by Kyle West
“With legs?” Makara asked.
“Funny. Except the larger a creature becomes, the more muscle it needs in order to move around. You see, if you even double the size of a creature, it would need four times the muscle mass to move with the same agility as a monster half its size.” Samuel paused. “It’s basic physics.”
“I’m going to have to trust you on that one,” Makara said.
“Maybe it’s not suited for Earth gravity,” I said. “After all, didn’t Quietus say these strains came from different worlds?”
“Who knows?” Samuel asked. “This is just one of many things the Radaskim might be cooking up. And it might be more lightweight than it appears on the screen. Let’s have a look at some of these others.”
“Look,” Michael said. “Is there a way we can transfer this data to Perseus? It’ll be risky to stay down here too long.”
“It’s too much data,” Samuel said. “We have to learn what we can and get out.”
“How many new manifestations of the virus are there?” I asked.
Samuel paused a moment before answering. “One hundred and six.”
“That might take too long to go through,” I said. “Especially if you have to log every entry.”
“I agree,” Samuel said. “At least from this, we know what we might be dealing with.”
“What’s that?” Ruth asked.
The speakers went quiet for a long time.
“It looks like a worm, or something,” Makara said.
“Small,” Samuel said. “Two millimeters in length. A parasite?”
“Gross,” Ruth said.
“Yeah,” Makara said. “I don’t like the look of that.”
It was interesting how we could joke around about a sixty-foot monster, but we were afraid of something so tiny.
“Does this thing already exist?” Makara asked.
“Apparently,” Samuel said. “It’s logged in the databanks. If it’s gone unnoticed by us, maybe it’s because it’s so small.”
“Click on its data file,” Makara said. “We need to learn more about it.”
A moment later, Samuel read aloud.
“Strain M-006,” Samuel said. “Strain M-006 forms the xenogenetic sequence of the ‘writhe.’ About two millimeters in length, writhes serve to supplant the host’s decision-making with xenoviral directives.”
Samuel paused in reading the description to let the information soak in.
“What does that mean?” Makara asked. “Mind control?”
“Because of its exceedingly small size,” Samuel went on, “the writhe went undiscovered until 2046 by Dr. Cornelius Ashton.”
“Aston knew about this thing?” Makara asked. “Why didn’t he say anything about it?”
“Maybe it wasn’t that important,” I said. “The writhe seems to be a bit outdated. After all, the xenovirus alone is capable of taking over a person’s mind.”
“Not important?” Samuel asked. “Eighty-three of the one hundred and six strains found in this ichor have to do with modifying this little creature. It can hardly be unimportant.”
I had no idea what this writhe looked like, but it must have been tiny indeed.
“According to this,” Samuel said, “the writhe begins its life in a microscopic state. Over the course of months, it engorges itself on organic matter found in the host’s body. Usually the brain. Somehow, it goes undetected as a threat by the host’s immune system. They never really discovered why, but it might have something to do with the alien structure of its DNA. The writhe grows freely in the brain, until it reaches a maximum length of two millimeters.”
“Help me understand,” Makara said. “What does this thing actually do?”
“There are two different types of infection, for two different purposes. There’s the xenovirus, which makes its host part of the Radaskim consciousness. Then there is the writhe, which does something more...subversive.”
“Subversive?” Anna asked. “Subversive, how?”
“A person under the influence of the writhe will still keep their cognitive capacity,” Samuel said. “But at the same time, they are controlled completely by the Voice. Askala.”
That made everyone go quiet. If what Samuel said was true, then I didn’t even want to think of the ramifications.
“It doesn’t just affect humans,” Samuel said. “There seem to be writhes for every Radaskim-controlled species on file. It might give Askala a bit more direct control. The writhe’s main purpose is serving as a communications medium between Askala and the host’s brain.”
“That reminds me of Elias,” Anna said. “He might have acted weird, but he was otherwise human. He looked like us, spoke like us, but Askala had dominated his mind. Is that the influence of the writhe?”
“Perhaps,” Samuel said. “Although, he had to have been infected with the xenovirus as well, given his later transformation. Perhaps the writhe held back the effects of the xenovirus – at least, until Elias had died.”
“If Ashton knew about this, why wouldn’t he have said anything?” I asked.
“About Ashton, I have no idea,” Samuel said. “He never mentioned anything about a writhe to me, either.”
I wanted to say maybe he didn’t know about it, but it was credited to him right there in the files.
“Let’s focus on the other evolutions,” Makara finally said. “We can try to guess all day about Ashton, but it’s not going to get us anywhere.”
“I agree,” Samuel said.
“What are some of the other writhe evolutions?” I said. “You mentioned there were eighty-three.”
“Right,” Samuel said. “It looks like each writhe targets a different species. Humans are only one. Scanning through the xenoviral strain profiles, it looks like many of these writhes correspond with monster species that have already been documented. Those that aren’t documented here probably correspond to species that arose after Bunker One fell.”
“So, you’re saying there’s one new writhe species for each species of xenolife?” I asked.
“Yes. Most of the changes that are present in the ichor affect Radaskim writhes – that is, eighty-three strains. The remaining twenty-three correspond with plant, fungal, and microbial species already on file.”
“So, there’s one writhe for each Radaskim species,” I said. “I want to know exactly what it does.”
“As I said, the writhe serves as the communications hub between the Radaskim Voice and the infected host. It’s possible for the Radaskim xenovirus to transform a human, or any animal for that matter, into its infected variant given the correct xenoviral strain. A writhe is not needed. Even though the writhe appears to be a more primitive form of mind control, it has its advantages. The writhe could control a person without that person’s needing to be infected with the xenovirus. And, in the case of Elias, a person can be infected with both the writhe and the virus. In his case, the writhe had dominance over the xenovirus, allowing him to retain his thoughts – although, the nature of those thoughts were controlled by Askala. It was only upon his death, and the writhe’s death, that the xenovirus was allowed full reign.”
From what Samuel was saying, there appeared to be three types of infection: with the xenovirus only, with the writhe only, and with both.
We already knew what happened to people infected with only the xenovirus; after a time, they died and became Howlers.
It was the next one we weren’t familiar with, and if I understood Samuel correctly, it meant this: those infected with only the writhe appeared normal and human. Except, they were far from that, because their thoughts and behavior were dictated by Askala through the writhe. Anyone could have a writhe, and we’d have no way of knowing. We hadn’t known about this before, because it was apparently a more primitive form of infection, and Ashton hadn’t told us about it for some reason.
The final form of infection was with both the writhe and the xenovirus, which seemed to be the rarest of all. This is what happened to Elias. The writh
e controlled his mind, but he could still talk and behave in a humanlike way, even if the writhe made him go insane. The writhe, besides acting as a conduit for Askala’s will, also suppressed the physical effects of the Radaskim xenovirus. It was only when Elias was killed, and the writhe dead, that the xenovirus had free reign.
This was just one version of the writhe. There were eighty-two others, animal and Blighter variants that probably performed a similar function.
“So,” I said. “Someone infected with the writhe, and the writhe only, would look like us completely. We would have no way of knowing they were controlled by Askala.”
Samuel did not answer me for a long time.
“I....I believe that’s what this is saying.”
I didn’t have to point out the obvious implication: one, or more of us, might be infected with a writhe, and could turn upon the rest at any moment.
***
After a long time, Makara spoke.
“I don’t want anyone to speak. No one speaks except Samuel, unless you have an important question to ask. We still don’t know enough about this. After he finishes explaining, then we can decide what to do.”
Her words were met with silence. After a moment, Samuel cleared his throat.
“Well said, Makara. No, we don’t know enough yet, and none of us should jump to conclusions about anything.”
“Explain, then,” I said.
“I’m paraphrasing from Ashton’s research now,” he said. “According to this, when a writhe affects a human, every conscious action must pass through it for approval. Various autonomic functions, such as breathing, aren’t screened.”
“How can a tiny little worm control so much?” Makara asked.
“The writhe itself subverts its victim, and acts as a communications hub to the Radaskim’s xenofungal network,” Samuel said; “meaning that on its own, the writhe doesn’t have the intelligence to give its host complicated commands. However, such commands can be given by the Radaskim consciousness. The writhe conveys Radaskim directives to its host, while suppressing anything that goes against that directive. This causes a slight delay in reaction on the part of the infected in some experiments Bunker One conducted, but it’s so nominal that it can only be measured by computers. Indeed, the infected have no idea that they are infected.”
“How does infection occur?” Anna asked.
“Prolonged exposure to various xenolife greatly increases the risk of infection,” Samuel said. “The presence of the writhe is fairly ubiquitous in xenoviral flora. Whether a particular form of writhe has to find the right host, or whether all writhes begin the same way and only change upon infection, this doesn’t say.”
“You mentioned experiments,” Makara said.
I was reminded of the experiments Bunker 114 performed on Kari, the scientist who’d been infected with the Behemoth strain of the xenovirus. The scientists there, against Samuel’s wishes, had experimented on her to ill effect. Kari escaped her cell and laid waste to the entire Bunker.
I could only hope that such experiments here didn’t have such a dark history.
“Yeah,” Samuel said. “Ashton authored an addendum to the Black Files. It details the research done on the human parasitic writhe.”
Makara sighed. “Read it.”
“Alright,” Samuel said. “It’s quite lengthy, so I’ll try to paraphrase.”
It was some time before Samuel began.
“The research focused mostly on physiological responses people had while under the influence of the writhe,” Samuel said. “Some of the research is a bit...disturbing, to put it lightly.”
“No wonder Ashton didn’t want to talk about it,” Anna said.
“What happened?” I asked.
“They didn’t purposefully infect subjects with the writhe, thankfully,” Samuel said. “The discovery of the writhe occurred when a man was brought to the med bay after assaulting his wife. He was a soldier, who’d made lots of rounds into the Great Blight to the north. Guarding research teams, that sort of thing. They thought it was PTSD, a fairly common diagnosis in those days. Aggressive wildlife was becoming more common.”
Everyone was quiet as Samuel continued.
“Back then, the Great Blight only extended as far as northern Colorado. It would still be a while before it posed a threat to Bunker One.”
“Did the man go insane because of the writhe?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Samuel said. “Once it seemed to be more than PTSD, they did a scan to check for tumors or other abnormalities,. They almost missed the writhe, it was so small. The heavier brain activity in the amygdala tipped the doctors off. Other parts of the brain lit up as well – the hippocampus, along with Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area.”
“And all that means?” Makara asked.
“The hippocampus is related to memory, while the amygdala processes emotion. Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area have to do with the speaking and understanding of language. For all intents and purposes, even though this man was out like a light, he was having a conversation.” Samuel paused. “Upon closer inspection, the scientists did find the writhe, and cleared the patient for immediate delivery to Level One.”
“Level One,” I said. “You mean the bio-lab.”
“Correct,” Samuel said. “The patient was given into the care of Ashton. There are parasites of Earth origin that are known to cause mental changes in their hosts. Some even cause insanity. Anytime this patient was conscious, though, he would attack, as if that were the most important objective in his mind. When he was kept in isolation, however, he seemed practically normal. He wondered where he was, where his family was, expressed sadness at his isolation. He even believed he was being imprisoned. But every time the patient caught sight of another human being – even loved ones – he attacked without reservation.”
“How horrible,” Anna asked.
“Ashton and his colleagues discovered that the writhe was responsible for the physiological changes in the patient. President Garland himself ordered all residents of Bunker One to be screened for the parasite.” Samuel paused. “They were surprised by what they found.
“Twenty-seven people were infected with the very same parasite. They performed another screening, and found an additional five, for a total of thirty-two infected. These people showed no obvious ill-effects on account of the writhe, unlike the soldier, but many of them were soldiers themselves with heavy exposure to the Great Blight.”
“So...they tested. And tested. The thirty-two were quarantined and kept in isolation. Because of the one soldier who went rogue, Ashton wasn’t willing to let these thirty-two back into the general population.
“Ashton needed to study the parasite to be sure it was of xenoviral origin, but none of the patients agreed to a biopsy. For good reason – such an operation was life-threatening. But even with the promise of a great reward, such as more credits in the Bunker’s exchange system – no one budged. Even if the operation carried such a risk, Ashton thought it was strange that no one would take him up on his offer.
“Eventually, an opportunity did come. The original patient, the soldier, died. He’d somehow found a blade to cut himself. Ashton took the opportunity to extract the writhe and take a sample. By doing so, he confirmed that it was of xenoviral origin.”
“What happened after that?” I asked.
“Ashton didn’t have a lot to go on,” Samuel said. “He knew there was an alien parasite inside the brains of at least thirty-three Bunker One residents. In at least one of those cases, it caused the host to go insane. Then again, he was receiving pressure from the President and the Citizens’ Council to either come up with a cure or release the residents back to their families. The other patients had shown no violent tendencies, and pressure was mounting for the patients’ release.
“Ashton knew he was far from finding a cure. That wasn’t even his expertise. Rather, he was concerned with the danger the patients would pose if released prematurely. But it’d been three months
since the screenings. Since there were no adverse effects seen from the parasites, Ashton was forced to release them by executive order, and could only conduct research on a volunteer basis.”
“So, they were released back into the Bunker?” Anna asked.
“Yeah. They were released. None of them volunteered for research. This reflected badly on Ashton, and many questioned the ethics of his research. He became a pariah. Some even said that he murdered the original patient in order to extract the writhe.”
“It goes into that level of detail?” Anna asked.
“This is more of a research journal than an actual scientific paper,” Samuel said. “It tells Ashton’s story – and the beginning of the fall of Bunker One.”
“This was all in 2046, though,” I said. “Bunker One didn’t fall until 2048.”
“Yeah,” Samuel said. “But the undoing was a long work in progress. Through the writhes, Askala – then only known as the Voice – was able to discover everything she ever needed to know about toppling the Bunker through the eyes of its own citizens. Askala discovered Bunker One’s layout, its weaknesses. She waited until the time was right. Beginning in the mid-2040s, Askala’s swarm was forming. Many of her first creatures were turned animals – either infected with the xenovirus, or controlled by their own forms of writhe. And using the genetics stored in the vast memory of the xenofungus itself, she began to form the crawlers in her Warrens at Ragnarok Crater. The Radaskim machinery of life, evolved over the eons, is so much more complex than any technology humans have devised. In 2048, the writhes had done their work. Under the influence of Askala, they opened the gates to Bunker One.”
Chapter 7
No one spoke for a very long time. The writhes, even when discovered by the authorities of Bunker One, were thought not to have posed enough of a threat to quarantine the infected.
The authorities had turned out to be wrong, and that led to the Bunker’s eventual fall. Ashton had probably blamed himself, which would explain why he never mentioned the writhe. Maybe he’d thought all that was behind him.
We knew now, however, that the writhes were still alive, and that Askala might be using them against us.