by Marc Mulero
Oscin looked over at him, confused as usual. "What, dude?"
"Do you see that? We have a tank! Our boys stole a tank!"
The pilot cradled his ailing head. "I saw that thing when we landed. Did the flight rattle your brain?"
"Hey, hey, hey!" Lito waved a scolding finger in his face. "Don't forget, I'm still your commander," he grinned.
"You're right. Don't wanna piss off another jackass," Oscin bantered back.
Lito overlooked the remark and instead fixated on a giant man working to gain Lito’s attention while at the center of the riotous group. "That must be Brower, the head of this community.”
At the frontline, an assembly of nearly one hundred and fifty Sins had gathered, shouting and bashing an eighty-foot-wide bulletproof slab of steel. Their sweaty bodies were barely covered, let alone armored. But that wasn’t the worst of it. They were unhinged, nearly ripping one another apart for a chance to peek through sparsely scattered holes drilled into the metal. What was so important to drive these panthers wild like a mountain of catnip? Lito almost forgot amongst his awe. Of course… these people had been driven to starvation with a drought, and likely lost their loved ones because of it. He remembered his fire when his body was running on fumes back then. It was the same. And now their target, the menacing Hiezer fortress towering high above the ashy earth, was a chance for vengeance.
Lito began to dial back his eagerness. The energy that excited him was also cause for concern. These people were farmers, mine workers, loggers, cooks. They knew anger from mistreatment and had sought revenge… but they didn’t know war. A quick flashback of Drino’s disciplined ranks synchronizing positions, Blague’s steadfast direction, and all of the skill and experience in between, made him realize that none of that was here.
These soldiers are radical. How the hell are we supposed to make any progress with a group like this? And I'll bet this Hiezer mansion has even more guards than usual now because of our takeover in Senation.
Oscin snickered. He pointed to the stocky man who was making his way over to the newcomers with puffy features and wearing a bandana too thick for his forehead. "That’s our contact? We should throw in the towel now and turn back."
Lito smacked Oscin over the head. "Cut it out, will ya?"
Brower offered his hand to meet Lito's. "Great to have a commander come to lead us,” he praised, “and a native, no less."
"Likewise, mijo," Lito yelled over the crowd. "But this, this is not going to work. We aren't going to make it past the front door, let alone take over the mansion."
Brower peered down through bulging brown eyes that sat beneath bushy brows. "My group believes in you, and you coming here shows that someone believes in them. Try to have some faith, my brother. We’ll figure this out together."
Those words triggered something within for the Sin commander, a call to action from his spearhead back in Senation:
"Before you go, think of the role you’ll have to assume," Blague said, causing Lito to stop and about-face. "They need a leader, and you can be that for the people of your homeland."
The Bulchevin native curbed his vigor to recognize and understand the advice his very old and experienced boss was offering him.
"Just to let you know, this lot of Sins isn't disciplined," Rodest forewarned.
"That's because they're hot blooded, like me, hermano," Lito replied.
Rodest smiled. "I'm sure that's part of the reason why this guy chose Bulchevin as the first stop for expansion," he said, motioning to Blague.
"Lito, throughout the history of war, there have been recordings of citizens fending off invaders when outnumbered by insurmountable odds. Do you know why that is?"
"Passion, boss. And pride,” Lito answered.
Blague curtly nodded. "I'll see you soon. Try to keep that pilot of ours in one piece."
Lito smirked, pat Blague twice on the shoulder, and saluted Rodest before he turned to run off.
The purple-eyed commander was brought back to the uprising before him by the sound of clanging steel ringing in his ears, and to Brower's grim face staring down at him. He then looked over his shoulder to Oscin, who was marveling at the crowd's vigor, before turning back to the Sin army.
There was a time when Blague considered us to join his group, even though we must’ve looked hopeless…
Lito looked into Brower’s eager eyes and said, "You're right, mijo. Get your people armed and in formation. This isn't going to be easy, but we’ll make it work."
Words were hitting Blague’s ears, but nothing was sinking in. Smaller and smaller the voice became until it dissolved for his thoughts to take its place.
Mulderan strode atop a mesh catwalk, approaching a staircase that would lead to the Hiezer laboratory, and to Elaina’s inexorable end.
“You will fuel my brother, providing him with the closest gift to immortality. It would be best not to fight this inevitability.”
She was hauled closely behind the Highest Lord, straddling consciousness with two burly guards hoisting her. The administered sedatives created a hazy memory, one of blurred lights and muffled sound.
“Tell him… tell hi-” Elaina’s voice cut off and her head slumped.
“Tell him what? That this world is cruel? That he may thank me one day, when his vision is finally clear like mine? The three of us may be at odds, but if he can hop over this enormous hurdle, his capable mind will be a great aid to humanity. That, Elaina, is something that I cannot afford to just toss away.”
She blinked away tears, finding herself unable to respond. There was nothing left to say.
Befuddled, Blague tried to reengage in the conversation unfolding before him.
“You’re having a vision right now, aren’t you?” Endok asked, shaking his head.
“They are at times, overwhelming. Forgive my rudeness.”
"Consciousness is just too complex,” the scientist said while walking along a freshly-paved concrete path. “There's no way you will be able to access her memories on demand. These experiences are just remnants, bits of her past that now flow through you at random."
Blague held his head high, taking in all of the scientist’s words as the fog in his mind dissipated. And when it finally did, the sun’s brightness came back into view. Sin workers putting the finishing touches on a newly-constructed Senation building registered in his sight one by one. Something more relatable. It was tangible. True. Not this insanity he was about to delve further into.
"I’m not an expert by any means, but I've studied abstract and chaos theory,” Blague admitted. “There was once a belief that memories could be passed down generations through genetics and DNA, buried deep. Maybe the Ayelan shot is giving life to this scheme. Or maybe even something more…”
“You may have been alive long enough to remember what a college lecture was like, Blague, but remember that I, too, have found scriptures of the Old World, and that I’ve dedicated my entire life to understanding the history and practice of science. You’re using wild, unproven concepts to rationalize your trauma. Think… decades have passed since you lost your partner, but still, you speak as if you lost her yesterday. You’re letting obsessive thoughts give credence to something that does not exist. But, even if what you’re experiencing is what you say it is, it would be just a potent form of the phenomenon. Nothing more, nothing less." Endok pushed his glasses back into place. “What would be the point of digging any deeper?”
Blague turned to the refuting scientist, still unable to let go. "The idea of self, consciousness, or being was never fully understood by professors or philosophers prior to the Quake. We know its existence has to do with synapses firing within the brain, but not much else was uncovered in the grand scheme. The idea is beyond our comprehension. This fascinated me long before my ‘trauma,’ and is what led me on my merry chase to find the fabled Society. I’ve never uncovered even an inkling of their existence, but I’ve never given up on my beliefs either."
Endok sighed. "Belie
fs? Please don’t let this debate devolve into fantasies about the afterlife. Let’s stay on track. Perhaps you’re right about our lack of knowledge, but you're grasping at straws if you think you will be able to make something more out of this."
"That’s not my intention. I’m just simply exploring all possibilities. How would you explain the relevance of the visions? They all have to do with my brother’s ruthless kill."
Endok scratched his chin and said, "Distress. All of what your brother said to Elaina was just hours before her death. Was it not?"
Blague nodded.
"If I’m to entertain this… paradox, then suffering would likely be an imprinted experience into her DNA because it was such a crucial moment in her existence."
"It's good to know you don't think I'm a lunatic and it’s grounding to converse on such abstract matters, so I thank you for that."
Endok’s face stretched into an awkward smile. "This world grows stranger by the day. I’m skeptical, sure, but frankly, it's hard to rule anything out at this point."
Through the back doors of the Senation fortress, past the sand and gravel, tucked somewhere far behind it all, moved a restless pair of Sins who found sanctuary in sparring one another. The serene beach and sturdy mountains were their audience, ever looming, witnessing transformations of the starkest kind right before them. They watched a damaged boy suffering the darkness of a personal black cloud grow strong, and a fierce woman… the most rigid and absolute of persons trekking the planet, somehow grow patient.
Milos’ fist slammed past its target and into a bed of rocks. Argh he thought to himself, wanting nothing but to ride the wave of instinct, to hold his hand and cry out in pain, but he’d been trained not to. That wasn’t who he was, a mama’s boy. Not anymore. He had no mother, only this wraith of a woman who was better suited for this version of himself anyway. So instead, he clanged the clasps of his severed shackles together and balled his throbbing fingers back into a fist. His arms lifted into a fighter’s stance and eyes darted to track the opponent dashing around him. She closed in, gaining position to slash with one of her many knives. But Milos was ready. He kneeled and held up his stinging arm with precision and speed, blocking the dagger’s edge with his metal clasp. Then again. And another.
"You found a use for those senseless things." Lesh flashed a mocking sneer.
He stood up and swung with all of his might, hitting nothing but air as she skipped back.
"I understand now!" He rushed forward, following her retreat.
"Oh yeah?” she taunted, kicking toward the boy’s face.
Milos threw his hands up at the last second to eat the brunt of her strike, causing them to clout against his head. He stumbled, scraping his bare shin and kicking up the sand around him.
"What do you understand, child?”
He shook his head free from the daze. "That I'm a prisoner in this world. I wear these chains to remind me," anger coated his voice, "that I have no control over any of this."
Lesh raised an eyebrow. "Do you expect me to have pity?"
"No!" Milos bellowed, charging fast. "I expect you to keep beating this prisoner down!"
The boy's words sent a shiver down her spine.
His fist flew. Knowing he was going to miss his mark, he spun and swung again, grazing her combat wear for the first time.
Lesh's eyes grew wide with surprise, followed by her instinct to crack the boy in his face with the back of her hand, knocking beads of blood from his mouth. She then picked him up by the shoulders and flung him several feet through the air before he crashed into the ocean.
"I remember that feeling," she whispered to herself, turning her back on the boy thrashing in the water.
A younger version of the assassin meandered, pacing away from the bloody scene of bodies sprawled out beside her. She dropped the ransacked gun she’d taken from her slain Hiezer captors and peered down to blood-soaked hands. Her body trembled violently as adrenaline waned. What was this feeling? She’d taken life before… many times over, but never this. Stepping over a man she’d hardly recognized in this state still brought bile bubbling from her stomach like a chemist’s vial, a person who she was repeatedly told shared her blood. This coward of a brother lay lifeless with a knife sticking from his forehead, forced by her hand.
She paced onward hesitantly, numb to all feeling within her body, almost sure she was living inside of a corpse. Head dipped to the floor and hands held at her sides to keep them from shaking. Anything… any distraction to keep from the carnage around her. But it was of no use. Her peripherals offered a harrowing glimpse of her late mother's distorted body, lying in fetal position, doused in her own blood. Lesh felt the flurry of her heart skip and the ache of her stomach twisting into a thousand knots. The lump in her throat seemed like it weighed fifty pounds, choking what little life was left in her.
“Mom,” she said. Plainly, innocently.
An eternity of slowed time had finally passed, and the massacre in which she’d partaken was finally out of sight. Her blank gaze honed in on the faraway mountains, unblinking eyes drying from the breeze. She then fell to her knees in defeat. Her life was over. A moment of silence lingered before finally reacting to it all. And then it came - a shriek that could’ve shattered glass ignited from her throat. She screamed until night approached, and kept on until dawn. Then, she screamed some more.
No one came to clean up the mess, because no one knew. The guards had operated off-protocol to teach Lesh's brother a severe lesson, one which succeeded and backfired all at once. By the fourth night, her voice was nonexistent, and to this day, still never truly recovered.
It was The Spade, her second family of Hiezer assassins, that had finally found her. She was no longer a protégé with high aspirations. She was just a depleted teenage girl with clenched fists and bloodshot eyes. An empty shell of anger. She’d always remember that feeling.
Milos was gasping for air, but refused to beg for help. The boy was determined to climb his way out of it, even though the ocean’s current was diffusing his every effort. Lesh could only watch leisurely, as the crude teacher she was, letting him wallow in his stupor without haste, before finally walking chest-deep into the ocean to rip the boy from his flailing struggle. Scoffing, Lesh dunked the boy once more for good measure, and then stepped back toward shore, keeping the choking boy afloat until the sea receded down to her boots. He spit water and wheezed as air replenished his lungs.
With a harsh grip around the boy’s collar, Lesh scolded, "This is the second time you’ve faced death. Two times you were a boy in need of rescuing. If there's to be a third, then we have to change the way you’re preparing. Assassins save themselves."
Milos acknowledged her words in his fight for breath. He tried to say something, but nothing came out.
A curious Lesh pulled him closer to hear.
"I clipped you," Milos breathed with a grin.
Lesh dropped him to the floor and walked away with a smirk of her own.
"You did, Milos. But can you do it again?" She raised her fists.
"You will not ascend," a woman's voice echoed throughout a vast auditorium.
"But, madam, I've presented a qualified case,” a man defended, standing tall in a fitted, high-end suit. “My twenty-six years of stellar performance as a Vacal has awarded me the right to Dactuar citizenship."
"Do you question our judgment, Derek?" the woman asked, staring down at the man from her twenty-foot, elegantly-designed podium.
The room was considerably dark, with dim spotlights on each of the participating councilmembers at their stands. Another shined over the man receiving judgement in the middle of it all, while the audience was left to sit silently in the shadows.
"No, madam, I feel that I'm owed an explanation for this injustice," Derek replied, clearly frustrated with the panel.
"Very well,” she began. “Your contributions to the community have been exemplary. You are an expert strategist and have aided in many successful sco
uting and recovery missions." She paused while watching Derek noticeably puff his chest with pride. "But you have failed to reveal your shortcomings, though we gave you ample opportunity to do so."
Derek stomped his heel and stormed a few steps closer to the center podium. There, at the foot of the pedestal, rested a platinum shield strapped to its base, which acted as a literal and figurative safeguard to stop him from getting any closer. If the lights were brighter, the Tribunal would’ve seen his angry face redden below them. All he could do was stare forward, at the ornately decorated steel, its diagonal ridges striking through the Dactuar sigil engraved into its center. It’s everything he wanted to be, everything he deserved. To be crowned as an elite. The beginning of the best.
But then the anger flooded in – the thoughts of how antiquated they were being right now. That armor wasn’t so regal after all. It had scratches and blemishes all over it from enduring countless wars.
“Fine,” he whispered to himself, a realization slapping him hard. “I can be like this shield too if I have to.”
He’d been through much, fought his own battles, and still somehow managed not to lose his shine. He had to defend himself.
"Champion Brink," Derek raised his voice, “the statute on my crime has expired and has been forgiven by a Vacal ambassador."
"You served no time and attempted to sweep this atrocity under the rug. The rape of a Yuprain girl, on a peace-keeping mission, no less…"
"Twenty years ag-" Derek rebuked before he was cut off.
Champion Brink rose from her seat, the metal robotics of her right hip gleaming in the spotlight. “The character of a rapist will not ascend in my place of judgement. Those disgusting animals who have inherited their positions long ago will eventually die out. They will wither away into nothingness, and through their ashes will emerge a just elite class. And you, Derek, will have no part of it. Now get out of my Tribunal and atone for your crimes before I declare you a Sin.”