“Yes, Sir!” His team said in unison.
--
They came to call this child “Brock.” In the Gaspulan tongue, it means: “Carved from the Rock.”
Brock was raised within the confines of the Wanre Army, understanding nothing but combat and tactics required within various war scenarios. Even though Captain Franken later became preoccupied and often overwhelmed with the United Clans’ attempts to expand, he still made time to train his adopted son and instruct him in the way of the warrior. Brock spent most of his childhood learning from Franken, and he often listened to the Captain when he expressed doubts about the cause itself. Task Force 1-17 grew to be so valuable that they were collectively promoted into positions that had them operating mostly from behind terminals. They were no longer considered a force that went into the field unless absolutely necessary and were stationed at F.O.B. (Forward Operating Base) Kunsalvo. Task Force 1-17 operated drones carrying a different type of weapon; a device which released a nerve gas with the potential to produce a rather agonizing death.
During Wanre’s war with the Gaspulan Rebellion, the Clans found themselves quickly overwhelmed due to the eventual intervention of the Dawn Federation. The Citadel Government chose to supply Gaspulan troops with a very different type of arsenal that would guarantee victory against their mutual enemy. And with time as well as significant financial contributions, the Gaspulan Rebels became the dominating force in the conflict. This caused Task Force 1-17 to one day face a siege on F.O.B. Kunsalvo involving cybernetically enhanced soldiers who tore through the Wanre Army with relative ease.
When Brock was only a young boy, Captain Franken, experiencing tremendous anxiety, scrambled to get both him and the ones close to him away from the unstoppable Rebellion’s assault. Franken was one of few officers who understood that there was no way to effectively handle their opponents, and so it was necessary to break contact and regroup on the outskirts of the F.O.B. However, the United Clans of Wanre viewed this as cowardice, accused the remaining members of the Task Force of treason, and captured 1-17 so as to execute them in front of the public as punishment for their actions.
Brock was believed far too young to publicly kill, and so he was viewed as someone who could be changed to side with Wanre if he admitted his supposed guilt and complicity. However, he adamantly refused to join them, and—tragically—he was forced to observe Captain Franken's execution for “treason” by firing squad.
The Clans constantly attempted to brainwash him; they forced their beliefs upon Brock in an effort to recruit him once more as the perfect soldier and soon began administering him drugs they felt would cause him to be more open to their commands. Wanre then ushered the young man into combat zones, which were challenges Brock wasn't quite old enough to fully understand or endure. But his mind, addled from frequent abuse, convinced him that he had to impress the ones above, because Franken's efforts to train him would not go to waste. Brock, unfortunately, found himself faced with reality when he was beaten down by his own men when expressing any fear in battle and, often, was only spared due to his young age. He was a strong kid, but still not fully prepared for the horrors of war.
The world around him underwent rapid changes, and so it should have been no surprise when the nation of Gaspul steadily conquered Wanre and later found itself at the mercy of the Dawn Federation. The Federation had forced their country into a state of debt it could never repay; therefore, most of Gaspul became an occupied vassal for a time as the Federation’s method of siphoning needed resources while casting a wider net for future trade relations.
Popular media in the Citadel became aware of Brock having been inducted as a child soldier. In an effort to rectify what they perceived as “slave labor,” a multitude of news outlets began pleading for the rescue of Brock from his living situation. And thus, the former child soldier became a charity case via a private corporation focused on providing foster parents under special circumstances.
Brock disappeared into the system, but he refused to relinquish his name. He was still proud of who he was, although his significant PTSD began to eternally plague him for the rest of his life. He was forced to be a soldier, and the Dawn Federation subsequently forced him to be a civilian.
As one can imagine, Brock didn't quite fit in at school. He was an adolescent veteran who was easily triggered by anything. As a student—before the virtual system was implemented—Brock often brutally attacked anyone who happened to mock him. He didn't have any parental figures or a place of belonging, and he returned home every day to an old apartment complex that housed other children like him. Children who were essentially owned by the corporation that was intended to provide them with legal guardians. When he'd been shown to potential caretakers, everyone had been too afraid to adopt a war casualty, a statistic.
But Brock chose to overcome this.
In his later years, he was expelled from school after hurting yet another student who’d challenged him to a public fight. But not long afterwards, he became the pupil of a series of fighting coaches within the Third Quadrant. It was obvious to his instructors that the boy was powerful, and he was growing quickly into a figure who would come to stand above most individuals later in his life.
And while Tavon competed for the title of Champion of the Third Quadrant, the two of them had met for the first time in combat.
Brock’s personal journey has just begun.
17
6 Feet Deep
ON THE NIGHT OF THE BOMBING, and at least an hour before Tavon and Aaliyah’s capture, a chemical plant owned by Dar-Tech had begun conducting trials using neurotoxins on small rodents. The plant was simply known as “Smog-01” and had been constructed between the Upper-City and Mid-City in suspension on its own private land.
Brock was startled awake by a phone call…
--
Brock
--
As soon as I open my eyes, I realize I'm still wearing the same clothes from the day before; I've gotten lazier.
She said she was coming to visit soon.
I ponder the black, rubber ring on my left hand and suddenly block a series of flashbacks trying to force their way into my head… again. I feel ignorant, because it averages me a total of two minutes before I realize my Kom Cell hasn’t stopped buzzing.
The Director of Trauma from Zone E's hospital, Dr. Ezekiel, is panicking on the other line.
“Brock? –A-are you there, Brock?”
I yawn and reply, “What the hell do you people want now? I—”
“Brock, listen! T-there's no time to—something's happened!”
This has to be complete bullshit, one way or another. They want me to work without pay.
“Are you still th—”
“Yeah!” The irritation just keeps building for some reason.
I'd been put on suspension after straightening out some dude. He’d brought in his kid, and I already knew something was off. Turns out the father had been putting hands on her, but I didn't completely break out of character.
The administration behind Dr. Ezekiel had a policy against confronting family members about domestic issues. I told him I wouldn't tolerate it… and that's that.
“Please, Brock! There's been a bombing!”
I chuckle. “What? Is this some shameless excuse to get me—”
“There's been a bombing in Zone E. There's something really bad happening…” Ezekiel sounds out of breath.
“You're not making too much sense, Doctor.” I begin washing my face before quickly changing into a uniform I thought I'd never be allowed to wear in public again. It’s a blue jacket with the emblem of blue heart emblazoned on its right sleeve. I knew I was a damn good paramedic. I have to be, because that's how I make up for the things I did. For what I used to do to people.
“You have enough guys on reserve to do this shit.” I don’t know why I’m arguing when I already know I’m going to help anyways. Personality defect, I guess.
“Brock! This is seri
ous! We need you at the Zone E Chemical Plant; we’re out of control of the situation and require as much help as we can get!”
“Fuck… I'm on it.” I rapidly grab a bag of medical supplies and stop before the door to the apartment upon seeing a cabinet containing my old combat gear. I'm not sure if I should go in heavy; I can't imagine Zone E actually having a real catastrophe, but I decide to retrieve an automatic pistol just in case. I'd bought it from a circle of people who'd tried to market weapons before getting raided by police. It wasn't legal to bring on the job—but I wasn't on the job anymore. If they “needed” me, we were going to do this my way.
--
The chemical plant is located in a man-made depression and encircled by the type of space needed for any kind of disaster. Because of its isolation, the plant has never seriously been considered a risk for Zone E or any other neighboring Zones.
I expected smoke.
When I get there, it’s the only thing I can see: thick clouds bellowing from a distant fire. Something rooted deep.
There’s a series of police cruisers coupled with utility vehicles. Other paramedics have arrived on scene, but there appears to be no one in the immediate vicinity. Every cruiser has just been… left there. Weird. I walk through an empty parking lot toward a wall of smog coming my direction from a steep decline in the ground leading to the plant itself. Something isn't making sense.
A figure comes rushing toward me from the darkness; a slender, bald man. Doctor Ezekiel. His face is scarred and showing signs of swelling. His clothes are torn, and the man has soiled himself. Recently. Ezekiel tries to grab onto me while glancing back in fear, but I simply shove him away and let him fall to the ground. There’s nothing behind him.
“It's-it's bad, Brock!” Ezekiel breaks out into a cold sweat. “We didn't know! Oh god, we didn't know!”
“What's going on?” I humor him.
“It's the p-plant… —s-something in the plant! Officers went in… they called for us, and we were cleared to get to work triaging while the utility group fought back the residual fires.”
“And then what? Spit it out.”
Ezekiel begins sobbing. “You didn't see it, Brock; you could've helped them escape! Those things in there aren't people! They're not human—t-they can't be!”
“Just get somewhere safe; I'm not treating your ass if there's more serious cases.” I start to head in the direction from where he'd fled.
“No!” The Doctor gets up and grabs my arm. “Everyone—I think everyone's dead…”
I push him off me and continue moving down a trail and allowing the clouds of smoke to wash over my form as I strap on a gas mask I always use for scenarios like this. Medical workers aren't supposed to operate in an area that hasn't been cleared, but at the moment I have no other supervisors other than Doctor Ezekiel. He’s weak. I look back and nonchalantly order, “Call for backup.”
“You should wait here!” Ezekiel shouts. “This isn’t according to procedure!”
I ignore him and simply quicken my own pace. He’s a lousy doctor. But in my eyes, if Ezekiel managed to survive then there has to be others. How much time do they have left? I could wait, but I don't have that much sense; if I wait, it could mean someone's life. I'm not willing to have that on my conscience.
The area I find myself in is surprisingly clean—I mean, aside from debris resulting from the explosion. I notice the thick clouds around me have taken on a slightly darker hue, and I halt for a moment to check that nothing's leaked into the seal on my mask. There’s some noise echoing in the distance; I know it's not nearby, but it can be heard from anywhere. It's some kind of loud impact being made repeatedly, almost as if someone was building something.
The building that was once the chemical plant looms in front of me as a flaming tower. I don't have the right kind of protection to just rush in right away, and so I perform a quick scan of the surrounding area and—
A woman's mangled body lies sprawled on the ground next to another. They have multiple stab wounds. One of them was armed with a bloodied knife; their pupils have completely vanished. The other woman’s hand is still open.
There’s other corpses, many of them seemingly killed in the same manner. I cringe slightly after viewing a man whose body has been shredded and torn into by the hands of someone else—and then I hear it more clearly.
Grunting. Sobbing.
I work my way around the plant to find a figure hunched over a man and persistently ramming a dull, kitchen knife into his limp body. She continues jamming the blade into him relentlessly as I approach.
“That's enough.” I demand.
She stops for a moment, rotates her head to reveal blood oozing from her dark, pupil-less eyes, and moans, “I can't… stop… I-I… can't… s-stop.”
I'm puzzled but move in anyways to try to calm her down. “Just tell me—”
I’m not as smart as I’d like to be sometimes.
The woman, having superhuman reflexes, spins around and thrusts the knife at me! All I feel is a slight, pronounced burning sensation as she almost manages to cut through my stomach. I take the knife from her and hurl it away, but she continues to attack and claws my chest while grasping at my neck! She's become something primal.
“I have to!” She screams. “They're after me! They-they want me to be their leader—but I won't do it! I can't—I won't kill for them… -s-so I'll kill for…”
She's been turned insane, perhaps from grief. I grab both her hands before rushing to tie them up behind her and string together her feet before calling a dispatcher on my Kom Cell to notify them of a pickup location. The dispatcher's pretty confused as to why a suspended paramedic is on the scene but concedes, and I drop the ranting woman off close to the beginning of the trail to the plant. Ezekiel is nowhere in sight; I figured he'd be smart enough to run as far as he could.
From the direction of the burning plant, I can hear the sound of someone crying out in agony. It's a bad habit I never could shake, but I run toward the action. Civilian or enemy?
The fog around me gives way to reveal a figure in a very disciplined firing stance and garbed in a black uniform. Someone else has dawned a gas mask like mine, and he’s aiming a stun gun at another, similarly-dressed man who’s shaking involuntarily.
“Goddammit, Ellom! Did you think I was playin' with you when I told you to keep the mask seal tight!? Motherfucker, if I gotta put you down—”
“It won't get away!” The man desperately rips off his mask, falls to his knees, and begins screaming while tearing his hands into his head. “It's going to kill your family, Kaust!” There’s blood seeping from his scalp. “I gotta help you see. You have to… S-S-SEE!”
Ellom, who I'm guessing is this “Kaust’s” partner, slowly gets to his feet and begins laughing hysterically as tears descend down his face.
“Hey…” Kaust tries a calmer approach. “Buddy, listen: it ain't all that bad, brother. Let's get you out of here. Don't make me use this shit on you, feel me?”
“You don't understand!” Ellom raged. “I'LL TEAR OUT YOUR EYES!”
He runs at Kaust and screams, “I'LL FREE YOU!”
And without hesitating, Kaust shocks him until the man falls to the floor. Kaust then flips a lever on the weapon and shoots a tranquilizing dart into Ellom’s carotid artery. He turns to acknowledge me before looking back at his partner.
“Neurotoxin.” He says nonchalantly and surveys the area. “That’s what’s eatin’ everyone around here, or so they tell…”
I approach while remarking “Impressive,” and extend my hand. “Name’s Brock.”
He accepts the gesture and responds, “Detective Kaust. I reckoned that anyone with the sense to bring a gas mask would be part of backup—but just… ‘Brock,’ huh?” Kaust expresses suspicion for a moment. “Who are you?”
“I was a paramedic for the—”
“Was?” Kaust offers a genuine smile. He seems likable, if remotely.
I shrug. “I guess it's
not my calling.”
“Not your calling?!” The detective laughed. “So you wanna tell me that you just threw some shit together and decided to play hero today? You know we can't make it in there, right—we can't save whoever's left.”
For whatever reason, he seems overtly angry all of a sudden.
He’s right. We can't save those people, but we can limit the damage.
“Doctor Ezekiel called me. I didn't realize the situation was this ugly.” I mention as we slowly circle the peripheral of the plant.
“That's an understatement.” Kaust speaks with a bitter tone. “The Bureau just… I just lost a team. A group of field agents and now maybe Ellom, who’s from another division. Shit got heavy, as you can tell—this damn… toxin is turning people into savages. If they aren't runnin' at you, the bastards are trying to rip out their own brains; they came at my team in waves.”
“I'm sorry.” He doesn't understand how much I can relate.
“No one's sorry, Brock. Only a couple high-speed cops gettin' ambushed by lab experiments. People don't respect their government like they once did—people see me as just as much of an enemy, like I’m another thug.” Kaust takes a deep breath. “My Lieutenant's nowhere to be found, either; he was supposed to supervise.”
We walk past a series of those who’ve bled out from wounds inflicted both by themselves and from others. The smoke thickens, and in the darkness a figure with a deep, grotesque gash in its head sprints at us while uttering a piercing screech!
Kaust draws his stun gun and prepares to fire when a man with merely a crimson hole in place of his eye brandishes a combat knife above him before thrusting it down toward the detective! I hurry to his side in time to deflect most of the strength of the blow before rapidly stepping in as I punch the opponent and knock him out as he falls to the ground. Kaust shoots the oncoming attacker, and we both start to relax until we’re thrown off guard when we notice hordes of the same fiends killing each other in fields surrounding the plant’s interior! Before us, we watch in horror as one infected man knocks down another and proceeds to fight his way to his enemy's throat before attempting to claw it open with his hands. His victim tears at the side of his face hard enough to cut through a part of his ear, adding to the pool of blood forming around them. The one at the bottom screams, “This is a JOKE! HAHA! They sent you, didn't they?! You're here to take me away!”
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