Dragan was surprised.
For so reason, he’d expected the interior of the Lotus to be dark, but that wasn’t the case at all. Plentiful populations of bioluminescent fungus cast the entire spherical landscape in a calm blue glow, washing over the group’s faces as they walked across the bridge.
It wasn’t especially bright either, of course -- the imdiate area was illuminated, but the further you went the darker it got. All around them, strange strands of biological material stretched from wall to wall, occasionally twitching and squirming. At first, Dragan had mistaken them for cobwebs or sothing, but -- with a chill -- he soon realized what they really were, and what this really was.
They were walking through a massive brain.
Ruth rubbed her arms to ward off the cold as they crossed the bridge to the center of the Lotus interior. "Is this place… alive?" she asked, looking around warily.
"Brain-dead," grunted Johan Blackbird, leading the group, the barrel of his rifle-arm almost scraping against the tal walkway. "The functions work, but it needs people to get them going."
"The Cogitants," Bruno nodded, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Which is, uh, plural, by the way." He jerked a thumb back towards Dragan. "So unless we’re cloning this guy, where are the rest?"
Skipper cracked his neck. That old easy grin was still on his face -- but just barely. The closer they got to their confrontation with the Supre, the closer it got to slipping off his face.
"While we’ve been gathering allies and weapons," he said. "Blackbird here and his crew has been grabbing the rest of the Cogitants we need."
Johan clicked his tongue in annoyance at Skipper’s words. "A selection of Cogitants from across the Supremacy -- so we can map out its structures effectively. It’s selective. It’s not just a matter of grabbing people."
"Well, whatever," Skipper shrugged.
They reached the center of the sphere, where the various bridges converged upon a biological console of sorts. Great blue bulbs pulsed and wheezed atop a circular pedestal, a sll like bleach oozing out of their pores as they twitched. Dragan found himself holding his nose as they approached.
"This is it?" he asked.
Klaus nodded. "All it needs is physical contact -- then it hooks you right up to the neural network. Planting a hand against the bulb should be enough."
Dragan leaned past the bulb, looking at the people beyond. They weren’t alone, after all. It seed the other six Cogitants had taken the other bridges, and now they’d t up here. It was quite a varied crowd. So looked nervous, so looked resolute… and one particular person -- a girl with silver hair like Dragan’s -- held no emotion in her eyes at all. She looked at Dragan, and Dragan found himself quickly forced to look away.
"Hey…" he heard Ruth saying from behind him. "This is safe, right?"
"We’ve done thorough testing over the last few years," Klaus replied gruffly. "There’s no risk at all."
Ruth looked past Klaus to Skipper, who nodded in confirmation.
"Proceed," Klaus said, voice dull and without ceremony.
Dragan stepped back from the console, looking back at him. "Wait, I an… we’re not doing this right now, are we? You said there are people -- allies -- still on their way, right? They’ll be people from within the Supremacy, so they’d be caught by the shield too."
Klaus thumped his cane. "It’s a two stage activation," he pressed. "Once will pri the atmosphere, and the second will activate the shield. These allies should be with us by the end of the day. We’ll do the first activation now and the second when night falls. Proceed."
Dragan gulped -- and, just like Ruth, he looked past Klaus to Skipper. The older man just nodded. He wasn’t smiling.
"Go ahead, kid," he said seriously. "It doesn’t bite."
The way Skipper said that made Dragan think that maybe the console did bite. All the sa, though, he steeled himself, approached the console and -- with a courage that would have been unthinkable just a year ago -- planted his hand against it.
Long seconds passed. Nothing happened.
Frowning, Dragan peeled his hand free of the bulb, noting with disgust a pale blue extract that clung to his skin. "Was, uh… was sothing supposed to happen there?"
He turned away from the console -- and imdiately furrowed his brow. The crowd was gone. The only other person in the chamber, taking a seat on a particularly accommodating rock, was Bruno. He looked up from his script as Dragan approached.
Realization dawned. "How long was I standing there?" Dragan asked.
Bruno stuffed his script into his pocket, stifling a yawn. "Around two hours."
Well, that explained why his legs were tired, if nothing else.
Even after all he’d experienced, Muzazi couldn’t help but feel his heart tremble with excitent as he made his way through the halls of the Tartarus. Nearly everywhere he looked, he could see Special Officers of fa and prestige. He supposed that, as the new leader of the Seven Blades, he was technically famous too, but it certainly didn’t feel like that.
Aclima followed behind him, with Morgan taking up the rear. She’d been quiet ever since their encounter with the Supre -- and Muzazi couldn’t bla her. For one’s parent to not even bother finding out what you looked like… it was a difficult situation. Muzazi hadn’t quite known what to say, either.
At any rate, they’d signed in and been assigned quarters -- a luxury suite usually used by visiting diplomats. That sounded comfortable enough, but Muzazi would have to ensure it was secure, as well. With so many self-interested parties hanging around, this was by no ans a safe place for the Supre Heir.
They were just turning the corner to the luxury suites when they heard it.
The scream.
It rang down the hallways like an alarm. High-pitched and bloodcurdling, with a hint of choking behind the voice. Muzazi recognised it imdiately: the desperate cry of soone being murdered.
He wasted no ti.
"Watch her!" Muzazi cried, pushing past Morgan and charging down the hallway -- towards the source of the sound. Thrusters granted him speed as he ran past door after door, but deep down… he suspected that it might already be too late. A scream like that did not wait long before being followed by death.
But why? Why here? Had the enemy already infiltrated the Tartarus sohow, or had a fight broken out between so Special Officers? Muzazi would have liked not to suspect his colleagues of such pointless conflict, but he was well aware that not all shared his code of conduct.
He got his answer quickly, and it was exactly as he’d dreaded.
The victim had already been dragged out into the middle of the recreation area and tossed onto the farball court like a sack of potatoes. When he was alive, the young ensign might have been handso -- but it was impossible to tell now, for his face had been caved right in. Other personnel were keeping their distance from the body, whispering among themselves -- no surprise, for the killer had made no effort to conceal himself either.
Atoy Muzazi had never t this murderer, but he knew him by reputation. The Baron Lunalette de Fleur.
His attire was eccentric in only the way a Special Officer could get away with -- an extravagantly ruffled suit and a top-hat, both so dark a red they seed black at first glance. His hair was red, too, cascading in curls down the sides of his head, framing his painted-white face -- a face that held the kind of eerie symtry only achievable through copious surgeries. Even though he’d just killed a man, he showed no signs of remorse or responsibility. He just sneered down at the corpse with those vivid red eyes, before glancing up at the approaching Muzazi.
"This peon tried to tell I’d be sleeping in the common quarters," he said calmly, as if that explained his actions. "Can you believe that?"
Muzazi glared as he crouched down next to the body, futilely checking for a pulse he knew he would not find. "You murdered this man," he growled. "You think that will go unanswered?"
De Fleur raised his red eyebrows in amusent. "Oh?" he said, red lips twisting into a smirk. "Oh, I recognise you. Atoy Muzazi, isn’t it? The Supre Heir’s nursemaid. My condolences -- I hear she’s quite the charity case. Congratulations on the promotion, at any rate."
As Muzazi rose back to his feet, he opened one hand -- ready to ignite a Radiant if it ca down to it. "Watch your tongue," he snapped.
"Then again, I must have sympathy for her, as well," Lunalette chuckled, placing a hand to his heart. "Her caretaker doesn’t seem to understand the role of a Special Officer, after all."
Hot anger boiled through Muzazi’s veins, but he did his best not to let it show. His steely glare continued. "What?"
Lunalette ran a hand down his cheek, as if he were a patron admiring the artwork that was himself. "I shall tell you. Yes, I think I shall tell you!" he laughed, as if he were explaining sothing very simple to soone very stupid. "To be a Special Officer is to be recognised for your strength, and to be granted the freedom you deserve. The re fact that we are Special Officers should be enough for others to tread carefully around us." He waved a hand down towards the corpse. "Those who forget their place must be shown the results of such actions. Otherwise, we might as well not be Special Officers at all."
"Forget their place?" Muzazi clenched his fists. "He gave you news you didn’t like. That is not worthy of punishnt."
Lunalette smiled thinly. "The strong determine what is worthy of punishnt. That is the only tric."
There was only so much a man could listen to.
Muzazi stepped forward, igniting his Radiant and swinging it in a single movent. His speed was impeccable, of course, but his opponent had seen the attack coming. The slightest chuckle escaped from Lunalette’s lips as he pulled a black pitchfork free from his dark-red Aether, using the three spikes to block Muzazi’s blow.
"Oh," Lunalette smiled, amused. "So you are a man of substance."
"I will take you to the ship’s brig," Muzazi growled, pushing against Lunalette’s block. "Or I will take you to the ship’s morgue. It is not up to which."
This was not a man who deserved any consideration -- for the Baron Lunalette de Fleur had a reputation.
Special Officers were generally given carte blanche to do as they wished so long as they ultimately answered to the Supremacy, but common decency often limited what they did with such freedom. The sa was not true for Lunalette de Fleur. Perhaps the fact that his ancestors had kept their titles of nobility by joining with the Supremacy early made him think he was already above others, but -- in any case -- he had no common decency.
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Over the years, his na had beco synonymous with brutality. Such a man could not be allowed on the sa ship as Aclima. A tiny, cold part of Atoy Muzazi earnestly hoped that execution beca necessary.
Their stalemate broke, both fighters angled around each other for a superior position, and in the sa instant they lunged at each other --
-- countless lengths of string, like a rainbow spiderweb, danced through the air.
Their movents were instantly halted as the strings wrapped around their limbs, holding them in place with all the severity of vices. Muzazi let out a frustrated growl as he twitched in the strings embrace, arm frozen in the overhead swing that would never conclude. Dull pain radiated through his joints. He had no doubt that, if the wielder of the strings desired it, they were just as capable of cutting through flesh as stopping it.
Clap, clap.
Said wielder strolled out of the bathroom as casually as could be, his coat of many colours swishing around him. So toilet paper clung to his shoe. His face, if nothing else, was no surprise. Muzazi had expected to see him the second that string had crossed his vision.
Wu Ming clapped sarcastically, as if applauding their showmanship.
"Now, now, fellas," he yawned. "Let’s not start killing each other before we even arrive. Two outta ten when it cos to conduct, seriously."
Lunalette de Fleur, frozen mid-stab, glowered as Wu Ming approached -- and then yelped in surprise as he was hurled backwards by the strings, slamming into the wall even as he was released. He snarled as he picked himself back up, only to stop in his tracks as Ming lifted a single calm finger.
"Woah there, friend," Ming said, eyes half-lidded, a strange shadow in his gaze. "I’m just keeping the peace here. Making sure everyone’s getting along… that sort of thing. If you want to turn this into a fight between and you, though, I’m down. Just, ah, just be aware… if that’s the way we’re going…" He opened his eyes, wide and true. "...you’ll die, okay?"
Lunalette stared into Ming’s eyes for a good long mont, as if probing for weakness there, and clearly found none. He scoffed as he released his hold on his pitchfork -- the weapon disintegrating into a strange ash-like substance before dissipating entirely -- and turned on his heel, storming off down the corridor. After Ming was satisfied the Baron wasn’t coming back, he released his hold on Muzazi too.
As Muzazi fell to one knee, he looked up at Ming disapprovingly. "You should not have let him get away with that."
Behind them, automatics were already collecting the body of the murdered ensign, transporting it for proper storage. Muzazi watched, rage blazing behind his eyes, fists shaking in frustration. Wu Ming, on the other hand, was the utter picture of calm.
"I wouldn’t worry about it," he said, running a carefree hand through his long hair. "Guys like him always get what’s coming to them -- maybe sooner rather than later. Best not right here, though. Not right now. He’s got friends… it would cause so trouble for you, if you understand ."
Of course.
Muzazi bitterly massaged his neck as he returned to his feet. Everyone always had friends. Everyone always had allies. The entire upper echelon of Special Officers Muzazi had entered seed to be consud by an utter web of corruption, linking everything and everyone, making every person who needed to be taught a lesson utterly untouchable.
"More importantly, though…" Wu Ming drawled -- before throwing an unwelco arm over Muzazi’s shoulder. "I’ve been wanting to talk to you, big guy."
The sky had changed since the last ti Dragan had seen it. The calm blue of that morning had been replaced by a weird havoc pink, and -- from the way the soldiers were looking up at it -- he got the feeling this was not a natural phenonon. He plunged his hands into his pockets as he walked alongside Bruno, towards the landing pads in the forest.
"So this is what the first stage of activation is?" he wondered aloud, looking up at the sky.
"Apparently, it prompts the atmosphere to start producing this, uh… this crystal dust," Bruno said slowly, rembering sothing he’d been told. "And then the second stage lets the, uh, big sphere control that dust and turn it into attack structures."
Dragan raised an eyebrow. "Kind of what like Serena does, then?"
"Yeah," Serena nodded, her pace shifting as she took active control. "Only without Aether, I guess. They really could do anything back then, huh? The Gene Tyrants, I an."
"If they could do anything," Dragan said. "We wouldn’t have killed them."
As he looked at that pink sky, the light of the sun warped through its filter, Dragan couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread crawling over him. It was difficult to describe, but… it was like he was looking at a massive door slamming shut on them all, sealing them inside a dungeon of sorts. No, more than that -- like he was the one closing the door, locking himself in without any assistance at all.
He’d promised himself, a long while ago, that -- if Skipper’s plan didn’t seem to be a survivable one -- he’d bail. Did this seem survivable? Battening down the hatches and hoping the Supremacy wouldn’t find another way around it? Betting that they’d move in exactly the way that would be most convenient?
The only one who decides what happens to is .
Was dying here, fruitlessly, what he had decided would happen? It wasn’t too late. He could steal a ship and leave this place, easy, while everyone was distracted with the preparations. It wouldn’t even really an ditching Skipper. Even after the shield was activated, he could still leave the atmosphere so long as nobody else was in the sa ship.
Even as he considered those options, though -- those very pragmatic and reasonable options -- Dragan couldn’t help but recoil away from them. It was like they burnt to the touch.
He still had ti. He didn’t have to decide such things right now.
Ruth was already waiting for them at the landing pad, where the ship had just finished settling down. It wasn’t one that Dragan recognised specifically, but judging from the sleek and smooth design features -- like the UniteRegent -- it was probably from the UAP. Skipper had said that there’d be reinforcents on the way, but who would this ship be carrying…?
His question was answered quickly.
Lily Aubrisher began descending the boarding ramp as it thumped down, brushing her brilliant white hair out of her face. Her eyes glowed slightly as she glanced around the forest, the slightest frown on her lips. It had been a good while since it had happened, but Dragan still found himself taken aback by the physical changes that had occurred when Lily had absorbed her Guardian Entity. He swore he could even see sparks of electricity around her feet with each step she took.
Even with all the changes, though, she still had to duck down to prevent her long antlers from scraping against the hull. So things never changed.
She squinted through the pink sunlight as she looked at them. "Feels like I haven’t seen your faces in a while."
Ruth grinned as she approached, raising her hand for a high-five. "Sa to you."
Lily slapped Ruth’s hand, and -- as they made contact -- a sudden jolt of static repelled them. Ruth rubbed her palm, wincing.
"Sorry about that," Lily smirked awkwardly. "It gets hard to control. I an, I’m strong as hell, but it still gets crazy when I go swimming." She scratched the back of her head. "It’s a pain in the arse, to be honest."
Dragan walked over, hands still in his pockets as he looked the ship up and down. "To be honest," he said. "I’m surprised you actually ca when Skipper called. Don’t you have stuff to do back on, uh, XK-12? Or Hexkay, I think they’re calling it?"
Lily put her hands on her hips, kicking idly at the dirt. "Yeah, about that… I kind of got exiled. Can’t go back."
Bruno blinked. "Huh?"
"What?" Dragan asked, stepping forward. "What do you an you got exiled? After all that?! We freed the planet -- you freed the planet!"
Lily shrugged. "Yeah, but a lot of people died in the process. The battle at the swamps, and then the capital… the victims had families, and they didn’t much like the idea of taking over anything after that. So and Ted talked, and we decided it would be best for to head out."
She let out a long sigh -- and for a mont, they all stood there, listening to the tweeting of the birds. With the filtered light from the sky and the news they’d just received, it all seed very lancholy.
"Seriously…?" Ruth muttered, crossing her arms. "After all that, they just kick you out all alone?"
"Oh," Lily blinked. "I’m not alone."
"Who are they?!" cried out a high-pitched, ear-splitting voice. "Miss Aubrisher, who are they?!"
Dragan turned around -- just in ti for a very small person to barrel into him, knocking him down from sheer speed and tenacity. As he picked himself up from the grass, he got a better look at his ’attacker’.
It was a young white-haired boy of nine or ten, clad in a brown shawl and flat cap -- with tiny holes cut into the hat to accommodate small nubs of antlers. He bead with orange eyes as he looked Dragan up and down, inspecting him thoroughly.
"Wow!" he exclaid, wonder laced into every syllable. "You have crazy eyes! Who are you?!"
"Dragan Hadrien," muttered Dragan, glaring. It was more than a little humiliating to be knocked on your ass by a kid. "Who the hell are you?"
"Wolfram!" snapped Lily. "Don’t be rude! Where the hell is Vex?"
Another woman bustled out of the ship, chasing after Wolfram. Before she could get a hold of him, however, he quickly scurried off -- cackling away into the forest like so kind of wild animal. The woman sighed as she turned back to the group.
It was clear from her antlers that she was another native of Hexkay, just like Lily and Wolfram. Dark blue hair hung limply down her head, the tips transitioning to a crimson just as bright as her eyes. She was frowning as she looked at them, and -- to be frank -- it seed like a practised frown.
"Sorry, Mada," she said, fiddling with her sleeves of her red jacket nervously. "Belias needed help loading the supplies onto the automatic. I ssed up. Aw, man. What a ss. And he’d been so well-behaved on the way here, too. Oh no. What a ss. This is the worst-case scenario." Her voice sohow managed to get across a bizarre mixture of monotony and anxiety.
"Forget it," Lily waved a dismissive hand. "He’ll find his way back."
"You sure?" called out a voice from above. "I can go after him, if you want."
Dragan rolled his eyes. This parade of strange new people was quickly beginning to beco predictable. He looked up at the man lounging in the branches of the massive tree above.
Oh. Oh my.
The man had tanned skin and wild green hair, but that wasn’t what caught your attention imdiately. He was eating an apple, relaxed as could be, but that wasn’t what caught your attention imdiately. A loose black cloak was slung over his shoulders, but that wasn’t what caught your attention imdiately.
No, what caught your attention imdiately was…
"Hey," Serena called up to him. "Could you put your dick away, please?"
"No," the man said.
"Okay."
Lily very pointedly didn’t look at the man as she addressed him. "Don’t worry about it. Like I said, he’ll co back." With that said, she turned back to Ruth and the group. "That’s Ablos. Don’t worry about him. He’s just a freak."
"It’s only natural!" Ablos, up in the tree, exclaid -- as if he was preaching before a congregation. "We humans were born without clothes, weren’t we? So it’s only right we should live without --"
Dragan stopped listening. This wasn’t the kind of person he needed to have a conversation with.
The final mber of Lily’s entourage exited the ship in a much less flashy manner than the rest. He was a tall, stern-looking man with dark hair and antlers of strict geotry. Just like Ablos, he wore a black cloak, but unlike Ablos he also wore other clothes. A suit of dark armour, like so kind of knight, with a heavy greatsword slung over his back.
He nodded by way of introduction. "Belias Hailel," he said, crossing his arms. "Also known as Belias of the Black, forr Regulator. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Forr Regulator…? The ones they’d been fighting, back on Hexkay? Dragan gave Lily a quizzical look -- and it seed she’d read his mind, for she just shook her head in response.
"Everyone’s got circumstances," she said simply. "When I got, uh, ’exiled’, these guys insisted on coming along with . They call themselves the Cardinal Beasts… it’s kind of embarrassing, really."
"It’s not embarrassing!" Ablos called down. "It’s a beautiful symbol of our devotion to your cause! You should praise us for such a sweet gesture!"
Vex sighed exaggeratedly, a dismal expression on her face. "Embarrassing… I didn’t realise you hated us that much. Oh, boy. What a drag. I’m actually losing the will to live right now. Seriously? I thought we were protecting Hexkay from the shadows and all that, but we were just embarrassing you. That’s so ssed up. I’m so sorry, Mada. Damn…"
Dragan took a mont to take it all in, this impromptu carnival. He found that he suddenly felt very, very sorry for Lily Aubrisher.
"Seems like you’ve got a lot going on," he finally said. "You sure you’ve got ti to help us out here?"
"We owe you for back on Hexkay," she said, thumping her fist into her palm with a flash of electricity. "Having that still up in the air would piss off. We’ll help you take care of that little Supre and be off on our way."
She grinned, wide and bright… but Dragan couldn’t help but feel it was the grin of a person who didn’t understand what they were talking about.
"Hey, um," Serena spoke up. "This is great and all, but where’s Skipper?"
The warehouse where they were storing it was a little ways away from the main base, so Skipper had no choice but to set out on a long and awkward walk through the woods with his guest. As the two of them strode through the undergrowth, Skipper couldn’t help but feel the other man’s glare drilling into the back of his head.
Well, it only made sense. As they reached the doors of the huge box-shaped building, Skipper looked over his shoulder and offered Roy Oliphant-Dawkins an insincere grin.
"And here we are," he said, tapping in the code. "Holding place for one of our many, many exclusive products…"
The doors slid open.
"...the Hanged Man."
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