speech, Crelyos spoke the truth. My callous attitude amounted to little more than lashing out at an invisible scapegoat. For some reason, the incident in Cairo altered my grasp on emotions considerably. Since Bradich's betrayal in Egypt, I understood emotions and often felt brief moods of anger, joy, amusement and sorrow, but the feelings did not match what I remembered before the incident.

  I understood when a happy occurrence transpired that I felt joy, but the joy I felt differed vastly from the joy I felt during the days prior to Donovan's death. It was as though I experienced the joy in my head rather than my heart. Oswald claimed that the entire ordeal coupled with the physical injury to my head simply left a traumatic scar. According to the good doctor, my mind chose emotional dissociation as its defense mechanism to cope with Donovan's death and Bradich's treachery. I liked logic better, anyway. Cold, hard logic.

  I calmly opened the door to the elevator shack. The same daft punk that allowed us entry sat leaning backward atop a metal stool. The unwary sentry had rocked the stool back on two legs and plastered his back against the nearby wall. With his legs propped atop the only table in the room and his hands clasped atop his chest, the thug snored softly and failed to wake even after our entrance. I sighed annoyedly and shoved his legs off the table. The gentle snores cracked into abrupt snorts and confused, broken questions which made little sense such as, “Wha- who goes where? I mean there?”

  “It's us. We want to leave. Let us down,” I offered the man my best impression of an impatient glare.

  “You woke me up for that? Just use the stupid thing over there.” The goon gestured to the metal box with the giant red button. Just beneath it, two smaller buttons embossed the box's surface: one with a green arrow pointing up and one with a blue arrow pointing down. The man began sinking into his position of slumber but suddenly bolted upright. He stared at Crelyos and I with his mouth agape, “What in the world! You guys are covered in blood! What happened in there?!”

  “Oh, uh, we killed all the guards.” Crelyos blurted out without a second thought.

  “You did what?! Hey now, y-you stay away from me!” The man scurried into the corner like a frightened rodent.

  “Calm down. I'm already filthy. I'd rather not add your blood to my clothes. Just keep quiet and keep doing your job, and you won't get killed.” I snatched up the device in question and turned to take my leave.

  “Hah, yeah right! As soon as you leave I'll be sending a message straight to Duc Raze! You won't get away with this, mark my words!” The thug seemed genuinely pleased with his threat. Crelyos and I stopped dead in our tracks and exchanged a glance. After a few seconds the thug's smug demeanor melted and he lifted a hand to cover his mouth, “Uh-oh…” was the last thing he would ever speak.

  We left the sentry's body to be disposed of by the townsfolk. We stood in silence during the elevator's descent, bearing with the screeches of rusty metal caused by years of neglect. The remaining journey to our rendezvous point transpired uneventfully. Oswald was there when we arrived; the doctor busied himself with his portable tools creating nanites which, later, he would undoubtedly insist on surgically implanting in my brain.

  Crelyos gestured to the doctor while offering me a bemuddled stare as though to say, “Look at 'im! I could punch his lights out and he'd never know! Guard the buggy my ass!”

  I shook my head. I desired nothing more than to agree with Crelyos and rile the old codger up by scaring the long-forgotten daylights out of him, but I knew the man's astute awareness better than anyone. As Crelyos began creeping toward the doctor's back with his hands poised to grip Oswald's shoulders, I grinned with the knowledge of the events about to transpire. Oswald did not disappoint. Without interrupting his work for even a moment, the doctor's voice bubbled up with a disinterested inquiry.

  “Back already, you two? I assume all went well.” Oswald's words halted Crelyos' advance, and the former soldier relaxed in a disappointed slump when he realized he would be unable to startle the keen scientist. Meanwhile, I decided it was time for a new shirt. I moved to the trailer hitched to the back of our buggy and rummaged through the pitch black compartments. I activated my night vision nanite. My dim eyes lit up with an iridescent jade, and as I searched for one of my synthetic black tops identical to the shredded cloth adorning my midriff, I recalled the last time I needed to activate my night vision implant: my fight with Al.

  The circles of Dusk Territory revered Al's information network as peerless. The contact to which he referred me was someone Crelyos knew and someone that collected hyped. Al also claimed this man would know about Bradich. As I changed out of the shredded piece of cloth and used the parts of it untouched by bloodstains to wipe down my face and arms, I began piecing together the various information.

  Why would Raze suddenly change his territory and begin collecting hyped? It must have been connected to Bradich. Perhaps Bradich was forcing Raze to collect hyped for him in exchange for the new territory? I no longer posed the question of what Raze wanted with the hyped; what did Bradich want with them? I tossed the old shirt onto the floor, tugged the new one over my head, deactivated my night vision implant, and hopped out the trailer. I emerged to Crelyos recounting our encounter in Loftsborough to Oswald.

  “…And that's when we had to kill everyone.” Crelyos finished the story with the same tone often used to express “and they lived happily ever after, the end.” The doctor, apparently taken aback by Crelyos' matter-of-fact retelling of the events, threw up a hand to silence the former soldier.

  “Wait, why did you have to kill everyone? You could have simply obtained the location of Raze's fortress and returned. If we eliminate Raze, I calculate the remaining bandits will disperse without qualm.” Oswald placed a finger against his chin, no doubt mulling over the variables in his calculation.

  “Doc, what reason would Bradich have t
o collect hyped?” I stepped forward with my inquiry, hoping to derail his mathematical equation.

  “Well, we had to because Raze torched my friend with his pyro powers, so I got pissed and killed a couple and the rest decided they wanted to die too,” Crelyos interjected with his own response. The clamorous conversation resulting from our simultaneous uproar forced Oswald to hold either hand up in our directions to cease us from rambling.

  “A moment, please. Crelyos, pyrokinesis, which you adorably refer to as 'pyro powers,' doesn't exist. The very concept is preposterous. As a scientist closely following the development of radical superhuman abilities obtained through brain augmentation, I assure you the idea of manipulating an obscure energy source such as fire simply does not, nay, cannot exist. Perhaps he conceals a flamethrower of some kind and uses legerdemain to utilize it without the knowledge of his peers?” Oswald's voice trailed off; he went on a tangent as he used the hand previously lifted before Crelyos to ponderously rub his chin.

  “What? That's bullshit, I've seen him do it. He waves his arms around like some sorta fairy and then—” Oswald cut Crelyos' protest short when he snapped his voice in signature fashion to address my inquiry.

  “As for your question, Ihlia. I cannot begin to fathom the implications of collecting test subjects as unstable as the hyped. First of all, even if one were to consider using them for scientific advancements, they possess no control group. Each hyped is different, each symptom unique. Even if you gathered every hyperaugmented individual in the world, only a handful would possess similar enough characteristics to serve as a control group. If he's not utilizing them as test subjects, then I see absolutely no reason for involving oneself with the beasts.” The doctor's last words possessed no hatred; in fact, the most fearful part of his description of the hyperaugmented was the apathetic manner in which he stated the word “beasts.”

  “Oy, I'm not entirely sure what yer saying, Fancypants, but if yer callin' me a liar then you and I need to have a chat. Over there. With our fists.” Crelyos gestured off into the distance as though he wished to spare me the sight of Oswald being beaten like a school kid for his lunch money.

  “Eh? I'm afraid these dusty old ears are unable to discern your words from your stupidity. Speak louder, dear boy— on second thought, speak quieter— tertiary thought, stop speaking. I'm afraid I can't piece together the formula that would explain your survival in this world for as long as you have. You're truly a marvel of science,” Oswald chuckled.

  “See here, drunkard, I'm not calling you a liar, I'm saying there's a trick to it. There has to be. I've only ever encountered one thing in this world that defies science, and pyrokinesis is not that thing.” Oswald's jabs, as always, struck at the intellect or lack thereof, and though Crelyos' head was thicker than the plates of Loftsborough, I considered him fairly intelligent albeit in a simple, concise manner. As Crelyos' rage darkened his face several shades of crimson, I stepped between the two men and placed a hand against each of their chests.

  “Boys, we still have a long way to drive. Shake your dicks off, pack your stuff, and let's get moving.” I offered each of them an “I'm serious” glare.

  They jerked their heads away from one another. Crelyos spat, shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to the passenger seat of the buggy; Oswald used his middle finger to press the bridge of his glasses up his nose, muttered under his breath, and took the driver's seat. I slid into the rear seats and folded my arms. After a few moments of awkward silence, we were zipping across the sands in the direction of Raze's fortress.

  File 12: Crelyos's Past

  “Crelyos… I've been meaning to ask you a couple of things,” I raised my voice to overpower the popping engine as it guzzled the fresh batch of sludge dumped into its fuel receptor.

  “Shoot, girly,” Crelyos called back.

  “How do you know Raze?” I leaned forward to listen better. I would have activated my auditory augment, but with the sputtering engine behind us, the crackling swoosh of the sand being ground beneath the giant tires, and the sharp whistle of icy wind whipping across my face, I decided against enduring an unnecessary, and ultimately unprofitable, headache.

  “Eh, he was an old war buddy. When you and I got drunk, you spilled the beans about that merc faction you were part of. The ball-less eagles or something, right? Well Raze and I were in the military during that time. Back then though, we called him Smiles because he was always so damn optimistic. Army dogs, the three of us, and we were damn good at it.” Crelyos tipped his head back and tossed out a few chuckles mostly swallowed by the rushing air.

  “That's Bald Eagles,” I retorted, “and three? You, Raze, and someone else?” I noticed his countenance shift from mild amusement to deeply depression.

  “Aye, Sarge. He was our squad leader. But the three of us were kind of a squad within our squad. We were always the point men, the grunts, the first guys into a buildin' and the last ones out of it. Smiles was a good shot and a good fighter. In fact, when it came to knife fightin' he had no equal in our squad, and we were the best of the best. I was the muscle behind the outfit. Even though I couldn't best Smiles with a blade, when it came to hand-to-hand combat everyone was putty in my hands.”

  “I was a good shot; not phenomenal but my reflexes were quick and I showed no hesitation in my actions. I dunno why, maybe I got tossed into the air, hit the ceilin', dropped to the floor, and rolled out the window too many times as a youngin', but I understood somewhere that thinkin' meant dying. And I wasn't about to die.” Crelyos leaned back in the seat and stared up at the growling clouds blanketing the cold night sky.

  “Sarge? He was in a league of his own, though. The man was a tactical genius. He knew how to use every one of us to our fullest potential. And that was just a bonus; Sarge was a better shot than Smiles and I, could give me a run for my money in hand-to-hand combat, and go toe-to-toe with Smiles in melee weapon combat. His future in the military was brighter than the stars we don't see anymore,” Crelyos smiled with unadulterated admiration.

  But his countenance soon darkened, “Funny thing about Sarge, though; he told me over sludge several times how much he hated the military. I've never seen hatred like that for somethin' someone chose to do. It's like sayin' you hate sludge while you chug a barrel o' the stuff.” Crelyos lifted a finger as though his observation was nothing short of genius.

  “But Sarge is another story for another day.” Crelyos curled and uncurled the fingers in his right hand, staring at them with a forlorn reminiscence and a vacant smile. Despite my powerful curiosity, I decided not to press the issue regarding Crelyos' squad leader. As the former soldier mentioned, it was another story for another day.

  “The three of us got special orders for experimental augmentation. Some higher up jargon for makin' us guinea pigs. After the surgery, we were assigned to a special, three man team. Our debut mission involved infiltratin' a French encampment situated on a key supply line. As you're probably aware, there were no greater warriors than the French. They had the best nanites and the toughest troops. To assault one of their bases with just three individuals was suicide. The higher ups wanted to see how their prototype nanites operated,” Crelyos sighed.

  “Our experimental nanites were a top secret project that came from the research of a really famous scientist at the time. A guy that believed strongly in the nanites havin' personalities of their own. Doctor Lesfort, I think his name was. Actually, I think it might have been that Donovan guy you told me about when we got drunk together that one time, girly.” Crelyos peered back to ascertain my reaction.

  I offered him a blank stare. Though a twitch of emotion did contort the corner of my mouth at the mention of Donovan, the fact remained that Donovan led the field in experimental nanite technology based on his personality theories. For the military to make use of his knowledge failed to instill surprise; in fact, only Crelyos' referring to Donovan as �
�Doctor Lesfort” pinched any of my dormant emotions at all. As brothers, Donovan and Bradich shared the Lesfort surname, but any connection made between the two of them, family or not, churned the bitterness in the pit of my stomach.

  “Apparently, the nanites were supposed to manifest unique abilities dependin' on what the AI programmin' felt would assist the user the most. We thought the mission was to see what kind of cool powers would manifest. Instead, it was a test to see if they would manifest at all. The infiltration was a disaster. When the combat finally heated up, only my nanite showed results. And let's just say they weren't optimum. Sarge and Smiles displayed no enhancements, and ultimately the mission failed.” Crelyos stared at his right arm again.

  “I've been meaning to inquire, dear boy, but what exactly is the secret behind your nanite? Since you won't allow me to operate on you and discern the cause behind your ability myself, perhaps you could at least alleviate my curiosity with a brief exposition?” Oswald interrupted.

  “Vibratory Disintegration. That's how it was classified when we got back to base. The nanites respond to my will and store insane amounts of energy. Each nanite can hold thousands of times its size in energy, and there are hundreds of thousands of nanites that dock at that implant's particular hub. When directed to a certain part of my body, the nanites gather near the surface of my skin and, utilizin' impact, unleash the stored energy in the form of vibration waves.”

  “The waves're immensely powerful, but they're also sharp enough to penetrate and shake apart just about any substance down to its atom level. The stronger the impact used as a catalyst, the more intense the effect. In stupid terms, the harder I punch the bigger the crater. That's about the extent of what they figured out at the labs; the war and world ended before any further tests could be run.” Crelyos ended his synopsis by dramatically clenching his right fist. Oswald's eyes widened; his scientific mind no doubt reeled with the concept of such an incredible implant. Even I understood the advanced nature of it.