“But that would mean…” Oswald's trailed off when I interjected to prevent him from nonsensically rambling.
“So, you used your new power to save the day and pull your comrades out of danger like some kind of hero?” I smirked and slapped my palm against Crelyos' left shoulder. He turned to me with a dopey smile and shook his head.
“Not even. They're the ones that saved me,” Crelyos erupted into laughter; however the echo of his voice cracked with a sense of nostalgia uncharacteristic of the blond mercenary. Though unable to place the feeling sinking into the pit of my chest, I subconsciously understood that Crelyos sat on the verge of tears.
“Ah, some things happened after that, and the project was ultimately called a failure since it only had a one-third success rate. Before the three of us could return to our squad, though, we received word that the war was endin' and our services would no longer be needed.”
“The rest is history, if you know what I'm sayin'. The Titan Crisis happened, and the three of us found ourselves wanderin' around when most other former military men went to work as guards for Dawn Territory, or became thugs in gangs roamin' around Dusk Territory,” Crelyos shrugged.
“We eventually went our separate ways. I wandered about for a while, and then ran into Smiles back when he was in the heart of Texas. I ran around with his gang for a bit just out of a sense of camaraderie. Apparently his nanite was just a late bloomer though, because his special nanite is what turned into his pyro powers.”
“He changed his name to Raze and has been ever since. Man, is he weird now though. That mission changed him, I know it did. Or maybe he just went crazy when his implant's power manifested…” Crelyos scratched the back of his head, “Anyway, that's the extent of my knowledge. I don't know what he has to do with Bradich or why he's collectin' hyped.”
By the time Crelyos finished his story, the environment had vastly changed from the desert surrounding Loftsborough. Jagged cliffs rose from the cracked earth on either side of our vehicle. The sharp stones reached toward the darkened sky like fangs jutting from the bottom jaw of an under bite. One atop the other, the rock formations layered as an impassable barricade funneling our path toward Raze's fortress.
The wind screamed through the rocks as the air drew tight through the jagged spaces resembling pursed lips. In the distance, the incandescent dance of torchlight shaped the stony perimeter of Raze's enormous fortress. Like a tumor sticking out of the mountainous landscape, the giant bastion seemed like something straight from the ancient medieval era.
“Oswald, find a side path somewhere. We need to scout the—.” I tapped the old man on the shoulder. As though he read my mind, Oswald interrupted my command and veered to the right the moment a path presented itself. The crusty grind of rubber tires against the decrepit soil flung loose bits of dust into the air when we abruptly stopped. Crelyos and I hopped from the buggy and marched up the top of one of the many steep slopes forming the teeth of the cliffs. A sharp whisper behind us stopped our advance.
“Now, now, don't think you can wander off and leave me behind. I'll just tuck the buggy and trailer over here behind these rocks… Yes, yes I believe that's adequate.” Oswald drove the dune buggy behind a larger spiked ridge and joined us atop the pointed slope. The soft clap of his hands as he dusted his palms echoed alongside his voice.
“I shall ascertain the nature of this trickster's power and prove that science trumps fantasy. After hearing your story, Crelyos, I can only imagine that your gullible nature obscured your reason and kept you from the truth. Vibratory Disintegration is one thing. While a bit farfetched, it is feasibly sound based on the description you offered. Pyrokinesis, however? Absurd. Ridiculous. Utterly impossible.” Oswald shoved his hands into his lab coat's pockets and vigorously shook his head at the thought of what he believed to be outlandish mysticism.
“Whatever, Fancypants. You'll see,” Crelyos responded.
Under normal circumstances, my annoyed command for them to both shut up would have sliced into their argument with merciless precision. Instead, I ignored them. My feet carried me to the peak of the jagged ridge on which we traveled. With a bird's eye view, I noted the road formed the valley separating the two towering cliffs. Before the Titan Crisis, one of Texas' many rivers, canals, or rivulets likely filled the barren valley and formed the state's natural borders. I marveled at the severity of geological changes scarring the world after ten years; whether the waters dried leaving the soil parched and barren or the rivers were redirected along another path, the former river became a highway to traverse the wastelands framed by jagged cliffs created by cleaving winds and acid rain.
The incessant thunder rumbling overhead set a dismal mood. I tucked loose strands of my hair behind my ear and activated my vision nanite. I stared the fifty-three hundred feet down the winding, makeshift highway to the looming fortress. The flickering torches illuminated several guards patrolling the stone walls of Raze's base; their garb and demeanor nearly matched the goons who infected Loftsborough. Many of them sported high powered rifles; given the sandy blacks and grays forming camouflaged patterns across the stocks and bodies of the firearms, I deduced that they were military grade.
Considering Crelyos' story, it seemed sensible to assume that Raze provided the wall's sentries with their firearms, and I surmised that most of the thugs in his bastion possessed military grade weapons as well. The few guards atop the wall without snipers toted submachine guns or assault rifles; only the two sentries overseeing the double door kept simple edged weapons of moderate length sheathed at their hips.
The door itself stood a monstrous thirty feet tall; its dull rusty iron formed a distinct contrast with the stone outcrops surrounding the fortress. An impressive overhang stretched above the hollowed out portion of the base containing the giant gateway. Raze's goons vigilantly guarded the iron portal while taking shelter from the elements beneath the overhang. A small pad with several numbered buttons was embedded in the left half of the giant door, but I noted that, if necessary, scaling the rigid walls remained a possible means of entry.
I stepped down off my perch and stared at Oswald and Crelyos, still bickering over the validity of pyrokinesis. Stepping between them, I raised either hand to their lips to hush them and explain Raze's security situation.
“Sounds about standard,” Crelyos nodded, “It's not much heavier or lighter than when I ran with them. So what, you wanna sneak in or bust our way through?”
“I believe utilizing stealth would be a most effective measure in this scenario,” Oswald nodded.
“I agree, we'll give that a shot. We need to wait, though.” I repositioned myself near the top of the ridge I formerly used to scout Raze's abode. Crelyos offered me a blank stare several feet below my perch.
“What? Wait for what? Aw man, I can't stand sittin' still without something to drink. I knew I should have brought another bag of sludge bottles,” Crelyos pouted and plopped to the ground.
Two hours passed, two hours full of Crelyos' impatient grumbles and squirms. Oswald had long since retreated to the buggy concealed behind a rocky ledge to resume his nanite creation, and I maintained a keen watch on the cracked road feeding into Raze's encampment. Finally, after the two long hours, my target appeared kicking dust up from large tires as it zoomed along the highway. A buggy similar in design to our dune buggy growled and shot toward the fortress with a caged trailer in tow. Though every buggy differed slightly in its hodgepodge mechanical design, the main difference resided in the color scheme. A flamboyant crimson and salmon pattern stretched across the buggy racing toward Raze's bastion.
I focused on the barred trailer, wondering what kind of cargo the buggy pulled. When a gnarled, pale hand shot from the trailer's confines accompanied by a vicious screech, I knew. They were pulling hyped. The howls of the hyperaugmented echoed through the valley from the trailer's barred confines. My enhanced teles
copic gaze fixated on the double iron doors as the buggy skidded to a halt.
After one of the guards sauntered up, leaned toward the driver, and exchanged a few words, he offered the number pad's guardian a signal. I paid close attention to the order in which the guard pressed the numbers: “1337, followed by pound,” I noted. As I descended from my perch, the pretentious vehicle coasted through the giant door after its sentries tugged the gate open with moderate effort.
“All right, gents, we're set.” I gestured to the fortress. Crelyos leapt up and popped his knuckles. Oswald lingered a few moments with his nanites, sighed, then stood and offered me a resolved nod.
File 13: Raze's Fortress
We slowly crept along the jagged valley the remaining mile to Raze's stronghold. Though Crelyos protested waiting idly for me to discern the door's code, his military training placed him right at home in the field of subtle infiltration. His gait's silence rivaled my own as we stalked from one stone protrusion to the next, and we would have remained as undetectable as phantoms if not for the soft click and clack of Oswald's shoes. In fairness, the good doctor attempted to remain covert, but his lack of any formal training left much to be desired in the art of stealth.
Thankfully, the jagged outcrops of rock provided adequate concealment to deter the visual acuity of our enemies. To prevent audio detection, I lifted my fist when we approached within fifty yards of the iron gate. I gestured to Oswald and pointed at the ground; he nodded. I gestured to Crelyos, lifted a thumb toward the two guards in front of the iron door, then ominously dragged that thumb across my throat; he grinned.
I prowled low through the darkness like a feral stalker. A studious glance at the fortress walls informed me which thugs used telescopic sights on their rifles and likely did not possess visual enhancements, and which of the bandits utilized only iron sights. Those using rifles with only iron sights possessed an increased chance of a vision augment, which would certainly place a damper on our stealth operation. As such, I took mental note and avoided their line of sight. My trajectory carried me to the walls surrounding the castle a few yards to the left of the cove housing the iron door. The indention likely served as a roof to shelter the guards from the elements. The thought struck me that it was an awfully kind gesture for a crime lord to implement.
I gripped the bumpy protrusions poking from the hewn wall. With my petite figure and enhanced muscles, scaling the rocky surface was no more difficult than strolling down a street. As I crawled along the vertical surface like a black widow, my motions carried me up and across the wall; I stopped just above the indent leading to the iron door. I flattened my body horizontally across the stones before digging my fingers and feet into the bumpy protuberances. Below, I overheard the guards' casual conversation.
“Man, I'm so bored. Jet, let's get a drink after this. Then maybe we can hitch a ride down to Raze's Haven; oh man, I bet the girls there are in their prime! We'll just snag us a few and have our way with them!” The sound of the chattering sentinel's playful punch was closely followed by its recipient's sigh.
“Biggs, we go through this every night. Every night it's the same thing, ‘let's go pick up chicks man’ blah blah. But just like last night and the night before, we're gonna get done and you're gonna drink until you pass out, and I'm the one that's gonna to have to carry you to the barracks. I don't understand why you have to be ‘that guy,’” the man allegedly called Jet responded in a monotonous, annoyed tone.
“Aw, seriously? You gotta call me 'that guy'? That's fucked, man, really fucked, I can't believe…” Their conversation continued. At that point the exchanged words were irrelevant considering I fully prepared to spice up their night. I would ensure I was all the “chick” they could handle. I held my position and awaited Crelyos' move.
Crelyos had followed close at my heel until I began scaling the wall. At that point, the hulking mercenary slithered against the wall toward the cove like a serpent. When he stood poised at the edge of the overhang and I hung securely above, we initiated our attack. Crelyos rounded the corner, stepping from the shadows directly behind Jet and into the view of the chattering Biggs; the thug's eyes popped in his skull and he gripped his blade tightly.
His surprised countenance drew the scrutiny of his comrade, but before Biggs' lips parted to issue the sharp warning that would have no doubt closely resembled “Jet look out behind you,” I gracefully dropped from the overhang. My body twisted and my knees parted as I slammed into a knelt position atop Biggs' shoulders. I wedged his opened mouth and shocked facade snug between my thighs facing my hips. I briefly wondered if the sight of my tightly drawn leather pants contouring to my figure provided a pleasing final sight, or if the inky black which suddenly descended upon him induced a nightmarish finale to his life.
My sudden drop surprised Jet, who gripped his sword in response to his comrade's unfortunate plight. His mouth dropped open, no doubt to elicit a protest, until Crelyos' massive palm clamped over his lips. My blonde comrade's free hand tightened around Jet's shoulder for leverage and he twisted the poor man's head so hard I cringed when the rapid series of neck-cracks reached my ears. At the same time, I twisted my hips with an alluring brutality that conjured similar crunches from my target's vertebrae. As the base of their necks simultaneously snapped and their limp bodies collapsed to the ground, I approached the keypad on the colossal iron door.
“1337, pound,” I muttered in time with my button mashes. As the small strip above the numbers flickered green, a series of sparks sprayed from the panel in conjunction with a solid thunk. I assumed the sound represented the mechanical lock disengaging. Crelyos reached forward and gripped the door's handle with his left hand. The minor augment responsible for enhancing his muscles offered him little assistance, but the natural swell of bulging muscles he acquired through rigorous training provided all the force necessary. He pulled the door ajar with a haunting creak until a large enough gap formed to allow our company passage. Crelyos and I exchanged nods before separating.
Crelyos slid into the fortress, and I poked my petite frame from the overhang to wave Oswald over. The doctor was no fool; given his inability to move quietly, his path mimicked ours with precise steps. The old man's memory served him well, but his footwork betrayed him. During the final stretch toward the iron door, Oswald tripped and the loud clacking of stones falling in disheveled clumps around his fallen frame forced me into impetuous action. The chance the thugs patrolling the walls above us were not privy to the blatant ruckus caused by our lovably clumsy doctor was nonexistent.
I hastily dove from beneath the overhang and twisted my outstretched body to face the fifty feet of walled rock that stretched overhead. At the same time, I ripped my long daggers from their sheaths. I stared intently toward the top of the wall and activated my Cognitive Accelerator. Years of experience and proper learning from the best fighters in our mercenary squad helped me distinguish the order in which I should kill my foes. As I prepared to single out the rifle toting scum with enhanced perception, I found that only a single target stood atop the wall. In my mind's perspective, I slowly drew back my arm and prepared to toss the deadly dagger at… Crelyos? I deactivated my accelerator before my shoulders slammed into the ground with a painful thud.
“What are you two doin'? Stop playin' around and get in here,” he hissed and tossed two corpses, clutched in his left and right hands, to the ground. I quickly rose, brushed the pebbles away from my clothes, re-sheathed my long daggers, and offered my hand to Oswald. The doctor accepted the assistance while readjusting his glasses which had sloped to one side of his face during his nasty spill.
“Yes, quite,” Oswald stated simply. I rolled my eyes and we returned to the slim crack in the mighty iron doors.
At such times I pondered the true depth of Crelyos' tactical mind. While certainly possible, the chance that our brawny ally blindly annihilated guard after guard before unintentionally ending hi
s rampage on the wall at the precise moment we needed him closely approached the “no fucking way” end of my rationale spectrum. Crelyos far more likely followed his chosen course based on quick strategic insight. He knew Oswald lacked our stealth capabilities, and he instinctively adapted his attack pattern in order to compensate for that weakness. Just how much of a tactician's mind was Crelyos hiding behind his gruff facade?
The moment I crossed the threshold into Raze's fortress, an overpowering stench threatened to knock me flat on the ground. I instinctively slapped my hand over my nose. It was sludge. The odor of the synthetic, high powered fuel permeated the air of the entire compound like a thick miasma. I quickly staggered to a nearby wall cloaked in shadow. I needed to conceal myself while I gagged back the urge to vomit. Oswald failed to choke it back, much to the waste of any food he ingested over the course of the day. After a few seconds, our noses adjusted to the potent smell and we began breathing.
Crelyos leapt from his position atop the wall; he obviously finished eliminating the poor saps unlucky enough to be stationed on guard that night. By coiling his legs as he landed to absorb his momentum and placing his palm against the ground to soften the thud, his bulky frame created virtually zero disturbance when he impacted. I was surprised, half by the silent landing and half by the giant dopey grin plastered on his face.
“Do you not smell that atrocious fetor? How in the world are you capable of standing, let alone pouncing around like a —” Doctor Oswald whispered through the cup of his hand covering both mouth and nostrils. Crelyos immediately interrupted the good doctor.
“Mmm… What is that? Makes me thirsty.” Crelyos inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the odor saturating the fortress. I shook my head and held my hand up to signal silence.
NANO Archive 01: The City of Fire Page 15