He Saw Infinity

Submitted for the Pod and Planet Eve Fiction Contest (around) December 1, 2015. 

"Murderer! Savage! Beast!"

The words stood out among the raucous crowd, likely because they struck home in Chryo's mind. He screamed and sobbed mentally, but kept a physical expression between deadpan and stoic. His white-blue eyes were locked on the ground as he stumbled over the pant legs of his prison uniform that was too baggy for his light frame. Soon enough he made his way into the room where his sentencing would take place. His defense representative, being the amateur he was, never stood a chance.

It was all a blur at that point. The outcome was inevitable and the sentence pre-determined. The evidence stacked against him had piled to the stars. He stood with his hands bound before him with a hopeless stare at the floor. The sentence was made with hasty, heated words. He had been sentenced to spend the remainder of his life in prison. Life was over for the man he was; the man he would have been. Half a decade of study and advanced placement in engineering amounted to nothing. In his heart he knew he was either innocent or so insane as to not recall the crimes he had committed. Regardless, fate wanted him to suffer — to die — and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The first order of his sentencing was the removal of his tattoos. Both those that he had earned and brandished with pride and – more specifically – those that he had applied himself. His love of art had overshadowed tradition and law. His punishment for that amounted to torture as there was little mercy for the fledgling individuals who thought they could hide their marks beneath their clothing. He knew that full and well when he gave himself the tattoos. It was something that he only regretted when the consequences for those decisions became his to bear. The removal process took place immediately upon entry into the prison.

Chryo screamed in pain, yanking hard on the restraints that bound his wrists. He lay face down on a rusted steel table. His head was strapped down into a hole cut out specifically for the face. Through his blurry, tear-filled eyes he could only see his attacker from his peripheral vision. The instrument his attacker used to inflict pain mercilessly burnt the flesh away from his side, just over his ribcage. The initial heat was intense, but it eventually soothed and cooled at the site where the plasma had burned away the nerves.

His torturer shifted to the opposite side and set to work on removing the flesh over his spine. His muscles tensed and stiffened in a desperate attempt to escape the pain. The only way to get away from the pain was to press further against the cold steel of the table. The cold was the least of his concerns and the feeling disappeared in the torrent of agony that surged through his quivering body.
"Self-tattooing. Heh, you should have known how this would end." His torturer stated grimly before giving a carelessly slap at the flesh he had brutalized with the miniature plasma cutter. For a brief moment of respite Chryo collected his thoughts. He wondered about all the things he could have done with his life had that not occurred. For a brief moment he saw all the possibilities.

For a brief moment he saw infinity.


***


Chryo snapped out of his daydream.

"How long are those calibrations going to take, Bhuren? Kind of need that cloak ready if we're going to do this and live."

Chryo released the transmit button on his headset as he stretched his arms over his head. The Vherokior man gave a lengthy moan as the muscles in his arms released tension. He leaned back in the cushioned pilot's seat with his white-blue eyes scanning idly over the instruments that decorated the console. He swayed from left to right in his seat, staring at the dazzling colors of the nebula before him. A crackling broke the sound of the Tribal Music playing when he finally received the reply from his partner.

“KZKZCCH-ou know, these ships were designed by Caldari hands. It's a whole other beast than what I'm used to." Bhuren responded with a hint of irritation in his gravelly voice.

"Mhmm. We're still about five systems out. We have some time, but you're going to need to wrap it up once we're closer to gate leading into Geminate."

The probe was new, at least by Chryo's standards. However, most of the modifications applied to the vessel were to reduce the typically high crew requirements associated with most Matari designs. That was necessary to fit the mission parameters: stealth and low profile. More importantly was the frequency for leaving the ship (bounty hunters rarely captured their bounties otherwise). The automated systems were purchased from the Federation R&D Corporations, none more prominent than CreoDron. The ship, aptly titled the "Fluid Shadow", was a hybrid of every technological aspect available besides those belonging to the Empire for obvious reasons. The drawback was that it was quite cramped inside and much of the energy was pulled from other systems.

"You know that 'Caldari scientist designed the Probe' thing is just a rumor, right?" Chryo asked as he began to flip several toggles on the instruments panel.

“KZCCH-ell the alternative was that it was taken from designs stolen by the Guristas. Kind of ironic, don't you think?" Bhuren replied through the static of the internal communications.

"If you’re referring to the fact that we’re flying a ship made from Gurista-stolen designs into Gurista space, I think you mean coincidental."

“KZCTCCH-on’t be so pedantic.”

Chryo paused for a moment to look over the constellation map on a nearby monitor. He changed the filter to display the systems by their security ratings as provided by CONCORD. His lips curled in disgust at the sight of the entire constellation changing to a deep, dark red hue. A quick flick of his wrist sent the constellation map away and instead displayed the contract with which they had accepted, giving it a final look over.

"Bhuren, finish up what you're doing and get back up here. Two jumps out from Atioth." He stated, pointedly.

“KZTCH-n the wa-KCHZ" Bhuren replied, more static-laden than usual.

Bhuren made his way into the cockpit and took a seat adjacent to Chryo. He swiveled the seat around with a low hum, kicking his legs up onto one of the control panels. Bhruen’s appearance was a stark comparison to his smaller significant other and business partner. He was a largely built Brutor man standing at around two meters in height with good posture. More importantly, he had far less scars.

“Alright, hitting the gate. They’ll likely pick us up on directional for a second. Be ready to get us out of here if they start moving around. And get your feet off the controls, you know I hate that.” Chryo stated with a shake of his head.

Bhuren sucked on his teeth and shook his head before lowering his legs to a more accommodating posture. They entered the system in a blinding flash of light. The nebula of The Great Wildlands was farther away. Fading into the distant stars they had left. The beauty was striking and Chryo had briefly lost himself in the dazzling array of color that he had not seen from that angle before. He quickly re-focused on the task at hand, activating the cloaking device that shielded the scouting frigate from physical view and the sensor reads.

“Remind me again why we aren’t using scan probes to find this place?” Bhuren asked with a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Probes show up on directional. This is supposed to be totally dark; in-and-out, no witnesses. We nab the guy, bring him back to the spooks at the Verckel [Vherokior Combat Logistics] in Ebolfer.”

“Hmm. Scans are showing a lot of activity collected in this area, check it out.” Bhuren said as he transmitted the scan log to Chryo’s terminal.

Chryo glanced over the information briefly and noticed a signature that was quite sizable. It was set a good distance from the large collection of signatures by several hundred kilometers. He furrowed his brows together in thought, pondering as to the reason why that signature was the outlier.

“Hang on a second, going to get us a warp-in. Get ready to bail if I jump us too close to this thing.” Chryo explained.

Upon their arrival, the signature would reveal itself to be a small hub. Given that many of the lights were off and there were no signs of any activity within it, he had assumed it to have been abandoned. The main Gurista fleet was stationary and isolated from the hub several hundred kilometers off. All of the ships were aligned with the hub and looked as though their warp cores were spun and ready. Chryo assumed that this was to counter any intrusion with lightning swiftness and expert precision.

“We’re not going to be able to get close enough to this thing to board and stay cloaked. You know what that means, right?” Chryo stated as he lifted from his seat and started toward the connecting corridor.

“You know I hate doing this.” Bhuren replied as he lifted in unison.

Chryo stopped momentarily to turn back and peck his partner on the cheek with pursed lips. Briefly reminded of their time together in the Valklears.


***


“You know they’re not going to be too ecstatic if they catch us.” Chryo asked, if rhetorically.

The man nuzzled his way into the Brutor’s arms, his ear pressed firmly to Bhuren’s chest to listen to the soft beating of his heart. The sound of his lungs expanding was amplified as he took a deep breath. The olive drab blanket was of little defense against the cold wind that blew over the foxhole they were placed in. Bhuren’s eyes focused on the stars through computerized scope that he held in his right hand, the left wrapped about Chryo’s shoulders.

“Well, not like we can get in much more trouble. Still got a few years left to go for both of us and the worst that can happen is we get sent back in.” Bhuren explained.

“Not if they decide to just kill us off.” Chryo replied with a sarcastic grin.

“What, and lose two pairs of boots in this hell-hole? Please. Doubt they’d even bother filling out the paper work.”


***


“Don’t forget the safety latch you big oaf.” Chryo stated with a smile as he pulled the straps of his flight-suit over his shoulders.

 The Brutor grimaced and secured himself into the armored flight-suit. The two placed their helmets over their heads and faced the airlock of the ship. The music that played over the loud-speaker was calming. However, it was cut-off quickly as the air rushed out of the chamber. The magnetic seals on the door separated and opened up to the vastness of space before them with the hub about a dozen kilometers away.

“I hate this. I hate not being able to get out if it gets crazy.” Bhuren stated through the short range transmitter of his helmet, staring into the void.

“I know, but listen, if it gets bad, I’ll just send the signal to the Shadow to target the guns on the power core of this place. We’ll bail out, it’ll blow up, and we’ll make our way back to Metropolis – no problem.”

Chryo let out a chuckle before taking the Brutor’s hand into his own. Grasping the frame of the airlock door he pulled both of them out into the darkness. The cloak on the ship held as they exited, lost in the black. Several gusts of air were jettisoned from the container on the Vherokior’s back as he readjusted his course toward the hub. Both of their compact weapons strung across their chests to prevent the air bursts allowing them to maneuver.

“Just don’t let go, alright?” Chryo reassured the other.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with. I want to get paid.”

“Could always be a dancer. Shame there’s not a market for that in Amarr, right? Sure they’d love to have a big burly bastard like you in there.”

“I don’t think they even have bars, Chryo.” Bhuren replied stubbornly.

The two landed on the outer hull of the hub, attaching with the magnetic soles of their boots. They continued the rest of the way with a slow, arduous walk toward the main airlock traditionally used for ship boarding. The two bounty hunters breached through the airlock manually as to not completely destroy the hub (and likely themselves) in catastrophic decompression. Furthermore, the method of entry allowed the atmosphere to be retained. Shortly after they were inside the dark installation with their weapons drawn and helmets off, the grim atmosphere had weighed on them.

The two searched several corridors and rooms but found nothing. There was no sign of life apart from furnishings within the living quarters. The air was damp, humid, and cold, with a fine mist hanging low to the ground. Condensation had clung to the walls and with each breath they took a gentle haze would escape. Particles of dust lingered in the beam of red light – used to preserve the eyes’ night vision – Bhuren had mounted to shoulder. Both bounty hunters cautiously cleared each room while they progressed further into the complex.

“It is unnaturally cold.” Bhuren whispered, twisting his shoulders to shine the mounted red light into a room.

Chryo placed a finger to his own lips with a soft nod toward his companion. He lowered his weapon to hang loosely against his chest and drew a pair of Ishukone-manufactured ‘Nova Knives’ – blades that held a plasma-heated edge when charged. Each of the blades were held at his sides. Each step the two took was careful and planned as to not make unnecessary sound.

A shape quickly emerged from the doorway of one of the rooms. Chryo saw the flash of movement in his peripheral vision and instinctively reacted. He swung his knife in an arch but wasn't fast enough to place its glowing blade in the target. In a moment he felt a hand grasp his wrist, crush, and break the bones in a tight squeeze causing him to howl in pain. His breath was stolen from him in a blinding array of lightning quick fists to his abdomen, falling backward into a length of pipes. The pipes split and burst, releasing a jet of steam that enshrouded him in the claustrophobic corridor.

His eyes struggled to find the source of his agony. White-blue eyes focused on the shadow that approached him, barely over a meter in height, bathed in a red wash. He lifted his limp, destroyed arm in protest before a loud explosion cracked the air around him. His ears rang as blood caked over his face, fearing the worst. When his vision cleared he realized that the crack was from Bhuren's scattergun, removing the figure's head in a cone of viscera.

"Chryo, you alight?!" His companion screamed.

Chryo nodded, glancing over the figure that had toppled over him, lacking its head. He realized that the form was that of a child, barely into adolescence.

"Wh-what..?" He inquired, puzzled and terrified.

Chryo shoved the body away from himself, scrambling back. In his haste he rested most of his weight on his now mangled arm, causing him to scream as he winced in pain. Bhuren ran closer to him and settled upon his knee. The Brutor’s eyes glanced over Chryo’s form in an effort to find the source of his suffering but in the red light could not distinguish blood from sweat.

“What’s wrong?” Bhuren yelled, his hands trying to find his partner’s wound.

“My arm. It’s done for. There’s no fixing this, Bhuren – I’m in trouble.” Chryo explained with a shaky voice.

“Which one? Can you still shoot? Was that a kid?”

“Y-yeah. I can still shoot. Give me something to kill the pain, quick.”

Bhuren reached into his pack and retrieved a syringe, quickly stabbing it into Chryo’s chest with a hammered fist. The Vherokior groaned and grinded his teeth together, feeling the adrenaline surge through his body. The black-market grade painkillers followed shortly after and for a brief moment Chryo saw rainbow spots. He shook his head and lifted to a stand, looking over his arm which now hung in the shape of an ‘L’.

“Guess cybernetics are always an option.” He stated with a sigh.

“Chryo that lo-that’s pretty serious.” Bhuren noted.

“You don’t say? Look, brace it. Painkillers should at least get me through the rest of this op. At least until we get back to the Shadow.”

“Was that a kid?” Bhuren stated as he set to creating a makeshift splint for his partner’s arm, wrapping it in thick fabric.

Chryo looked over to his side where the body still laid. The blood oozing from the stump neck pooled and drained into the crevices of the metal floor panels. The Vherokior gave a grimace and looked back up to Bhuren with a shake of his head, biting his lower lip.


***


“Normally we try to get skilled individuals into the Valklears. Not much skill involved in butchering children but since you have a knack for staying alive in incarceration, we figured we’d give you a shot.”

The recruiter explained to Chryo the nature of his interest through the plastic-steel barrier as he paced. Chryo neglected to respond, simply continuing his exercise regimen within the condensed cell he was housed in.

“If you fail to respond, we’ll simply move on to the next candidate. Trust me when I say that we’re not eager to take you into our ranks based on social morays alone. However, your excellence in close quarters combat is something we find valuabl-


***


“Chryo! Stay with me here!” Bhuren yelled, giving the Vherokior a soft slap on the cheek to snap him out of his daze.

Chryo abruptly snapped his head back and stared at the Brutor’s stern expression. He sniffed the air lightly and bit harder into his lip. With a faint nod, Chryo glanced down at his braced arm a brief moment. It was adequate, he felt. He leaned forward and placed his forehead against the light chest-plate of Bhuren’s flightsuit, shaking his head from side to side.

“I know. It was botch from the start. You’ve got to get that shit out of your head though, man. One of these days you’re just going to have to come to terms with the fact that you were screwed. Look at the bright side, you got me out of the deal.” Bhuren explained.

“Yeah.” Chryo responded, grimly.

An abrupt, loud series of metallic thumps was heard by the two. They quickly jolted to attention at the sight of a child running down the corridor, cast in red by Bhuren’s light. The child had death in his eyes. The Brutor moved in front of his partner and lifted his scattergun but was too slow to react. The child lifted a boot and slammed it into Bhuren’s leg, just beneath the kneecap. With a scream, Bhuren shifted his weight as his leg buckled. Just behind him Chryo desperately tried to aim his firearm.

The beating sound of something hastily crawling through the air duct above them rang loudly amongst the commotion. From the duct's opening a child sprang, swinging his legs out with hands gripping the edge of the duct firmly. Both of the child's boots planted firmly against Bhuren's skull causing him to reel sideways in a disoriented dance. The Brutor man fell hard against the floor and his eyelids fluttered briefly.

Before either of the bounty hunters could react the group of children were upon Bhuren. Their tiny arms swung, viciously stabbing into his chest and abdomen with serrated blades that ripped the flesh apart. He wheezed for only a moment before blood began to draw from his nose and mouth. A dead stare locked toward the ceiling of the corridor as his pupils dilated, his hands loosening their grip on his weapon.

Chryo snapped, firing his handgun into the fray and rendering one of the boy’s into bloody piecemeal. The other turned to him and advanced with lightning speed. In response, Chryo dropped his weapon and pulled free his knife. He swung the blade in a wide arch and slammed it into the side of the child's head with a sickening crunch as the bone split and cracked. The body began to quiver and jolt, collapsing down with the weight dragging Chryo's arm downward with it.

He screamed in frustration with hatred in his eyes trying to pry the blade away. Unsuccessful, He held down the button to charge it. The thermic igniter lit the plasma heated blade. The heat caused the fatty tissue to melt and the flesh slipped away, like a pinkish-white sheet rolling on water. Slowly but surely the edge melted away the bone and flesh until it was freely pulled from the now cauterized wound.

Chryo dropped the blade to the ground and fell to his knees beside Bhuren’s body. He panted heavily, burying his face into his shaking hand. He lamented his lover’s death, but his sorrow quickly turned to anger. Blood-drunk, he lifted to his feet with his weapon and soldiered forward in the direction that the children had come from.

After hastily checking several rooms Chryo entered a larger chamber that glowed from the light of several computers. The light was dim and the mist hung low ever still, giving him an unnerving sensation. He focused his attention on one of the computer monitors as he approached. His adrenaline still surged from the biotics and now with the added consideration that he was alone; his partner dead.

"What is this..." Chyro muttered gravelly with a single droplet of blood rolling down over his brow.

His blue eyes scanned the surface of a holographic projection in the center of a table. The text was inconsistent and strange to him. The sentence at the very bottom of the readout was the only lettering he could decipher clearly.

//who are you

He narrowed his eyes in a puzzled look, scanning over the projection once more for anything familiar. A roll of his shoulders was given with a heavy sigh before he placed his only functional hand on the table for stability. A new line of text printed out across the projection just as clearly as the last.

//i said who are you

"Chryo." He stated slowly and inquisitively.

//what are you doing here

//you do not belong hise

Chryo's eyes traveled until they found the test tube nearby. The glass container was filled to the brim with an eerie yellow-green liquid that fully surrounded a fleshy pinkish-grey object separated into two hemispheres but conjoined in the middle. He focused his vision and saw a series of long tendrils that coiled out from the base of the rounded object. Connected to the brain was a series of metallic cables and tubes with smaller ones adjoined to the ends of the nerve tendrils that stemmed from it. Chyro's eyes widened to what degree they could against his swollen features at the realization of what it was. It seemed too small to have belonged to an adult.

//you do not belong here

"What is this? Who am I talking to?"

//i am phantan

//you do not belong here

//you must leave

"What is Phantan?"

//i am

"Are you the brain in the jar over there?"

//i am waiting for the lord

Chryo swallowed hard. His adrenaline began to rush through his body with his quickened heart rate. His eyes danced and explored, looking for some semblance of explanation to what he saw. In his panic he drew his handgun and aimed at the jar, the iron-sights along the barrel lined up with the floating brain. He looked back at the projection in a moment of hesitation, reading the newly printed sentence.

//what are you doing here

The glass shattered and the fluid spilled onto the floor an instant later. The projectile had penetrated cleanly through the glass but slowed when it hit the liquid, embedding itself into the left hemisphere of the brain. Chryo gritted his teeth, his eyebrows knitted together in shock and fury as he struggled to understand the now incoherent text that displayed across the projection. He considered what he had just done before unloading the remainder of the magazine into the organic ball. What was left was a torn and grotesque webbing. The projection ceased to display any new text.

It was only then that Chryo realized he had a single round left. Reserved in traditional manner spawned by his platoon in the Valklears: Retaining a single round with which to end a comrade’s life if suffering. He loaded the round into the barrel with a snarl, trying to work around his damaged limb. In his mind he pictured this round as the one to end his bounty’s life – vengeance. Yet, despite this, he could not explain what he was seeing.

No sooner than he had done this a door on the far end of the room slid open and he readied his weapon. An older Amarr man leaned against the door frame weakly, looking up at him with tired eyes. They stared briefly before speaking.

“Who the fuck are you?” Chryo asked impatiently.

“Hmm. Bounty hunter. No matter, I haven’t accomplished anything of value in quite some time.” The Amarr explained, shuffling back into his chamber.

Chryo followed him with a quickened, livid pace. Yet no sooner than he had entered the room were two children upon him, slashing and stabbing at his form. The surprise caused him to jolt into reaction and mercilessly cut away at their smaller frames with his nova knife after dropping his handgun. In an adrenaline fueled blur the conflict was over and their bodies lay on the floor. His vision grew dark and soon enough he realized he was bleeding profusely from his abdomen. He wasn’t quick enough, even with the biotics.

Chryo lifted his bleary eyes to see the Amarr sitting in a chair in front of him. Beside the old man was a large test tube filled with preservation liquid and a body of a woman. She starred seemingly into the distance with a respirator attached to her face to allow her to breathe.

“What..?” Chryo asked, losing his balance.

“Mmm. I suppose I should enlighten you before you die. These children you have been so fond of killing are my soldiers of fortune – misfortune, really. They were supposed to be part of the Kameira program, but I took them with me for my research. A contract for the Guristas, you see.” The Amarr stated.

Chryo staggered and fell to the floor with a loud thump. He struggled to stay conscious and to lift his handgun.

“Prior to the Templar Project I was assigned to find a way to development infantry clone technology by conventional means for the Kameiras. Blasted Jamyl and her damned agenda put an end to that. She took the Empyreans’ boon over my research and now those demons are on every planet in New Eden.”

The researcher pointed at the woman in the preservation liquid and continued despite Chryo’s suffering.

“The children were the result of my research. This fine young woman here was the basis of their training. Implantation of memories from a separate brain. Amazing isn’t it? She made a willing subject, you see. Such is the nature of the unfortunate victims of the ‘Wetgrave’ as it were. Fatal and his flock are quite morbid.

These children are the ilk of my research. Indoctrinated, immortal, and trained by the trans-neural skill of a veteran soldier like the one whom you see here. It truly is remarkable. Children are easier to mold to be the perfect fighters and loyal to a fault.” The Amarrian explained.

"Fuck your exposition. No-one will know what you did here." Chyro stated as he lifted his sidearm, his hand shaking weakly.

"Wai-"

The researcher lifted his hand to shield his face in protest. It was, however, in vain as the deafening crack of Chryo’s gun echoed off the walls. The round had punched a hole cleanly through the man's hand and he immediately slumped forward. His head hung, dead, with a stream of blood pouring from the fresh wound that pooled at the floor between his knees.

Chyro winced as he removed the neocom from his broken, bruised, and battered arm. He flipped his fingers over the shattered glass of the interface that had previously wrapped around his wrist. A targeting interface showed for the automated systems of their ship – his ship – the Fluid Shadow. He selected the hub’s power core as the target and hovered his index finger over the firing interface.

For a brief moment he wondered if it was all a nightmare. He wondered if the past several years were all a fabrication of his mind. He pondered on whether or not he was insane – a child killer. That this was the reason why he was sentenced and that he was merely recollecting it all now. It didn’t make sense to him in the slightest and the house of horrors he was in only reinforced that. He wondered if Bhuren would still be alive if he had not been a part of his life.

The targeting of the Fluid Shadow finalized and Chyro pushed the button on the neocom. And for a brief moment he saw infinity.

Perhaps Reborn

Submitted for the Pod and Planet Eve Fiction Contest on December 1, 2014. 

Even the most hardened individuals are still capable of compassion when confronted with something novel. Anneyo realized this first hand with the man, who after a long battle against his affliction had resigned himself to what was essentially medical life support. Unconscious, but still alive with the assistance of contraptions that made Anneyo squeamish every time she saw him.

 The room was dark, only illuminated by a single bright light that shone down over the man’s form who was now more machine than flesh. Securely fastened into a metal frame, the man was immobile. A dull hum gently pulsing throughout the room every few seconds that conveniently eliminated the eerie ring of silence.

Before cascading into his abrupt final stages, the man had implored that she do everything in her power to keep him alive as long as possible, regardless of how much he plead toward the end. As expected, he did plead as the final stages of the disease worsened, as if craving his inevitable death. 

*** ***

System Name:\ 00GD-D
Region:\ Fountain
Security Level:\ 0.0
Sovereignty:\ CONTESTED

“Brigand Five, you’re going to start seeing a light show pretty soon if you don’t adjust your course!”

The words echoed in Anneyo’s helmet through her panicked breaths as she flicked several toggles in an attempt to defy the inevitable. As the walls of the craft grew warmer, the sight of a gargantuan green continent beneath thick cloud systems had begun to fill her screen. The details of a spider-webbed network of rivers had grown less vague as each second passed.

An ember quickly became an inferno that was enveloping the Gallentean vessel. A glorious glow of fire combined with a dull humming sound that grew in volume as turbulence rocked her ship violently. Trembling, adrenaline rushed hands flipped a switch marked in yellow and black stripes, igniting the external fire control mechanisms. Simultaneously she activated damage control systems in an effort to cool down the rapidly heating fuselage.

Klaxon alarms heralded her danger, followed by the damage assessments from the on-board computers, which screamed in her ears that something was awry. Pieces of the frigate broke and burned away in the smoke trail that followed behind the ship as it hurtled through the atmosphere. The capsuleer operating the craft had ejected from the ship several minutes prior, leaving her behind.

“Stand by for PTI. Brigand One-through-Twelve adjust for parallax and engage the Abaddon, call sign ‘Victim’s Deceit’.”

“Confirmed, Command. Scratch Brigand Five from the marker, we’ve lost contact.”

Anneyo shook her head and barked into her half-faced helmet with fervor, “I am still here. I’ve lost propulsion, requesting immediate evacuation on my emergency signal.”

“Confirmed, Brigand Actual, scratching Brigand Five from tally. We will have a secondary ship on replacement at the rendezvous. Continue with engagement order.”

A small crack had formed at the corner of the crystalline silicate shell that provided the cockpit a view port. It did not take her long to realize that the pressure difference inside of the ship was clashing with that of the atmosphere she was burning into. Before she had the opportunity to prevent it the cabin exploded outward forcefully, her head being pinned back against the seat from the sudden rush of air and soon her vision had grown dark.

*** ***

The smell of burning metal was the first thing that Anneyo had experienced upon regaining consciousness. The gentle lapping of her tongue moistened her dry and cracked lips. She could taste the coppery tang of blood on a small split in the tender flesh. The visor of her helmet had shattered, obstructing her view of the wreckage. She shifted in place to try to free herself from the fastenings that kept her in her seat but received a sudden wave of pain in return.

Her scream had frightened the local wildlife, which scattered as if roaches exposed to light in a dark room. Insects had ceased their calls and so did the birds. Regaining her composure, she looked down to the source of the pain that originated from her leg. Dried blood had caked inside of her suit and stained the material. Using that and the familiar deep ache as clues she had gained an impression that she had either fractured of broken the bone.

Anneyo had begun scanning the rest of her body to assess the damage she had taken on from surviving the crash. Beyond the extensive damage to her leg, she only had taken on scrapes and bruises. She freed herself of the broken helmet and began to crawl out of the twisted carcass that was her ship, however painful.

The gravity on the planet was different from what she was used to onboard ships and stations, as she had not been groundside in several months at least. A lengthy stare at the side of the wreckage as she crawled out showed the torn homage to her alliance: The Daedalus Conglomerate. A namesake honored by a logo – painted on the craft’s hull - of a man with wings holding a blade in one hand and farming tool in the other.

The staccato of rainwater pattering around her formed an almost soothing experience. She glanced around her surroundings to assess where she had crashed, quickly noticing that the region was a dense jungle beyond the blackened char that was left over from her abrupt landing. Were it not for the alien appearance of the flora and fauna, it would have been a stark reminder of her home: Intaki Prime. From what she could see, the ship she had been appointed to was scattered across the brush and foliage. Some segments still molten or ablaze.

The clouds above grew darker with the light of the system’s star peering through the heavy moisture in the air in blurry rays. The formations of the clouds were tight and bunched together, giving the telltale signs of an oncoming monsoon. Lightning had jumped across the sky in the distance with the gentle boom of thunder following several seconds later. The wind briskly moved an easterly motion, toward Anneyo. The clearing in the skies farther to the East revealed twin moons that slowly disappeared behind cloud cover as time passed.

The Intaki woman lifted her hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes tightly in consideration of the negative evaluation. Limited in the scope of her training – survival, in particular – she had measured the scenario for what it was: grim. The first objective she had to focus herself on was shelter.

*** ***

Several hours had passed and nightfall had brought on an increased intensity of the storm. Anneyo had managed to crawl some distance from the wreckage, finding shelter underneath a slight overhang of compacted dirt and rock. It had not been as fruitful as she would have liked, much to her dismay with the rainwater rushing along the exposed roots above her head in the small hollow.

The woman’s suit had been mottled with smeared mud spread over her legs especially from where she had crawled. She had wrapped her shivering arms around her knees, her head held low between them. Her teeth began to clatter together. Anneyo's body had been trying to generate heat as compensation for the drop in temperature. The feeling in her fingers and toes absent as a result.

Her wet black hair fell into her crystal blue eyes as she moved. She lifted her damaged helmet and spoke into the communication device, still linked remotely to the damaged wreck, in another hopeless attempt to contact her corporation.

“Brigand Five to Command, requesting response.”

Several seconds had passed but to her it felt as though it were an eternity. She dropped the helmet to the ground below with a soggy plop before burying her face into her hands. Her shoulders tensed, sliding her hands down her face with a heavy sigh. Water cascaded from her fingertips in streams to the soil near her boots. Her thoughts were troubled with the slightest of anxiety. For a moment, she had lost control of her emotions, overwhelmed with the thought that perhaps they had left her to die, but quickly consolidated her feelings to a more logical approach.

It was then that a sound rang out from nearby. It was unfamiliar – not like the usual bustle of rain and thunder she had become accustom to over the past several hours. Snapping her attention upward to the source, her blue eyes found themselves over a figure, clad in black, which was standing in the darkness of the nearby trees. The figure was a silhouette of a short creature, roughly human in appearance, which starred directly at her. It was barely visible behind the cast of light from a device resting on its head.

Her face wrinkled; perplexed at how she had never noticed the figure or the bright cone of light it bore. She was only able to stare back at whatever was investigating her small outcrop. To her surprise, the figure began to speak in a silken tone, “It would seem the universe has done you quite the disservice.”

Her pupils dilated with her attention now fully focused; her response was wavering and shaky, “It would seem that way. Who are you?”

“Perhaps we would find it best to consider these answers together where it is not so damp, wouldn’t you agree?”

The man lifted his hand to his head and deactivated the light attached to his temple. At that moment, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky and briefly illuminated the figure’s face. In that split second of time, Anneyo had been rewarded a glimpse – rather, a memory – of a face. The man’s complexion consisted of yellow-gray skin laden with a network of veins visible beneath his near translucent flesh.  At first glance, he looked like a Jovian, an enigmatic and incredibly advanced race not often seen. She considered that her mind was playing tricks against her until a second flash of light had confirmed her theory.

*** ***

“What is this place?” Anneyo inquired, glancing over the building’s interior.

“The Society calls this a ‘Kitz’. Your curiosity is commendable; the pursuit of knowledge is something we thrive on.” The Jovian responded.

The structure’s architecture was almost organic but not in a way Anneyo was familiar. The Intaki were no strangers to the Gallentean designs that favored curvaceous form and aesthetic; alien by comparison to the Jovian building. Though she could not quite comprehend what exactly it was, something about the Kitz appealed to her. The proportions were ambiguous but strangely subtle in their approach, as if the not-quite perfect design was intentional.

In the center stretch of the hall was their path, a matte bronze color outlined in dim lights that flickered with each step. The hall had no windows to speak of but the sound of the storm outside was still barely audible beyond the high walls. Tall pillars extended toward the ceiling where they connected with no readily visible fastenings, as if conjoined to the structure itself.

Her suit felt heavier, weighed down by the rainwater that its synthetic material had absorbed. The woman’s boots were soaked, squelching as she followed behind the short man. Her injured leg wrapped in a metal band he had provided her. The object, beyond her understanding, relieved her suffering greatly; enough that she could walk. A pooled trail of water had followed shortly behind them as they walked through the empty grand hall, each step echoing in a solemn tone.

 “Where are the rest of your people?” Anneyo asked, softly.

“Succumb to our disease, much to our misfortune. Hmm… Strange how quiet it is, now that they are gone. I had almost forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?”

“The vivacious choir of lengthy research and focused intellect. It is a magnificent sound, if one but takes a moment to listen.”

Anneyo had only then taken a moment to survey fully her guide. He was small, probably no more than four feet in height, with nary a single hair on his frame. The only outstanding feature about him was the sickly color of his flesh complementing his equally unsavory cybernetic eyes that focused in front of them. Apart from his black cloak, he only wore an equally dark jumpsuit with metallic bindings and buckles. A more complex aesthetic compared to her jumpsuit. She had the impression that these bindings, given their appearance, were similar to the one wrapped around her injured leg.

As they entered one of many adjoining rooms, the loud sound of a speaker rang to Anneyo’s ears. A giant hologram of a Jovian woman projected in the highest quality she had ever witnessed was playing in the center of an array of workstations. At first, she had mistaken that the speaker was alive until closer inspection revealed tiny flaws in the projection of its image; dust particles fluttering about through the provided light.

 The Jovian man pivoted on one foot in order to face her with an upward glance. His face bereft of any expression beyond his words, “A therapy recording.”

“Therapy..?” She asked.

“Yes. I have the disease as well. Therapy and medication assist me in combating its effects but I find that proper motivation is equally as important… Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Hmm… Your curiosity is not lacking but your determination and confidence is subpar. Tell me, from where do you come?”

“I am – I was – a support technician for a capsuleer in The Daedalus Conglomerate.”

“Ah, intriguing. Yes, we have observed the use of Capsule technology since provided. An interesting, if expected use; the everlasting pursuit of power and wealth. Perhaps it is a shame that we don’t fully relate to the nature of these ambitions any longer. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Anneyo had chosen to abstain from a response to his question, perplexed by his timing. She casually walked around the room to inspect the various workstations. They consisted of biological, electronic, mechanical, and an expanse of other studies, each individually designated a theme and purpose. Despite her limited understanding, she could still sense that something was wrong, as if the air itself was heavy with for a want of redress.

The therapy session was still ongoing behind her, providing the only sound available in the room besides her spirited breathing. She was comfortable and relieved despite her circumstances. She dwelled on her thoughts for some time before providing another question, “You said, ‘The Society’ earlier. I assume you are referring to The Society of Conscious Thought. Isn’t that a school of sorts?”

“Yes, The Society does provide many an education befitting of our standards, even despite our reputation. Each approach tailored specifically for the student to assist in their development. This Kitz was reserved for broad spectrum research in a specialized field and as such we had no interest in taking on students.” He explained.

“A specialized field?”

“Yes. A cure for our disease.”

“You said earlier that the rest of your people had already died from the disease. If you’re experiencing symptoms and are taking medicine with accompanying therapy, then something doesn’t add up. I thought the disease killed quickly?”

“It is true that the disease does kill quickly and although I cannot state it as fact, I feel it takes as long as the afflicted permits it. I have undergone therapy and medication for quite some time, so I can speak from experience.”

Anneyo lingered on the thought for a moment before she retorted with her own theory, “Perhaps it’s purely hereditary and your neurological structure is preventing the production of the necessary neurochemicals?”

“An interesting theory, if a wrong one.”

“Then why does the medicine and therapy work?”

“This goes beyond mere physiological constraints, wouldn’t you agree?”

Anneyo’s brows furrowed together in response to the Jovian’s question. She was confused, as his question seemed genuine, as if they were two researchers considering a theory. This, in contrast to the tone she had expected.

The Intaki lifted herself onto the desk of one of the workstations; she retrieved a nearby spherical object and began to toss it between each of her hands. Reclining until her back touched the cold metal causing her to gasp. Her damp black hair had all but engulfed the remainder of the desk while her blue eyes starred at the high ceiling. Her proprioception – the ability to sense the relative location of body parts – allowing her to play idly with the sphere without physically seeing it.

The Jovian began to approach her slowly upon seeing this. His eyes trailing over her form with a cat-like curiosity with a central focus on her activity. His right hand lifted with a gaunt finger following the sphere as she pitched it between her palms. Like a chameleon, his augmented eyes separated their focus. The left eye, watching the sphere she played with attentively while the right eye focused entirely on Anneyo's face.  

His words came out in a pitched tone, as if greatly interested, “Your mannerisms are particularly intriguing. Physically, you show aptitude that is expected of your stature in a military field. However, your mental and social capability is reserved, restrained, even. While all individuals are unique in their expression you seem fascinatingly quick to exemplify yourself of negative context. Tell me, how can you resort to recreation so soon after haphazard circumstance?”

“Ida – ‘To Consider’.” She replied, pointedly.

“The Intaki faith. Does this ‘Ida’ encourage abandonment of negativity?”

“Not quite. Ida is not a faith or belief, so much as a way of life. Ida is moderation in all things. To put it simply, it is necessary to indulge yourself occasionally but over indulgence isn’t encouraged, neither is self-denial. Proper alignment with The Way in our lives is what allows us to become reborn, that we may teach others the lessons we have learned.”

“Intaki Rebirth, yes, I have researched this. The Intaki are of particular interest to me for this cultural phenomenon. Your resigned nature, control of emotions, and societal impact are all a favorite study of mine. Our archives here in the Kitz are not as well equipped on the subject as I would like.  Discuss further, please, I’m sure the conversation would be of great value, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You keep saying that.” Anneyo stated, her interest piqued.

“Our disease includes a lack of focus at times. I am only asking to reassure that I am speaking clearly and concisely.”

Anneyo considered this statement with a moment of hesitation. Silently, she debated the moral ethic of seeing the extent of his focus but decided to forego playing mind games with a man so clearly struggling with his own stability. 

She gave a brief hum in combination to this deliberation before continuing with their chosen topic, “Ida is commonly misconstrued. It requires a level of discipline that many simply do not have, especially in the Federation where the people are so obsessed with their personal liberties to do as they will. There is nothing wrong with this, per say, but it reflects back to what I had mentioned about over-indulgence. Furthermore, many, wrought in the ideal that they are over-indulging when confronted, tend to exact themselves directly into self-denial with the misconception that they are wrong. To be reborn is to expand one’s knowledge of the world and its constant cycles. Life and death is a prevalent example.”

The Jovian’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, as if trying to remove debris. He turned around and began to walk toward a separate terminal, retrieving a similar spherical object as the one Anneyo continued to throw between her hands. He mimicked this action, methodically, and kept a careful eye on the movements, saying, “This subject is quite titillating. Tell me, are you Reborn?”

“Yes, technologically.”

“And in what ways would an individual go about becoming Reborn?”

“In the past, there were many traditions to ensure a soul would continue their lifetimes. With technology, however, we have perfected the methodology and many Intaki are reborn. However, Idama are the most revered as to be Idama, one must be reborn without assistance. They are truly the paragons of our way.”

The Jovian’s eyes focused on his sphere now. His concentration locked onto the task of throwing the sphere with increased intensity, the snapping of his translucent flesh echoed out as the metal forcefully found its way in each hand. He continued this display until it began to glow a dim orange color, growing brighter until it began to give a low whistling tune. Seemingly satisfied, he set the sphere back down on the metal surface of the terminal and began to walk toward the center of the room where the hologram still played.

“I suggest you explore the Kitz. Familiarize yourself with its layout. In exchange for knowledge of your culture and… ‘The Way’… I will teach you the way The Society would a traditional student. It will be difficult, given our limited time, but I am confident that you will succeed. You will become renown, as they all are.”

The Jovian sat down calmly before the hologram with his cybernetic eyes affixed to the projection. His stillness was almost disturbing, as if a statue on display with a deadpan expression across his face. Finding an appreciation and respect for his mannerisms, Anneyo gained the impression that he wanted to involve himself in the therapy recording. She lifted from her seat, walking out of the room to explore.

*** ***

Anneyo ate her food with reservation but not due to its taste. She savored each bite but her pace was particularly slow. Her eyes began to drift toward the Jovian across from her who sat with a calm, expressionless demeanor, the table in front of him empty. He appeared distant, as if lost in his own imagination.

In any normal circumstance, Anneyo would have waited until he acknowledged her presence than to interrupt the Jovian’s thoughts. She decided against this, however, concerned over his state of mind due to the increasing ferocity of the disease over the previous several days. Consequentially the decline was because of a single missed therapy session.

“You really should eat something. You’re getting thinner as the days go by.” She suggested, quietly.

Her mentor had not responded and she began to wonder if he had bothered to leave his own thoughts to acknowledge that she was trying to talk to him. If he had not been breathing, she would have assumed that he had died at the table.

Since she had started her education regime with the Jovian the two had worked closely to provide for one another, much to the benefit of the self-sustainment systems offered by the Kitz itself. Since the irregularity in his therapy schedule she had found herself more to be in a position of a caretaker rather than an apprentice of his studies.

His apathy had affected their studies as well and it had grown harder for Anneyo to keep the Jovian focused on their tasks. When he was able to focus, he seemed to be lost in a fit of depression and the joy he previously had shown for their conversations was not as profound. The only times he was able to break from the melancholic phases was through the discussion of Ida and Intaki Rebirth. She had accepted that his interest stemmed from the possibility that he could be reborn, free of the disease.

She slid the plate of food, still steaming, toward him. Offering the same utensil she had used as she spoke, “Here. Eat some; we will discuss more on Rebirth.”

His mood had shifted at this mention and as if a toddler presented with a candy after a shot slowly began to move about. Grasping the utensil in his hand, he began to eat with a lazy effort. Anneyo smiled at this, delighted by his continued drive to attempt to fight the inevitable. 

The woman lifted her arms and rested her elbows on the table. She placed her fingertips together while leaning forward to speak in a sagely manner before continuing, “Remember that self-denial is also discouraged. You shouldn’t allow negative feelings to cloud your thoughts. I understand that you may not feel much enthusiasm for your work as of late but it is important to keep to that ambition. If not for the fact that it will help combat the disease, that it will encourage you to better see the path that is before you.”

“I will try.” He replied, lazily.

“Trying assumes the possibility of failure. You will.” She said, reassuringly.

The constant motivation provided the Jovian the drive he needed to fight the disease as long as possible. Anneyo had considered several times that perhaps she encouraged his willpower selfishly; that she were keeping him alive for the bond that they had established. Although she fully understood and realized that death was the only inevitable outcome for his affliction, she had gained a reliance on his company as much as he had relied on hers.

“Come on. We’re going to play with the sphere again.” She commanded.

The Jovian’s reluctance was clear given the mannerism of the way he brought himself to a stand. His posture was poor, slouched forward as he lethargically moved to one side of the table. He rested his palms on the table’s surface, staring at her from a distance as she retrieved the glowing sphere. Anneyo rolled it across at a measured pace. A heavy metallic sound emitted from it as it traveled toward him, stopped by his hand with a fleshy clap. His mechanical eyes lifted and focused on hers, the shutters adjusting to zoom in on her features.

“Natural rebirth is rare among the Intaki.” He stated, but Anneyo knew that this to be a question despite the lack of tone. He was, at times, confused in how to voice his thoughts properly.

“Yes, very rare. It is possible though and if you truly wish to be reborn without technology then it is all the more important that you follow the path.”

The Jovian contemplated this further before rolling the sphere back to her. They continued this repetition for some time, absorbed in their own thoughts. The activity was beneficial to the Jovian especially as the exercise gradually elevated his mood. The game bolstered his psyche and soon enough they would continue with their exchange of knowledge as was tradition since their acquaintance.

*** ***

Even the most hardened individuals are still capable of compassion when confronted with something novel. Anneyo realized this first hand with the Jovian, who after a long battle against his affliction had resigned himself to what was essentially medical life support. Unconscious, but still alive with the assistance of contraptions that made Anneyo squeamish every time she saw him that way.

 The room was dark, only illuminated by a single bright light that shone down over the Jovian’s form who was now more machine than human. Securely fastened into a metal frame, the Jovian was immobile. A dull hum gently pulsing throughout the room every few seconds that conveniently eliminated the eerie ring of silence.

Before cascading into his abrupt final stages, the Jovian had implored that she do everything in her power to keep him alive as long as possible, regardless of how much he plead toward the end. As expected, he did plead as the final stages of the disease worsened, as if craving his inevitable death.

Anneyo canted her head gently as she approached. She had given a quick glance over several monitors to ensure that there were no complications with his prolonged survival, purely out of habit. The long span of time she had seen her friend in this condition weighed her consideration and eventually she had decided to go against his wishes. Deactivating and dismantling the machine, she allowed her mentor to die in his sleep, preventing unnecessary suffering. 

She controlled her emotions with resolve; such was her nature, as she began to leave the room for a final time. Her comrades from the Conglomerate having finally found her location now that she had activated a signal provided by the Kitz itself.

The Intaki placed her hand on the frame of the doorway, turning to look over her shoulder at the Jovian’s body that silently hung on the frame.

“Endless research without closure – an answer… but perhaps reborn…” Her thoughts echoed aloud as she departed. 

Rumor Zero

Submitted for the Pod and Planet Eve Fiction Contest on December 1, 2012. 

"Listen. We'll all die screaming." 

Reena had all but weaned out the soft rattle of utensils on the table that rang in unison with the heavy thud of munitions. Holding her fork like a pen, she picked at the bowl of slop with glassy eyes fixed on the food. She wasn't quite eating it but in the same sense she wasn't quite avoiding it either. The taste of the frothy food was less than appealing. It was lacking flavor, just a bland soup of nutrients.

The shots were loud and lacked any sort of rhythm. Occasionally she would hear a shout but it was often jumbled in with the sparse sounds of combat that floated beyond the walls of the mess hall. Regardless, those sounds were drawing closer by the minute and all the more prevalent. 

The static of it all was redolent of a time she'd since tried to dismiss. A blur of memories or retrospection she dwelled on in what little time she still had. 

***

A heavy sigh loosed her chapped lips and she shoved her food - if it could be called that - toward the end of the table. The veil covering the door parted from the frame and a bulky man clad in rusted armor strode in. Klepto collapsed into a chair with a grunt, rubbing beneath the corroded pauldron which had been stained with blood. 

"We have them dug in for the moment. We can take a break." he stated tiredly.

"Shouldn't waste the rounds, Klepto. You've got an eye for gold but we're going to need them sooner or later."

He lifted his hand with the palm facing the ceiling, then dropped it against his thigh as he shook his head. There was a pause of what seemed like ages before he broke the silence, asking, "So, when you going to tell me how you got the name 'Pandora', anyway?" 

She chewed on her lower lip, pulling off the dead flesh and causing it to bleed. Her blue eyes were locked onto his in a cold stare that conveyed her response with ease. Reena rose from her seat and trailed toward the eastward window, the sun glinting off of her eyes, a pleasant contrast against the backdrop of marred armor covering her chest. The waves of the polluted ocean battering the cliffside far below reflected the light from the morning sun into the window.

Rumor Zero was an outpost established by the Minmatar Republic and given a complementary platoon of soldiers, which included a dozen Valklear - dangerous convicts turned elite shock troops. Placed on a cliffside that faced the rising sun, it was a strategically advantageous position which masked the garrison by morning's light. The western end faced a valley which held excavated trenches and defensive bulwarks.

The objective of the outpost was to provide reconnaissance on a Holder - a member of the Amarrian caste of elites - who had recently gone destitute. Over the course of a week, the destitute holder was found to have become a rogue and had been trying to reclaim her former power by her own means - separate of the Amarrian Empire. Gradually, Rumor Zero was discovered by the holder's forces and her strength had proven to be drastically underestimated, turning the valley into a blackened warzone. 

"Are you just going to shy away from it every time I ask you?" Klepto barked out, his words heated.

Reena pivoted on her heel and fixed her hands to her hips, diverting her dagger-filled gaze toward him. "Seriously? Why the hell are you so interested? Do your own time." 

"Well, it must have been something pret-" 

She cut him off and spoke out emphatically, "Alright, look, here's the story. I was an underboss, some shit went down and we got caught. I got initiated into the program, same as you, the end." 

The woman lifted a hand from her slender physique and brushed back the blonde mohawk that hung over the left side of her face, pulling it behind her ear. Her eyes darted, avoiding his gaze. 

A patter of taps arose as the mammoth-sized man rolled his fingers on the table, considering his rebuttal. His lips parted to speak but held his words - at first. Brown eyebrows knitted together as the drawl of words issued from his mouth. 

"Why do you do this, exactly? I mean - you just doing it for the reduced time or do you honestly give a damn about anything we're doing here?" 

"Yeah, reduced time, we'll go with that." 

"Come on, quit acting like I'm the bad guy here. This ice queen shit is getting irritating." 

The pace of the anti-material rifle's rounds began to increase, the electric shock tickling at their feet from the floor. 

She started, slowly, with a dismissive gesture of her hand. "I want to get away from that. Get done here, go to the Gallente Federation. Start off fresh." She rubbed the gleam of sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand. Beads had begun to run down the bridge of her nose and down her cheeks. The tanned flesh across her body pocked with small scars and caked with dirt.

Klepto made it readily evident why he fought - his spirit might have been battered during the rigorous training that the convicts had gone through but his hatred for Amarr was never dashed. It boiled in his stomach, warmed him. Soon enough he'd have another chance to take the fight to them as a stacatto of gunfire filled the air. 

***

"Droolers!" A young soldier called at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking from the intensity. He resumed his panicked fire over the wall just as the Valklears had arrived, staring out over the abyss of blackened soot and fuming craters. 

As the two former criminals pressed their shoulders against the bolstered scrap that had been welded together, their eyes focused on a sight few could stomach: The gold-plated armor of two lumbering giants surrounded by at least a dozen slathering hounds that were closing the distance swiftly. 

"Looks like our Holder is less than destitute, wouldn't you agree?" Klepto remarked, the large man took a slow drag of flickering tobacco and smiled in anticipation. No sooner than his hand had lifted, there was an array of light that had fired across the plain in rapid succession. The two Valklears dropped down behind the large wall that they had been standing behind and looked toward the soldier - or what was left of him as his upper half combusted and fell to pieces in a heap around where his legs had been. 

Klepto was still reeling from the sudden surge of adrenaline that rushed through his veins at the moment the silent light had ignited the area. Feeling the wall behind him begin to gain heat, he crawled forward and away from it toward a small cache of weaponry that had been stored nearby. He retrieved a missile launcher from its contents and kept it close to his frame.

Soon enough a handful of soldiers rushed to the wall, hardly noticing the remnants of the smoldering carcass nearby. As soon as they had taken their positions they began to take casualities. The rapid bursts of soundless light turned limbs to glowing magma and set flesh ablaze. Screams of agony and hatred filled the air in unison with thunderous booms of small arms  fire. 

Peaking through a fist sized hole in the wall at least yielded Klepto some insight as to what was causing so much destruction. The metallic MTAC had began opening fire on the fort with a vegeance. It was stationary, its legs locked into position by large pneumatic spikes to stablize its frame as the multi-barreled weaponry spun on either side of it. The hounds were only a few hundred yards away by this point.

"You going to down that thing or let us all die?" Reena snapped, crouching beside him.

Mumbling a jumble of incoherent swears, Klepto staggered to his feet and shouldered the launcher. It didn't take him long to hone in on his target. His green eye stared through the bent iron sight and a blast of warm air encircled him as the missle left its launcher. The missile's flare was a sure sign that it ignited properly, speeding off into the distance. The MTAC's operator was visibly flustered - panicked even - and for a split second it began to disengage it's stabilizers. It was too late.

Portions of its gold plating fell away and the war machine began to sway. It toppled over, plummeting to the ground with a dust cloud bursting from its impact. The operator crawled out of the wreckage with flames licking at the nape of his neck. He swung his arms, clawing madly at the air and rolling through the dirt in a desperate attempt to snuff out the flames. The flesh of his limbs melted and pooled around his body, which soon after faded into lifelessness. 

"Good on you." Reena concluded, lifting from her knee and firing over the wall. 

"Yeah, well, not like it was hard to spot."

A soldier's knees buckled beneath him out of terror as a hound leapt over the wall. The savage beast landed gracefully and wasted little time rebounding ontop of the man, flaying the flesh from the man's belly, who let out a blood curdling shriek. Escape was rendered futile as hound after hound joined in the fray, tearing him apart.

The morale of the men was destroyed within moments and they began to retreat to higher ground, where three more men had fallen to the mechanized vehicle that still remained, lumbering slowly toward the outpost. 

The pair of Valklears were left behind but were largely undeterred. Keeping their focus they held what little ground they had with the woman keeping a watchful eye on the group of hounds while her larger companion readied another missile, dispatching the armored war machine as quickly as the last. Heroic as their actions were, the feat was lost in the confusion. 

The man's was seething as he sat down with his back against the wall, reloading his rifle and taking precise shots at the beasts that darted about the outpost. 

"Somebody made a big mistake. 'Handful of sentries', my ass." He blurted angrily.

"Shut up and keep shooting. We're not going to live through this arguing over the Fleet's idiocy." 

"Oh, you're one to talk."

"Quiet!"

The weapon's barrel began to glow with each burst of projectiles flung from it's frame. The roar of the rifle was only quieted when his companion heard a heavy thump above her. When her cold gaze lifted to view the source, she was met with maw full of savage-looking teeth and saliva that dripped onto her face. 

***

What remained of the men was broken and battered, slumped over the mess hall's chairs and silent in their collective. A third of their already diminished forces had met horrific ends, been turned to ash or been ripped apart by the slave hounds. Reena winced as her hand had lifted to grasp a communicator with blood trickling down her arm from a gauze wrap now coated crimson. 

"Asgard, this is Rumor Zero. Request for reinforcements was denied and we're down to a handful of men, all wounded. Will not survive the night if we don't receive evac." She quietly spoke to the communicator, staring out the window at the rising cluster of moons in the orange sky on the eastern horizon.

"Rumor Zero, this is Asgard. Evac is inbound, ETA three hours." 

Those words failed to herald any relief among the soldiers. Exhaustion had set in and all but the two Valklears were lost in thousand yard stares at the floor. Wide-eyed with partial smiles on their faces in sculptural defeat. The smell of grit and copper hung in the air with dust particles drifting in the light that shown through the single window. 

The woman took a seat adjacent of the broad shouldered man, who scratched at the stubble that encompassed his jawline. He glanced over at the men and gestured with his hand toward them,  displaying their remaining forces. Nine were left, including the two of them.

Her lips pulled back in disgust. Maybe from the pain in her arm or the news, perhaps both. She leaned back in her seat with a creak of the synthetic leather coat grinding against the chair. She bore a gash that lined along the entire left side of her face that would keep her expressions from moving very far.

The two sat in silence for what felt like hours but what was only a short moment. This brief period was broken when Klepto began to pat himself down in a hurry, realizing he had somehow lost his smoke simulator. He let out a groan and met Reena's eyes. They stared briefly until he threw his hand up in submission. A smirk played upon her damaged lips. 

Reena was the commanding officer of the unit, thanks to the chain of command and substantial casuality rate. Every higher up had met an untimely end and in one case chose that path by their own hand. Now holding less than a dozen soldiers, the garrison was a fraction of its original size.

The veil serving as a makeshift door parted as a slender man stepped inside. The man spoke in a swift jumble of incorherent words. It was as if he was speaking before his mind could finish the sentence itself. Despite his grungy appearance, he held a bright yellow-toothed smile.

"Picked apart the vehicles, nothing worth while in there. One of the pilots was still alive, missing his legs. Don't think he liked me much toward the end." He stared vacantly with wide, jaundiced eyes.

"Damnit, Patches, you been hitting the drop again?" Reena replied with an angered tone.

"Hell yeah I been hitting the drop again, what makes you think I'm going in there with those crazies without the finest the cartels have to offer? You know, I kinda like to mix it up sometimes. Get some crash, mix it with a little blast powder, I like to call that a Drooler, you know?" 

"Would you shut your mouth before I carve it out?" Klepto blurted.

The man managed to conjure up some restraint by gnawing away at his thumbnail. He was scant, with long, lanky limbs that looked as though they had belonged on another man's body. Something about his frame seemed much too thin to keep himself standing up straight. His thick brown dreadlocks hung at shoulder's length and were caked with debris.

Reena rose from her seat, showing her distaste for the present company. Exiting the building, she placed her boot firmly on the balcony's rail and rested her elbow against her knee. The land had a predominately grim look to it now, with the smoke that rose from the broken remnants of the war vehicles. She wondered how a destitute holder could acquire such things, much less a rogue holder.

Her thoughts were short-lived as Klepto appeared at her flank. He placed a gloved hand on her slender shoulder while his other held his weight against the balcony.

"We'll make it out of this. Three hours isn't a long time to wait." He mentioned.

She was not so easily convinced. The sun cast a warm glow over the sky with deep purple clouds splotching the scenary in an artistic fashion. It was relaxing, but perhaps too much so. She felt a sharp pain dance in her chest, glancing down and checking for physical wounds but could find none. 

The woman's blue eyes trailed over the large man's figure with a brief glance. Her elbow nudged into his side, catching his attention and motioning toward the barracks. He rose his brows in confusion. This lasted only briefly as a wolfish grin crossed the woman's wounded visage. She gestured for him to follow and they made their way into the barracks.

Kicking the door closed behind her with the sole of her boot she shoved him against the wall. By now he'd caught the brunt of her intentions and was quick to remove the tarnished pauldron from his shoulder, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Not long after that she had finished removing her armored vest.

***

Klepto's rough fingers traced along Reena's shoulder in repetition. In a ceaseless pattern his eyes trailed over her deadpan expression. Her focus locked in a stare across the room as the haze of smoke lifted in front of her face, shrouding it in a gray veil in the stagnant air of the barracks. 

"So why are you so quiet - must have a lot to think about with how much you just trail off into space like that." His words hanging, concerned as to how far he should proceed with his intentions.

Her eyebrows furrowed and she turned toward him with a cold stare, gritting her teeth with a flex of her jaw muscles. "You just won't give this interrogation up, will you?" 

"Oh, so now it's an interrogation? Why can't you just let me in? You can't just keep that shit bottled up forever." 

"I can do whatever I damn well please - I outrank you."

"By formality, if anything."

She threw the thin blanket off of her body, the synthetic material collapsing into a pile on the floor. Her arm swung and loosed the electronic cigarette which fell in an arch that found it's place in Klepto's lap. The man shook his head irritably, rising up as well to stand off with the scarred woman; both were still naked.

"You know, it's no wonder you lived this long. You throw people in front of you to catch rounds and save your own ass too?" Klepto barked.

"Just shut up and get out." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and turned her attention away from him. There was a pause, both waiting for the other to speak. Reena broke first and jutted her head toward the door in gesture for him to leave, biting down on her tongue and narrowing her eyes. 

The bulky man shifted his weight, crossing his arms and mirroring her. The quiet was unsettling for them both but neither had the audacity to relinquish their pride, or perhaps their stubbornness. Klepto shook his head and threw his hand up in submission. 

"So, how'd you get caught anyway?" He asked, quietly.

"Killed someone. They found me." She hastily responded.

"Don't land a spot in this hole just for killing someone. Who'd you off? Why does it have you so beat up?" 

Reena's eyes trailed to the floor, her gaze limp and unfocused. Memories raced across her thoughts but only a handful of images found their place. The sounds were the worst part: an imaginary, rhythmic, whistling sound piercing her ears. 

Her imagination played the scene like a recording. Kneeling before her was a teenager, his throat split apart with blood flowing down in slight waves against his shirt. His eyes were wide, colored a gentle blue, as they stared into her own. Every breath he took came as a sharp hiss through his ruined neck. 

"People talk about killing. How it's hard, how the faces haunt them and the nightmares never stop. They don't know what it's like to blade someone and look in their eyes. To watch those black dots in their eyes swell up when they run out of blood. 

Was the only thing I could do - sit there and think about that, to myself. So, they found me - took me. I deserved more than what I got but this is a second chance for me. A chance to do right and go without being a baby killer in the eyes of society."

Klepto idled, mindlessly rolling the cigarette between his fingers as he listened. The silence was all too familiar to these two. His lips tightened and he quietly approached her, lifting his hand out to touch her shoulder. She withdrew and lifted her own hand in protest.

"Listen, we'll all die screaming." Klepto said authoritatively.

"You don't care, so don't act like you do. All it is with you is gold. As long as it's gold and dead or dieing, you don't care." She stated bluntly.

Klepto knew she was right but it didn't stop a sickly feeling arising from those words. He lowered his head and crossed his arms quietly.

It was well known among the men that Klepto was a blatant racist, having killed Amarrians on more than one occasion before becoming a Valklear and granting himself the same predicament Reena was in. This was unfortunate as it just so happened that he enjoyed every minute of his service as a Valklear by comparison to her. To kill the Amarrians without consequence - to be endeared for it. 

Patches erupted into the room, scanning their naked forms over briefly before calling out, "Something's wrong."

***

The sky lit with crimson as the husk of a Matari troop transport broke the clouds. The twilight burst with a glorious glow of fire, the convoluted hulk spiraling down like a rocket toward the earth and detonating with the ground in a violent display of light that lit the valley. 

What remained of the Valklears and Republic Infantry stood on the western wall of the outpost. Their attention fixed on the rupturing overcast as large spiked constructs followed in the wake of the destroyed personnel ship. Each bore a hull which color was like oil on standing water. A dazzling display of tinted metal. 

"Well, that was our ride out of here." Klepto commented, calmly.

"What the hell does Sansha want with this rock?" Reena replied, loading a round into her rifle. 

"Soldiers. Slaves. It's not like a madman with that much power has any shortage of women and booze." 

Laser fire burst across the smoldering valley, illuminating troop positions by their golden armor. The Amarrians numbered in the dozens (possibly hundreds) as they forced a preemptive attack against the invading Sansha Slaves - subservient cyborgs loyal only to Sansha Kuvakei and his nation. The bright demonstration was returned with an equally spectacular blast of energy weapons that revealed the cyborgs' counter-attack, rushing from the landing ships and outnumbering the Amarrians within seconds. 

Patches lifted a damp cloth to his upper arm and clasped it against his flesh. The liquid Drop seeped out in streams along his elbow and there was a notable shift in his demeanor. He held a menacing axe blade in his hand and attached it to a scatter-gun like an improvised bayonet. He began sprinting toward the valley with little between to slow him down. A few of the Matari infantry followed him, the rest looking to Reena and Klepto questioningly.

Klepto's lips pulled into a smile at the sight of the Sansha forces overpowering the Amarrian infantry. The Matari Infantry beside him were not so enthusiastic. It was clear to them all that they would lose, outnumbered and outgunned by what was now two factions of highly trained militants. 

"You want to die here or out there?" Klepto asked Reena.

"Kind of wanted to take a vacation before getting my skin burnt off."

"Well, if I'm going to die, I'm going to get some gold before I go." 

Reena let out a heavy sigh and ground her teeth. She gave Klepto an irritable look before walking through the gate of the outpost. The small collection of soldiers followed and glanced back at what was probably the last time they would ever see Rumor Zero. They walked, conserving their energy. Each step bringing them closer to the onslaught. Soon enough they could see Patches illuminated by the strobing laser weaponry, using his weapon like a hatchet to cleave the helmet off a Paladin.

The first beam of energy that set the ground beside them ablaze was the signal they'd be waiting for, rushing into the fray and firing off rounds. Loud blasts and the ringing of spent casings littering the valley floor heralded their entrance into the melee as three factions engaged in a free-for-all. Combatants viciously tearing each other apart with whatever they could muster.

Reena ducked into a crater as a rapid pulse of laser fire ignited the area around her. She rolled onto her back and shouldered her weapon, trying to find a way out but to no avail. Her blood sped through her veins, a cold sweat pouring from her skin. She was panicked at the realization that everywhere she looked there was a Sansha Slave. With the Amarrian Paladins issuing a full retreat, she was the only one left that they could fire at. 

Her eyes found the silhouette of Klepto kneeling in the light of one of the Sansha Ships a short distance away, cybernetic soldiers surrounding him. Each had their weapon trained on the man, his hands clasped to the back of his head. 

"Klepto, what the hell are you doing?!" She screamed out as she lifted her rifle to fire but dared not in fear of accidentally hitting him. 

"I figure it's better to keep killing Amarr as a True Citizen than to die here today, Reena." 

"They're Slaves - they're all Slaves, Klepto!"

"Ironic, isn't it?" He replied with a smile as they began to haul him away.

A cybernetic soldier entered the crater in attempt to apprehend Reena. Her reaction was instinctual, jerking her arm to point the rifle at her oppressor and firing. The flicker of the cyborg's personal shield was brief before the rounds began to tear through metal and flesh. It fell, sliding deeper into the crater with a ragged exhalation. It's death was quickly noticed by it's companions and they began to fire at Reena, who began bounding out of the crater.

Her flesh seared as her armor melted, dripping down her back, nearly biting her tongue off as the grievous pain that shot throughout her body caused her to clench her teeth. She fought through the agony, dashing toward Rumor Zero as quickly as she could despite the laser fire bursting around her boots. 

***

Reena winced as she pulled herself across the floor into the mess hall of the Rumor Zero outpost. A trail of blood smeared where she had crawled into the room. Her breathing was labored from her pain and eventually she rested in the center of the room beneath a table, listening as a distant explosion vibrated the building and shook the utensils that were scattered about. She tried to remove her armor, screaming briefly at the sudden intense burning in her wounds at the attempt.

She laid motionless until another explosion, closer and louder than the last, rocked the table, sending a bowl of gray muck to the floor beside her. It landed unnaturally, swiveling in place until it came to rest upright without losing any of it's contents. She reached out slowly and retrieved a fork that had fallen to the ground and slid the bowl closer to her. 

Holding the fork like a pen she picked at the food in the bowl with tired and weary eyes focused on the food. It was lacking flavor, just a bland soup of nutrients. The sound of combat was drawing closer but she couldn't discern as to who or what it was. The Sansha Slaves, the Amarrians or perhaps even some survivors of the Republic's infantry. 

"It doesn't matter anymore." She thought to herself as the sounds of war drew closer. She could hear shouting but it was hard to understand in the muddle of loud gunfire and explosions. The static of it all was redolent of a time she'd since tried to dismiss. A blur of memories or retrospection she dwelled on in what little time she still had.