Chapter 7 - Chapter Seven

𝘔𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘯, 𝘐𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘺

Hugo stood idle on the desolate streets of Milan, his hands in his pockets, his eyes downcast. The sidewalk, which was commonly packed with busy civilians, was unnaturally deserted, the streets unoccupied, which was rather uncommon for the foot of such a popular landmark. Hugo stared up at the Duomo di Milano, a towering, elegant cathedral erected in a spacious area. From the outside, the cathedral still retained its graceful aesthetic. Hugo had never been much of a religious boy, but oftentimes he contemplated on the notion of there being such a thing as a supreme, all-powerful deity governing the known universe. At first, he believed that this was impossible, with humans being in complete control of their own thoughts and actions. However, it was only until he considered repentance that he acknowledged the deity's existence. He understood why people were quick to believe in an omnipotent being. Someone to look up to solace, or to beg for forgiveness. His mistakes gave him a new perspective on life. While he had hurt a great number of people, it was not too late to change/ To turn over a new leaf. It was here that he aspired to beg for forgiveness, to repent for his unforgivable actions. But deep down, he knew that actions had consequences. He knew that what went around came around. A small part of him knew that he had not served out his penance. Should he turn himself in? If he were to do so, they would kill him for sure. Or worse, lock him up and throw away the key. On the other hand, if he remained a fugitive, on the lam for the remainder of his life, they would surely find him at some point. It was this that kept him conflicted. The clashing thoughts that kept him up at night.

"Hey!" Adrianus called from the distance. In his hands were two clumps of tin foil, one of which he handed to Hugo. Hugo gingerly received it, peeling back the foil to reveal a steaming wad of thinly sliced beef, packed between two buns of warm bread.

"They're lampredottos. I used to love them when I was a kid. Me and my cousins couldn't get enough of them. Oh, it's crazy to think of how we've grown. You know, I left Milan when I was eighteen. I went looking for a better life. That might not have been very well thought out, but, hey, at least I got a good college education. A high-paying job, in Tokyo of all places. Gosh, I really was the luckiest man alive."

Adrianus bit ferociously into his lampredotto, chewing on the oleaginous meat.

"Mm. You know what this is made of?" Adrianus asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Hugo shook his head, taking a small bite of his.

"Lampredotto is typically made from the abomasum. The fourth and final stomach of a cow. Isn't that great? They call them lampredottos because they sort of look like lampreys. You know the eels?"

Hugo nodded weakly, still chewing.

"Hey. What's wrong, little man? If you're worried that we'll get caught, don't worry yourself with that right now. The Armament Society can't get us. They're in Norway, we're all the way in Milan. If we stay on the move for a while, we'll be one step ahead of those clowns."

"It's not that," Hugo sighed. "You know, maybe we should turn ourselves back in."

"No!" Adrianus snapped fiercely. Hugo instantaneously shrank, lowering his head in fear. Adrianus sighed, clasping Hugo's shoulder.

"Look. I'm sorry. Hey, I feel for you. I do. I spent years in that jail cell worrying about the people I hurt. I put on that mask to feel strong. Instead, I became something I never thought I'd be. A killer. I didn't want to be a killer. After a few years of contemplation in solitary confinement, I found the answer to my predicament. If I hadn't made the mistake of getting caught, my punishments wouldn't have been forced on me. I could've been bathing in my riches instead of living on mush and pruno. I made mistakes, but I can't punish myself for them forever. Neither can you."

"So what do I do now?"

"My advice? Don't go looking for forgiveness. People don't forgive. They don't want to. In their eyes, you'll always be the criminal who's taken something from them. It's best to leave well enough alone. You can only forgive yourself."

Hugo paused for a moment. Adrianus had a point. He couldn't punish himself forever. He hurt many people, and none of them were going to forgive him. The best he could do was forgive himself.

"You're right. I've been punishing myself unfairly this time. Look, I should've listened to you. It's time to let bygones be bygones."

Adrianus patted him on the back.

"Good job. You took the first step. Now, we can stay the night in Milan, but tomorrow we have to hit the road."

"What? Why?"

"We can't stay in the same place forever. I've tried that. From experience, the Armament Society will find you. It's best to stay on the run."

"We can't stay on the run forever."

Adrianus smirked. "Then they can't chase us forever. Come on."

"Where are we going?" Hugo enquired.

"An old outpost of mine."

"Yeah? Where's that?"

"We're going to Rome."

As Adrianus and Hugo strolled into the distance, an ominous light began to blink. Microscopic, far too small to be noticed. In the back of Hugo's neck, a red light blared faintly. A tracker. Both Adrianus and Hugo were oblivious to the fact that the Armament Society knew exactly where they were.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯

The Suit stood in front of a broad computer screen, spanning from one end of the control room's wall to the other. The screen displayed coordinates, locations on maps, satellite imagery. Everything pointing to where Adrianus Adelram and Hugo Alden were holed up.

"Have you found them?" Chamberlain asked. He stood next to the Suit, no longer in a military uniform, but in black. Head-to-toe black Kevlar, a gas mask under his arm. The vestments of an Armament Society agent.

"Yes. They're in Milan. Looks like Adelram pre-programmed Project: Vortex to transport him and Hugo there upon entry."

"Then let's go get them."

"Wait."

The Suit typed furiously at a keyboard, and gently turned a dial. Crackling words began to come through a radio. The Suit had recorded everything they said.

"Yeah? Where's that?"

"We're going to Rome."

"Awesome! I've always wanted to go there!"

The Suit clicked a button, pausing the audio playback.

"They're headed to Rome?" Chamberlain asked.

"No. Earlier footage says that they're spending the night in Milan and heading to Rome tomorrow. But we have to be prepared."

"How so?"

"One thing we know is that they're taking the train. We can use that to our advantage."

Chamberlain raised an eyebrow.

"Remember what occurred in Zurich?"

"Very fondly. A successful mission is a justified cause for celebration."

"We need to do exactly what we did then."

"Yes, sir."

Chamberlain performed a salute, a respectful look in his eyes. But the Suit knew that look. Chamberlain had always been condescending, especially since he was hired after their experiences in the Navy. He was itching to prove he could do better as the Armament Society's director. As Chamberlain marched out of the control room, the Suit turned back to the screen, switching its contents from Milan to his personal files. Hastily, he clicked on a file labeled "Project: Contrivance." Across the blue folder symbol, red letters spelled out "Defunct." The Suit typed in strings of code, a smirk on his face, until the words gradually changed to "Active."

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦

Cold. The first word that came to mind when the Converse was involved. The steep, towering mountains were blanketed in thick layers of snow, hail and snowflakes still showering from the sky. Even the sky was shrouded by darkened, stormy grey clouds, drizzling specks of ice onto the surface of the land. The mountains overlooked a vast, desolate forest of barren trees, a landscape of dead vegetation and snow, bordered by frozen rivers leading up to the frigid ocean. One would not survive a minute in the Converse, between the icy temperature and the ravenous, archaic predators. That is, without the necessary equipment required for such an exodus.

Pedersen trudged up precipitous, rocky crags, pushing past mounds of snow, blasted with icebound wind. Nothing inhabited the mountain's peak except for remains of dead bushes here and there, everything else obliterated by the deathly gale. Pedersen was wrapped in bulky woolen attire, designed to prevent him from freezing to death in the harsh environment. The Armament Society's outpost was stocked with all the necessities required for their survival, but it would logically wane in months. Thus, Pedersen had to hunt for foodstuffs and resources on his own, before he and the others starved to death. Besides, a sojourn was never complete without tasting the local cuisine.

Pedersen hurled himself forward, diving headfirst into a mound of snow. He slowly rose as the icy hurricane roared in the distant sky, pulling his woolen scarf further above his nose. The apex of the mountain was a looming overhang overlooking a vast landscape of snow dotted with gnarled, shriveled trees. Stance and footing were of the utmost importance when scaling a mountain, a lesson that had been burned into the back of Pedersen's mind the hard way; a rather unpleasant near-death experience atop the K2 mountain. Never again was he to experience pain or shame like that again. The Suit had overseen this procedure, during his training to become the Armament Society's Head of Security. At that, Pedersen paused. What happened now? While he was marooned in another dimension, who was to overtake his position? Could the Suit have replaced him? With whom? Pedersen shrugged off the notion. It was possibly fatal to be distracted at this altitude. The only thing he had to be concerned with was survival.

Pedersen attached a hook to a nearby rock, checking for its stability. He then tied a rope around his waist and slowly descended down the face of the mountain, kicking against the frozen stone and firmly gripping the unraveling rope, below him two thousand feet of space between him and the snowy ground. One false move and he would fall to his death. He had to be careful where he stepped, or else he would plummet to his icy death. The Armament Society had practically stocked the outpost with everything that the participants required not just for survival, but for anything, really. In this wide category of equipment, they had also provided rock climbing gear, having inspected the mountainous terrain. Pedersen had sufficient expertise in climbing, which is how he knew how to use the paraphernalia provided. Even faced with certain doom, Pedersen was not one to acknowledge defeat. He still pushed himself to do everything he could to ensure victory, even in the most impossible of situations. Pedersen placed a gloved hand on the pocket of his coat, checking if the samples he had collected were still there. They may not be much use for anything, but if there was even a slight chance that they could survive this otherworldly ordeal, they would need those samples.

Pedersen closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. The ground was still more than a thousand feet below him. He grabbed hold of the rock formations around him, descending downwards as if on stairs. He was still suspended a risible distance away from the ground, the rope squeezing his waist relentlessly. The clouds were still a mess of dark grey above him, stark against the shrouded sky. The Converse was an icy, barren landscape where water and vegetation were scarce. From what he had seen, animals were also rather scarce, but lurking, ravenous predators, on the other hand, were plentiful. But he knew the risks he was taking when he signed on for the mission.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯, 2 𝘋𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳

"It's time for you to save the world."

The Suit's words echoed in Pedersen's ears. A command, from a firm leader. But it was not an imperative as much as somewhat of a plea. A subtle cry for help. While the prisoners may not have picked up on it, Pedersen did. As the inmates filed out of the briefing room, Pedersen entered in a stately manner, approaching the Suit.

"Ah, Isak," the Suit said warmly. "What do you think of the team, eh?"

"They have potential. Most of them. The scrawny kid's not going to participate much, I can tell. Neither will Adelram. He's obnoxious."

The Suit chuckled.

"Most of them are obnoxious, wouldn't you say? But it matters less how unpleasant the subject is than how well they can fare in direct endangerment."

"You have a point."

"Don't I always?"

The Suit set his hat on the floor and strutted over to a cooler, keenly prying the lid open and reaching in, fishing out a bottle of Space Barley, ice-cold. He popped the lid open and inserted the bottle's neck into his mouth, avidly gulping down the liquor.

"'Space Barley'?" Pedersen said questioningly.

"You haven't heard of them? Japan's Sapporo Breweries make these from a hundred percent 'space barley'. The grains for the malt originate from barley that spent five months in the Zvezda Service Module on the International Space Station. Its history is rather intriguing, but it's pretty good beer, too."

"Hey, hand me one of those."

The Suit reached into the cooler once more, fishing out another bottle, yet hesitating before handing it to Pedersen.

"I thought you didn't drink."

"You know what they say. A successful mission is justified cause for celebration."

The Suit's eyes narrowed behind his blacked out sunglasses for a split second. The words that came out of Pedersen's mouth sounded somewhat familiar, yet he couldn't quite place his finger on it. As if he'd heard those exact words sometime ago, but not from Pedersen. It was somewhere in the back of his mind, yet he still couldn't uncover it. With a subtle sigh, the Suit handed Pedersen his bottle, taking another sip.

"Ah, but the mission isn't guaranteed to be successful just yet, is it?"

"You don't believe in the team?"

"I have just as much faith as you do. But some of that is weighed down by facts. Logic. My calculations predict exactly what's going to happen. The failure rate for that portal may have been skimmed, but that does not decide the fate of the mission overall. There's still a chance that we'll fail."

"What makes you say that?"

"You know, it's better if I show you, Isak."

The Suit set his bottle onto a tabletop and clicked the button on his remote control once more, activating his holographic imagery software. Pedersen stood back as holographic files zoomed across the room, automatically organizing into a wall of folders. By clicking another button, the Suit accessed a folder labelled "Converse" and then another, a subfile, labeled "Fauna," watching as it opened and enlarged into a disarranged cluster of pages, tinted blue and hovering around them like fish in the sea. The Suit reached out and gently touched one with his fingertips, stepping back as it expanded into a massive screen before them.

"'Predators'? Are these from the Converse?" Pedersen enquired.

"Yes. Everything you'd need to know."

Pedersen's eyes darted here and there as he read through paragraph after paragraph of information, dotted with grainy images. Dinosaurs, sabre-toothed tigers, even woolly mammoths. As if the Converse was a replica of Earth's ice age.

"Why is it that the Converse seems somewhat akin to the Ice Age?"

"Well, in a way, it is. I told you, the Converse is a carbon copy of Earth with some changes. It is the Ice Age, but is not currently inhabited by any intelligent species, which is why it has not evolved past the era of the snow. Apparently, the renowned meteor has not stricken either, which is why these ancient species have not evolved either."

"The dinosaurs. This is revolutionary. It could help us learn more about our past than anything else. It's a game-changer!"

"It could be," the Suit said. "But right now, it's our world's savior. You got a taste of what's over there, on the other side. Are you sure you and your team can handle this? Are you prepared?"

Pedersen tightened into an orderly military-like position, standing upright and puffing out his chest.

"Yes, sir," he said firmly.

"Good," the Suit replied softly, giving Pedersen a warm smile of appreciation. But Pedersen knew that behind that appreciation was desperation. Pedersen and his team were the world's last, if not only, hope of surviving the Supernova Crisis. The Suit wanted to maintain the image that he appreciated their laborious effort, but behind his gung-ho attitude, he depended on them.

𝘉𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦

Pedersen touched down on the snow below him with a harsh thud. The rope was still fastened around his waist, now an iron-like shackle, its other end attached to a rock at the mountaintop. The forest was much more spacious than it had looked from the crag, the distance between the gnarled trees much wider than it seemed. Pedersen untied the rope around his waist and began to wade into the forest, clearing the specks of snow out of his goggles. The remnants of the trees formed somewhat of a circle at the foot of the mountain, bordered by the frozen river. The forest had become more of a desolate, snowy valley, the sky darkened with the manifestation of nightfall. Flora was scarce, with the only pointers of vegetation being the dead trees and bushes, and fauna even more sparse, with predators theorized but never seen. All soy paste and canned fruits at the outpost wouldn't last them more than mere months, taking into account the sheer quantity of people marooned in the Converse and the harsh environment. However, hunting seemed to be fruitless as well, seeing as Pedersen had spent hours scouring seven different destinations to no avail. They would have to rely on their present foodstuffs for the time being, at least until anything wandered by. Maybe a reindeer or an elk, preferably a bird of some sort. With a relenting sigh, Pedersen weakly jogged over to the river bank and proceeded to break the ice with his fist, clearing a small crevice in the layer of ice. Eagerly, he filled his canteen with the glacial water and began to gulp it all down fervently, even crouching onto his knees. He ravenously reached into his satchel and stuffed a handful of ice-cold beef jerky into his mouth, praying in gratitude towards the fact that he still had something to sustain him. The journey back to the outpost would be lengthy, arduous and perilous, and he certainly could not complete it on an empty stomach. He keenly fished more out of his pocket, and bent over to consume it before he froze. Frigid. His fingers began to tremble, his eyes twitching. He hadn't the slightest idea what was happening to him before he noticed something gleaming in the water. An amber hue, snaking its way up and seeping into the snow. Like serpents, encapsulating him before they shone with an incandescent radiance. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, preparing for the worst, before he disappeared. Simply vanished. There was nothing but air where he had once been. The beef jerky he had held in his hand dropped down onto the snow, waiting to be snatched up by a predator lurking close by.