๐๐ณ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐๐ฐ๐ค๐ช๐ฆ๐ต๐บ ๐๐น๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ข๐ญ ๐๐ข๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ข๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ๐บ, ๐๐ข๐ฏ ๐๐ข๐บ๐ฆ๐ฏ, ๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ธ๐ข๐บ
The Suit strode unescorted down bridges suspended over chasms, their walls stocked with testing rooms and laboratories. As he traversed the camouflaged laboratory building, he chewed on a lit cigar in his mouth, relishing the savory, smoky flavor it left on his tongue. After Project: Vortex's spectacular failure, the Armament Society was left with little, if not nothing. Chamberlain's newest assignment would prove their only hope of surviving the debacle. But with little time on the doomsday clock, the chances of this hope becoming a reality were overwhelmingly slim. Finding the Oruzhiye's dark matter stash alone would be an unbelievable miracle, let alone reverse engineering the matter into specialized fuel that Project: Vortex could run on. The Suit was a science-minded, logical realist. He'd done the calculations in his head a million times over. The math didn't add up. There was no concrete answer to this particular equation. The scientists in charge of Project: Vortex spent years in the research and development phase simply brainstorming this idea. The chances that those very same scientists could complete years' worth of work in less than a day was highly unlikely. This was rock bottom. The Suit hated to admit failure, but there was nothing left to say. They were doomed. The black hole was coming, and it couldn't be stopped. The Suit checked his wristwatch. By his calculations, the next singularity would come in twenty one hours. The flight from Norway to Norilsk itself would take approximately nineteen and a half hours. Then the flight back, and not to mention the construction process. Everything they were doing was useless. They were clinging to the false belief that it had a meaning. That this desperate gamble was going to save their world. They couldn't do anything now. It was too late. They missed their chance. The only thing that they were capable of doing that might ease the pain of a worldwide apocalypse was to accept defeat and welcome death's cold embrace with open arms. After all, what else was there to do than sit around and wait to die? Yet it remained imperative that the Suit withhold this information from his employees nonetheless. The word that an apocalypse was coming and that they couldn't stop it would tear the Armament Society down in its final moments. It could do more damage than the black hole. Thus why the Suit kept quiet about their undeniable defeat.
"So what's this then? Your final, desperate gasp for breath?"
The Suit turned expectantly, hanging his head.
"See, I knew you'd show up. You always prey on my weakness, Jonas. But we might as well rip the Band-Aid off. We're all going to die. Including you. Which is actually a slight relief, knowing that we're both being dragged down to the Underworld," the Suit said with a sigh.
"I didn't take you for a defeatist, Suit. But that's probably because you're not. You're just a grounded realist, and I can respect that. So am I. I know I encouraged you to do something, but now I'm here to give you the permission to give up. Drop everything and run. Get out of here. Blow up the Warren or something. When you die, you definitely do not want to die with regrets. That'll weigh on your soul like heck. The best thing for you to do is forget everything. The Armament Society's gone. Hey, hey. If you had one day to live, what would you spend it doing?"
"Finding a way to prolong my lifespan," the Suit said, spreading his arms magnanimously. An easy answer. He'd asked himself this exact question in his head time and time again, and he always found the answer. Jonas clicked his tongue.
"Sorry, Suit, but that's not going to work out this time around. I'm not telling you to accept defeat. Never accept defeat. I'm telling you to give up. Drop this. Drop the whole 'save the world' thing. You're not a warrior anymore. You've always thought that it's your somewhat duty to protect Earth from threats like this, but not anymore! So please, spend your final days writing yourself a magnificent ending. Do something that you enjoy. Don't focus on the future. Focus on what's here, right now."
The Suit chuckled.
"Wow. You're giving me advice. Never thought I'd see the day."
"Hey. I'm a visionary. On that note, I think it's a good time for me to get the heck out of here. To write myself an ending. Good luck with that. See you around, Doman."
"Before you go, can you answer a question? It's just something that I've been wondering for quite some time."
"Shoot."
"Well, whenever you come to visit, you're always here one second and gone the next. I've just been wondering, where do you go? How do you go so fast?"
Jonas sighed, contemplating silently in his head. It was obvious that he was conflicted. Torn over whether he should reveal his little "secret" or to keep withholding it.
"I wish I could tell you, but-,"
"Mr. Suit?"
The Suit paused. Jonas was gone, yet again. In his place was a scientist, dressed in a typical white lab coat, safety goggles above his eyes. He stood with his hand on the Suit's shoulder.
"Mr. Suit, are you all right?"
Out of nowhere, the Suit's eyes began to darken. He gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists. Instantaneously, his fist connected with the scientist's chin, knocking him to the ground. A firm, speedy uppercut.
"Darn you! What the heck is wrong with you, you absolute and utter moron! He was about to tell me! He was going to tell me everything!"
"W-what? He was going to tell you what? Uh, wh-who?" the scientist stammered, covering his face with his hands. He shivered in fear, his mouth dripping with blood. The Suit was panting, saliva dripping from his own. His knuckles were painted with the scientist's blood, evidence of this brutality. With another growl, the Suit sent his fist straight into the right side of the scientist's ribcage. A liver shot. The scientist instantly recoiled in fear, nursing his liver, wailing in agony.
"Please, no more. No, please, please stop!"
The Suit inhaled heavily, standing over the scientist, who was now pinned to the railing. The scientist weakly rose to his feet, wiping the blood with his sleeve, staining his coat.
"Hey, hey, Mr. Suit. I'm be-begging you."
The Suit roared and stepped forward, sending a shock down the scientist's spine as tears streamed down his eyes. The scientist was crying.
"Have mercy," he said weakly, in between tears. The Suit lifted his fist to deliver the coup de grace. As he drew back, he stopped himself. What was he doing? The scientist's blood was all over his pure white dress shirt. He was beating on this helpless scientist for no reason at all. This was aggravated assault at the very least. A full-fledged crime. If he was committing crimes himself, what made him better than the countless criminals he had arrested? But it was too late to stop now. Anyone could walk in on him at any minute. He had to finish the fight. There was only one way. The Suit fought to stop himself, but he couldn't. Something took hold of him, something stronger than rage. Before he knew it, he had tunnel vision, and his fist slammed into the scientist's trachea. The Suit stepped back and landed a side kick to his jaw, sending him tumbling off of the railing. That was his moment of realization. He watched in regret as the scientist screamed, his arms flailing, his legs kicking, falling head over heels to the ground. At the last second, the Suit looked away, shielding his eyes. This was his doing. For a split second, he heard Jonas' voice in his head, congratulating him with two words. "Well done." That was when he realized it. He couldn't feel remorse, or guilt, or regret. He had to power through. The Suit spat on the ground, walking away nonchalantly.
โโโ
The Suit nodded at a pair of guards standing sentry at the floor-to-ceiling tungsten doors, as always. All he had ever needed to enter the chamber was to nod at the sentries. However, this time, that alone was simply not enough. The guard on the right halted him, placing a hand on his shoulder from behind. Instinctively, the Suit flipped the guard over his shoulder with ease, slamming his body to the ground with a sickening thud. The other guard impulsively cocked his rifle, aiming it at the Suit's head.
"Hey, hey! Put the gun down."
The guard was unfazed, inching closer.
"Okay. This is becoming insubordination. Direct disobedience of orders from a superior. In the Armament Society rule book, that's just cause for termination. So is threatening your superior. So I'd suggest you lower your weapon and open these darn doors for me."
"Sir, first you'll have to-,"
"Don't make me ask again," the Suit growled.
"Sorry, sir, but you're not getting past these doors without showing me your ID."
The Suit sighed, reaching into the breast pocket of his jet-black jacket and pulling out a rectangular gold card, inscribed with minuscule writing and dotted with a grainy, black-and-white photograph of him. The guard snatched it out of his hand and ran it against a scanner, handing it back to him with satisfaction after the scanner beeped with a green light.
"You're free to enter. Sorry, sir, but I'm afraid protocol has gotten more strict after the incident, and how Mr. Adelram was able to escape with such ease. And, of course, our new visitor."
The Suit raised an eyebrow.
"New visitor?"
"It'd be better if you came in to see for yourself."
The guard pressed a series of buttons on a keypad, and the doors simultaneously swung open. The chamber's interior had become an utter wreckage, yet the walls remained intact. All the debris and ash had been cleared out, with the room now nothing but a cylindrical, empty chamber. There was no use for it anymore, especially since Project: Vortex's failure. The Suit had thought it quizzical that Christos beckoned for the Suit to meet him in the old chamber, but upon his entry, he instantly understood.
"Isak?" the Suit said with genuine surprise in his tone.
Pedersen rose, dressed in Armament Society-issued protective gear. He'd sustained a multitude of injuries, but it seemed that the scientists were able to patch them up. The Suit wrapped his arms around Pedersen's midsection, giving him a sincere hug despite their noticeable difference in height. Pedersen chuckled.
"So all it took was for me to return from the dead for the Suit to finally give me a hug?"
The Suit guffawed lightly, wiping a tear from his eye.
"Where... What... How...?"
"I don't know, honestly. It was all a blur. I was out hunting, and I was collecting some water by the river, when suddenly this light surrounded me. I thought I was dying of, like, starvation or hypothermia or something, but I wasn't. And it took me here. To where the portal was. I fell, and the guards heard it. They were pretty shocked at first, but eventually I convinced them to take me to the med bay. The doctors, they worked miracles, min venn. That's when I asked them to call you."
"That's amazing. I take it that light was dark matter particulates?"
Pedersen shrugged, and the two of them laughed once more.
"Oh, and Suit?"
"Yeah?"
"You won't believe this. I know there's not much time until the end of the world, but I think we can still save it. The scientists, they found traces of dark matter on my person. My best guess is that the samples I collected must have spilled and somehow reignited into dark matter. That's how I got back here. So now, with these samples, we've proven that we don't need a whole machine to create a vortex. We just have to-,"
"Try and get the same reaction that the samples you collected did when they brought you back. I have an idea."
The Suit was practically bursting at the seams inside. They found their second chance. Their next shot at saving the world.
โโโ
The Suit sat at his computer monitors on his desk, typing furiously at schematics for Project: Vortex. They were no longer in need of all that. They needed something else. Something new. The samples must have sparked a unique reaction when coming into contact with their own kin. He was already working on schematics for something new. Because of their present samples, they no longer needed another portal to the Converse. All they needed was the right contraption to finally put an end to the black hole. Perhaps an explosive that would harness the negative mass of the matter. In his eyes, a genius idea.
"Don't do it," Jonas said from the doorway. He looked as if he was fuming, panting and standing bolt upright.
"Jonas. There's no liquor here today, I needed to keep my mind straight for this. But, if you're looking to have a drink, the passcode to my private collection is 1561."
"I'm not here for a drink, Suit. I'm here because you deliberately ignored my warning. You're just going to get wrapped up in another plan, only to have it blow up in your face again. The Armament Society can't take that! Why would you endanger your employees with something like this?"
The Suit sighed.
"Look. These days, the Armament Society is lucky to find some street-level drug dealer. Crime is sparse, let alone terrorism. Global pandemics are the only thing we can combat. Covid-19, Omicron, viruses are what has been keeping us from losing our funding. I had to go over to DC and convince Meyers to fund us for Project: Vortex. If we don't stop this black hole, we don't matter. All we will be is a fairy tale. The Bogeyman. I can't let my organization disappear like that, Jonas. You wouldn't understand."
"I told you this is a bad idea," Jonas snarled. "Why can't you just for once listen to my warnings? You have nineteen hours on the clock, and you can't complete a grand gesture like this in that amount of time, Suit. It would be pure dumb luck if you pull this off!"
"No, it won't be. It'll be effort. The Armament Society's blood and sweat and tears. It'd happen because we'd make it so. Now, I suggest you get the heck out of my office before I have to make you."
"What'll you do, call security? They won't do anything. Your security's a joke. Just remember, Suit; I warned you. It's well past time for us to hash things out."
The Suit rose from his seat and approached him, standing an inch away.
"Then why don't we?"
The Suit threw an overhand punch to Jonas' face, only to miss spectacularly. He stared in disbelief at his fist, then to Jonas' smug, smirking face.
"Nice try."
Jonas slammed his fist into the Suit's solar plexus, sending him staggering backwards into his chaise sofa. The Suit coughed and wheezed, unable to breathe.
"Face it. You can't beat me, Suit. Just stay out of my way. Oh, and consider that wonderfully thrown punch goodbye."
๐๐ณ๐ข๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐๐ฑ๐ข๐ณ๐ต๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐๐ถ๐ช๐ญ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ, ๐๐ช๐ข ๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ป๐ฐ ๐๐ช๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ๐ช, 4๐, 00197 ๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ข ๐๐, ๐๐ต๐ข๐ญ๐บ
Adrianus stepped into a spacious apartment room, beckoning for Hugo to follow, which he did tentatively. Hugo gasped in genuine awe at the apartment's interior, his eyes darting from one detail to the next. On one end was a mini bar, flanked with fridges stocked with row after row of soft drinks. By the window was a crackling electric fireplace, surrounded by linen armchairs and a bearskin rug. On the other end of the room was a picturesque bedroom, a bed under what seemed to be Rembrandt's "The Storm on the Sea of Galilee." Lining the wall next to it was a desk showcasing an immoderate gaming station and stacks of collectibles.
"Wow. This place is..."
"I know, right?" Adrianus said with a chuckle, opening one of the fridges and uncapping a bottle of Mug Root Beer.
"Hey, you want one of these? What's your poison, Mountain Dew, Mr. Pibb, Dr. Pepper?"
"Erm, I'll take a Coke if you have one."
Adrianus brandished a bottle of Coca Cola, handing it to Hugo. Hugo strenuously uncapped it, taking a sip.
"Hey, I thought they stopped selling Cokes in glass bottles."
Adrianus chuckled. "Not to me."
Hugo took a seat by the fireplace, across from Adrianus. Both took sips from their bottled soft drinks, relishing the warm retreat from the frigid winter atmosphere.
"So, why are we here? And don't tell me it's just for a drink. I mean, what's the real reason you took me to this secret hideout of yours?"
"To stock up, of course. What, you think we'll sit back and take it after the Armament Society just attacked us out of the blue? No way. We're going to strike back twice as hard, with twice the fury. You know, I sometimes feel like I can taste revenge, like it's on the tip of my tongue. I think I know exactly how to do it."
Hugo raised an eyebrow.
"I don't just keep my drinks and minifigures in here. It's not just my sanctuary, it's an outpost. My arsenal, I keep it here. Cutting-edge weapons, most of the stuff beyond your wildest dreams. And not just weapons, too. That rusty old exosuit the Society keeps in their armory, that's just a hunk of junk. A cheap knock-off. What I'm about to show you is the real deal."
Adrianus set his bottle on a tabletop, rising and striding over to a keypad on the wall. Keenly, he punched in a series of numbers and stepped back as the wall unfolded to reveal a mannequin decked out in a titanium alloy exosuit. Adrianus clapped in delight, grinning from ear to ear.
"Is that the-,"
"Yes, my boy. It's the original. The Eidolon's suit. Made in Japan."