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DATE:5th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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We walked to the next room where there were two sets of stairs. Annoyed at how much time she wasted, Superior woman decided we would split up in two teams. Me and Alice on the left and her and Chen on the right.
As we reach the top of the stairs. We find another sort of reception. Before we could fully understand what is happening, a large metal door slams behind us blocking the stairs. We rush forward to not get stuck in this one too.
Alice barely had time to move before the heavy metal door dropped down with a loud slam, sealing her off from me. I didn't even make it into the next room; I was left alone in the darkened reception, staring at the cold metal that separated us. A flicker of panic crossed my mind, but it died as quickly as it came. Alice could handle herself.
Over the radio, the doctor's voice crackled to life again, his tone dripping with amusement. "So, my clever guests… I have another riddle—"
Alice cut him off before he could even finish, her voice coming through muffled but still strong. "I don't care about your games," she snapped, and I heard the dull thuds as she pounded against the door. "I'm getting out of here."
The doctor chuckled darkly. "Very well, if you insist on doing things the hard way. Let's see how long you last with company."
A metallic groaning sound echoed through the wall, and I could only assume he'd unleashed one of his creations on her. Or three. Typical move for him, really.
I leaned back against the wall, feeling its cool surface press against my spine, and exhaled slowly. I could hear muffled sounds of fighting from Alice's side, punctuated by the occasional slam and grunt. But I found myself… unconcerned. Detached, even.
She was capable, and frankly, these machines weren't much of a threat—not for her. Whatever mess she got into, she'd handle. It was strange; even as I knew the danger was real, the adrenaline, the urgency, just refused to spark in me.
My thoughts drifted to other things—things that held more weight, more meaning, things I'd left behind in my past. All this hero business, the drama of villain plots and endless riddles, it was a charade. It had to be.
That damn desert...
*___*
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DATE:3nd of May, the 55th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Dunes of Salvia
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The day after the ordeal, morning came thick with dread as we gathered to unearth the buried crystals. We'd been tasked to check that none had been stolen by workers overnight, but a grueling sense of exhaustion gnawed at us as we moved. I leaned down, squinting against the morning sun that painted the sand in sharp, harsh light.
Then—an explosion. White heat, then ringing, then darkness. Something metallic hit me, probably one of the bikes.
I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to, my skull felt like it'd been split open. A familiar taste of blood filled my mouth, and there was something taut around my wrists. The heat, the grit, the muffled sounds... I forced my eyes open. They'd tied me up, and around me, the other mercenaries lay battered, tied, their clothes smeared with sand and blood. I tried to lift my head but felt a searing pain down my neck, my head throbbing like I'd been hit by a truck. My eyes darted, catching sight of Barry, breathing shallowly with blood caking his forehead. Korvan, his face twisted, was muttering something to himself.
This wasn't our camp. The reality snapped into place—insurgents. We'd been taken hostage. I blinked, barely believing it. Where the hell had they come from?
A voice broke through my haze. Rough, guttural—foreign. An insurgent leader stood in front of us, his eyes filled with a fury I couldn't place. His uniform was worn but sharp, his stance confident. One of his men dragged Korvan to the front, shoving him roughly so he fell to his knees. Korvan struggled, but it was useless—he was barely able to hold his head up, let alone resist. The leader barked something, his expression hardening, then raised our captain's Ventium-infused revolver and aimed it at Korvan's head.
A gunshot rang out.
It was different from before. The bullet struck Korvan, and I saw his eyes widen, his body go slack. His head didn't explode, but the impact left a huge crater in his skull, a sickening crater that seemed to absorb the whole world in that moment. Pieces of brain and blood splattered across the sand, and I choked as the stench and dust filled the air. My stomach clenched; nausea washed over me, but I was too paralyzed to move. I stared, barely able to breathe as I watched the remains of Korvan—my teammate—lie sprawled, his blood darkening the sand in a slow, spreading stain. My body began to shake, every nerve alive with horror and despair.
Then the leader looked down at us, his gaze as fierce as the sun burning overhead. He spat out a word I barely understood, then another, more familiar one, each syllable sharp with disgust. In broken Ventian, he said, "Invader dogs. This is what you use our beautiful treasure for? Weapons of war?"
The accusation hung heavy in the air. I wanted to look away, to unsee what I'd just witnessed, but I couldn't. His words cut into me, the weight of them driving home. This wasn't just a battle, wasn't just some mission. To them, we were monsters, defiling something precious. My pulse hammered in my ears as I processed it, numb with the horror of it all.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a haunting thought settled: if this was revenge for their land, how much more blood would they want in return?
A sharp, metallic crack exploded across my cheek, and my head snapped to the side. Pain shot through my face as a guard loomed over me, his rifle raised. My skin throbbed where he'd struck me, and I could taste blood as it trickled from the corner of my mouth. I tried to stifle the instinct to groan, to clutch my face, but with my hands bound and my body too weak, I could only flinch.
The guard sneered, muttering something in his language that I couldn't understand, but his expression told me enough—disdain, disgust. I was beneath him, a beaten dog that needed to be taught its place.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep the panic from creeping into my face. The hit had knocked the last shred of defiance out of me. I didn't dare look away or move again, keeping my gaze forward, terrified to show anything that could set them off further.
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DATE:5th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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Alice tapped the door and it broke from the pressure. She was full of blood and had an empty look like before.
She didn't say anything as I raised from the floor and tapped her shoulder. No reaction either.
"I couldn't break the door." Now how would she react to this?
"Yeah..." Huh, worse than I expected. Stepping inside, the cyborgs had been made into puddles of blood.
Oh well.
The next room was what seemed like the start of a maze. The more I think about it, this house makes no sense considering how it was supposed to be from outside. Where is this extra space on this floor coming from? We are supposed to be on the third or second floor of the building.
The voice on the radio comes back, and says how we are supposed to find three keys in the maze to advance through the door leading to the next step. As if reading my mind, he retorts that Alice that won't be able to break that door so we really have to get the keys.
Man, Biz is so annoying.
As we walked through those repeated corridors, I couldn't help but realize how boring it was when Alice was playing the cold guy. Well this could also be her real personality that just cracked open, but I found that even less interesting. I mean, This is technically supposed to be some form of Revelation, and it's not like I wasn't caught by surprise, but at the same time I saw many women like her. Well many is an overstatement, there aren't that many woman mercenaries, But I did see some. I find them pretty boring because they remind me of myself. If I wanted to see that I would just stay in my nightmares.
Of course, it could also be that she was currently to stunned to act. If we go by the presumption that she never killed anyone before this day, it would make sense, but I really can't read someone like Alice. An honest emotion could very well be something she faked because the scenario seemed more interesting that way.
This could also be my distorted sense of perspective, and she was in fact honest the whole time, I would never know though. I can't say I trust some vocal statement. Crying and displaying emotion is not equal to saying the truth. There is no 100% scientific way to know any such thing, not even with the advanced technology. Yes, you could certainly control someone with hormones or drugs. I think even Biz controls his cyborgs through some psychic relay, but bringing honesty is a hard thing to do.
The only thing you can with certainly say about the human race is that it has the inherent trait to watch over its own interest. Some say that lying is simply human nature, but I disagree. It's not that honesty is something that we need to strive for, but it is expected in a society. The only way civilization even formed is because humans started working together. Did it for self-interest or not. At some point even the most egoistic goal brings about a group contribution.
But this was one thing and that was another.
I had a lot of time to think about.... things in that maze, and I am sure that Alice did too.
I was kind of lost in this this heroic mission. I kept thinking about that desert
.
*___*
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DATE:3nd of May, the 55th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Dunes of Salvia
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At some point their leader left and only two guards stood side by side watching over us, both in rags. I suppose the insurgents lived like the workers at out camp.
As the guards muttered to each other, I glanced nervously at the captain, his gaze intense as he mouthed, *"Get their attention."* A shiver of panic shot through me. I whispered back, my voice hoarse, "Why? Why me?"
The guards noticed us whispering and barked in their language, harsh and clipped. I didn't understand the words, but the message was clear: silence. Even so, something in the captain's eyes told me he had a plan—a fragile, desperate plan, but still something. I swallowed hard, my mind still foggy from the explosion. I didn't see another choice. I shifted to my knees, ignoring the dull throb in my skull, and started shouting at the guards, anger lacing my words even if they couldn't understand me. Insults, curses, nonsense—anything to bait them. I kept my gaze steady as they raised their rifles, their eyes narrowed, stepping closer with irritation scrawled across their faces. Every second felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, but I forced myself not to back down. *Stay strong. Don't look away.*
I didn't notice the captain breaking his own arms until he'd already freed himself, and my stomach twisted with shock as I saw him quickly reset his wrists, the pain barely registering in his hardened expression. The cook, who'd somehow hidden a blade, was also silently cutting his bindings, waiting for the guards to move closer.
Just as they raised their rifles, the captain and the cook pounced, grabbing them from behind and silencing them with swift, practiced movements. The crunch of their necks breaking made my skin crawl, but I couldn't tear my gaze away.
Before I knew it, the captain and cook were untying the rest of us. I rubbed my wrists, still numb with disbelief. The captain gave me a firm nod, a rare expression of approval on his rugged face. "You did well," he whispered, his voice just above a breath. "Could've shot you, you know… Needed someone with guts as bait."
Barry scoffed from the other side, his eyes narrow. "Guts? I'd say it was just dumb luck. Only a fool would waste his life like that."
The cook shot him a look. "Really, Barry? They asked you first. Didn't see you volunteering to take a bullet." Barry clenched his jaw, looking away as the captain's words stung him silent.
"Point is," the captain muttered, cutting the tension, "we'd all be dead if he hadn't done it."
" But now we're not exactly home free," Paul added, glancing around the insurgent camp. Paul said grimly, whispering, "What now, Captain? We're still as good as dead in here."
The captain's jaw clenched. "We go silent. Move, step by step."
And so we did, with every word a whisper and every breath as quiet as possible, threading through the shadows of a place none of us were sure we'd leave alive.
Outside, the storm was incredibly hard. It was the type of condition where we wouldn't dare to step out of the shacks.
The sand bit into my face like a thousand needles, stinging my skin raw as I tried to keep low. The captain clutched a radio he'd grabbed off a guard, pressing a finger to his lips and motioning us to keep close. I barely made out the others in the swirling cloud of sand around us, each of us crouched low, like prey trying to hide from the storm and the eyes we knew were still searching for us.
We finally reached the line of half-broken vehicles through the gusts, though the air felt like breathing dust. Just as we were about to climb in, someone shouted. A guard spotted us, and within seconds, gunfire tore through the air. I barely had time to duck, reaching for one of the bikes. It was a desperate choice, but at this point, anything would do. My hands fumbled at the controls, fingers shaking as I tried to start the thing, gritting my teeth as I forced myself to stay calm.
And then I heard the cry—a piercing, terrible sound that cut through everything. I looked over, and there was the cook, on the ground, clutching his stomach, blood pouring from the wound, his face twisted with the kind of pain that goes right to your soul. My breath caught. The captain was beside him in a second, his hands hovering, unsure, his expression torn between loyalty and the crushing reality in the cook's eyes.
"Go," the cook gasped, his voice thick, almost drowning in the blood filling his mouth. "This one's got me, Captain. Just… get the others out of here. Don't… waste it on me."
The captain's face twisted, raw with emotion I'd never seen before, his jaw tightening. I thought for a second he might argue, but instead, he just nodded, placing a hand on the cook's shoulder. It was silent, a final farewell without words. He turned, climbing into the sidecar beside me.
I stared, fingers trembling as I finally got the bike roaring forward, the engine sputtering to life. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought it might burst, and I could feel that terrible hollowness growing as we pulled away. The cook's cry echoed in my ears, and as we sped through the thick, endless sandstorm, it felt like something was breaking piece by piece. The desert seemed to swallow it all—the sand, the storm, and everything we'd left behind.
But the captain was laughing. Even as I stared at the camp's remains, the charred skeletons of structures and bodies half-hidden by sand, he just laughed. Without a word, he motioned Paul to find a piece of debris to improvise a shovel, telling us to dig. Sand flew everywhere as we worked, my mind too numb to question why. Then, with a thud, Barry's makeshift tool hit something solid.
The captain finally explained. "The administration had a backup plan, just in case we were... away." He knelt down, yanking the crate out of the sand. "They told me to bury an emergency supply crate."
When he cracked it open, I half-expected to see rations, maybe some body armor—something to keep us alive, at least. But all that was inside was a grim collection of weapons and ammo. Rifles, pistols, grenades, and even a compact grenade launcher. Not a single scrap of food. Not a piece of body armor. Just ways to kill.
The captain grinned and began distributing the guns. I hesitated, my fingers cold as I picked up a Beretta AR70 and a Beretta Model 70 pistol, slipping spare magazines for each into my pockets. Barry grabbed the grenade launcher with almost eager hands, collecting grenades and one of the spare rifles. The captain and Paul took what was left, quickly loading and preparing as though they'd done this a thousand times.
"We're outnumbered," the captain said, his tone back to its hard edge, "but that doesn't mean we can't make this work. Keep them suppressed, keep them from thinking. Use the storm and the shadows." He glanced back at us, eyes blazing. "They think they've already won, but we'll show them they're wrong."
My grip tightened on the rifle. The plan was thin, barely a plan at all, but in the captain's voice, there was an unspoken determination that I couldn't ignore. Even if every part of me trembled with fear, the only thing I could do was obey.
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DATE:5th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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It was a tiring process, but at some point we managed to find the damn keys and opened the door, supposedly close to the mad doctor. Just as we were stepping into the next corridor, white and sterile, almost reminding me of Mundi, A feral abomination of... What was once a dog dared to jump at us.
Before I could even raise my hands Alice points at it and it is pressed to the ground, shrieking in pain.
There is no joy in her aura. No wonder nor excitement. Alice isn't curious anymore.
When I made a step to reach her, the dog thing is pressed into a slurry and explodes inside those white walls. They are covered in it's red, gooey flesh, but Alice? She had the blood approaching her fall to the ground, almost as if protected by some for of shield. It would have been helpful to also protect me as my face was covered in this horrible mess.
A normal man would have barfed yet I barely even flinched.
"Let's go." She sounded almost robotic. I couldn't believe that Emily beat her too in the humanity department. The irony.
We reach the supposedly last door of this tumultuous endeavour and Alice cracks it open with well thought out punches directed at the hinge. Observing her strange tact for disassembling this device, I couldn't help but marvel at how moronic Biz was. He was smart enough to make these mecha zombies, but he couldn't design a proper door? There wasn't even a forcefield protecting it. No, something was strange. This was going on too easy.
In any case, Alice doesn't wait for me and steps inside, forcing me to hurry behind.-