In the air transport to the venue, I sat with Gibson as far apart as we could from Marie and her venomous tongue. There were a few other occupants in our snug little compartment, but that did little to defuse the tense atmosphere that caused all verbal communication to die down eventually. I, of course, whiled away the time by speaking with my First Officer on a private short-range comm link. We share details of our suicide mission from each other's perspective, and some idle speculation on what a party hosted by the Oracle would look like. Gibson then dropped an interesting little tidbit about how security personnel under the Oracle's direct employ have apparently been withdrawn from all remaining theaters of war and garrisoned instead within the depths of the Oraculum.
"Some of the lower-ranked security officers complained about how they've had to fill in tons of liability waivers that they've never had to deal with before. And with how secretive the entire thing is, I wouldn't be surprised if they tacked on a bunch of NDAs as well to keep things on the down low." Everything that Gibson said made sense, to a point. There is an art to paperwork, where hiding things in plain text is almost a requirement if one wants to succeed in life at the Ascentron Circurrency.
But what the Oracle is doing didn't strike me as a typical clandestine operation. Rather, it looks more like she's expecting to face trouble of such insidious nature and of such prodigious strength that it directly threatens her position in the Ascentron Circurrency. Is she expecting a coup attempt in the middle of the ongoing chaos? Or perhaps the invaders have infiltrated much deeper into the ship than anticipated? Either way, I sense a trap being laid out under our feet, courtesy of our good host.
My mind was still whirling as the air transport reached its destination; a hangar space hidden behind the thick walls of the Oraculum. My Second Officer wasted no time to put some distance between me and Gibson, which suited me just fine. Due to the Oraculum' immense size, there were multiple modes of transport by which people were moved around the megastructure. For the rich and famous, however, they preferred less plebeian ways of travel, which the Oracle was more than happy to cater to in exchange for a tiny, tiny sum no one would miss.
I shook my head at the sight of a carriage being pulled along by a school of aquatic predators swimming through solid matter, and resolved to find myself a simple rail car for the sake of my sanity. Just as I found one, a family of rich well-to-do snooty types cut in front of me and took up all the seats inside with their bodies and belongings. They didn't even say so much as a hi as the rail transport ran away from my growing wrath and indignation.
My second rail transport was empty, which was a promising start. However, when I walked up to talk to the driver, there was nobody at the seat save for a very large and disturbing bloodstain which soaked the floor and ceiling. I got out of there as fast as my legs could carry me and rung up security to come by and take a look. It could be nothing more than a simple murder for some banal reason, or it could be a sign of something much, much worse. Either way, not my problem.
The third one was ugly.
The fourth had no problems at all and I settled into a comfortable couch with some snacks and a lovely drink in front of me when Marie and two friends of hers walked in through the threshold and spotted me. The mild sourness I was enjoying from my meal rapidly turned to a bitter acid which I spat out at the foot of my Second Officer. She scowled and looked ready to lash out at me, but refrained after a brief look at her friends.
So she has a soft spot after all. I gave Marie' two friends a polite smile as they sat down around the ice queen. One seemed to recognize me and looked away from my gaze, while the other nodded once before turning around and talking to her friends in their own shared private network. Nothing about them stood out to me, save for the fact that I've never seen them before.
"It is a bit odd we keep running into Marie like this." Gibson said what I had been thinking. "It almost seems like fate, in a way." I scoffed at the notion, then thought about it further. Ever since we got here, my life has become a series of escalating stakes and tension, becoming the pawn of a CEO and fighting horrors from hell on the daily. Now I'm going to a party for the rich and famous, dressed to the nines, and hoping nothing would go wrong. Add to that what I'd seen while still connected to the Horizon Needle, that vast emptiness of eyes-
I cringe as a headache arced throughout my head, feeling its heat burn the most at where my memories are stored. I clench my hands on my seat and count down the number of Pi until the episode passed. A diagnostics report came up empty, save for some characters that couldn't be rendered properly and the number nine. Just one nine and nothing else. Something else to think about when I get myself a look over with a proper psychiatrist and not some back-alley junk witch with more goo than sense in her head.
"FOOLS! EVEN NOW, THE PERFECT MACHINATIONS OF MY MASTER UNFOLD IN WAYS YOU COULD NEVER-" Whatever he was going to say followed the path of my bullet through his brain. One more blood splatter, coming right up. A bucketful splashed against my face and I sigh in resignation at the thought of the cleaning fees once this mission was up. But that's how things are when you're dealing with these new types of cultists. They don't kill themselves when their jig is up, or collapse like a bunch of wet smoke when real power steps in. No, these fuckers dig in and dish out the pain, some of them even charging right into our killzones with no fear at all.
Not gonna lie, I can respect that kind of crazy. It makes killing them so much easier and efficient. But again, murder on one's look, as one can see from the mess me and my team have made. It's only been five hours since the start of our patrol and we're already knee deep in guts, organic and synthetic, as well as whatever the invaders turn into when they die. If its dust, its one so fine I can't pick up any trace of it with my sensors, but it could also be something like Zro. I've heard that stuff sometimes phases out of sync with real space and into the Shroud, which makes containment a real pain in the ass.
"Sound off! Who's dead and who's alive?" My team leader, RS-A1 shouted into our comms. Five pings of 'still alive' came back, and two of 'dead as hell' popped up too. After a second of careful rumination, I sent back a 'dead as hell' ping, with a smiley face. Right on schedule, the sound of anti-grav engines coming closer and closer until it cuts off and five tons of 'borg alloys and flesh dropped onto what was left of cultist' torso. It was like a blood bag exploded, and I had to wipe off another layer of muck from my face. But it was worth it, because here comes the most amazing woman I've ever met in my life.
"RS-D4, I should have known." RS-A1' mono-eye narrowed into a vertical slit. "Cut the crap when you're on duty, soldier. Your performance review is hanging on by a thread, and I have the final say for what your fate is gonna be. Kept on the roster, or kicked to the curb, so shape up, jokester, before I kick your teeth in and let you taste the shit we're walking on. Got it?" As though to emphasize her point, the missile launchers folded onto her back spread out like the wings of an angel of destruction, primed and ready to lay waste to her enemies.
I am in love.
"Yes, miss. I hear you loud and clear. Crisp and crystal. Sharp and lucid." I disabled my comms protocols before any more stupid shit could be sent her way. RS-A1 look down on me for several more minutes before moving on, engaging her anti-grav engines and leaving me thoroughly locked onto her fading figure. I sigh before taking note of my next mission objectives, idly noticing a new call request coming in from one of my friends, RS-D5. I accept it, already guessing what he was going to say but deciding it is better to take the heat now then get ribbed for it later.
"That was a new record for you, two point five seconds under duress and you folded immediately." RS-D5's weird twang came through even on a private comms link. "I reckon you could muster the courage to ask her out in about a million years, give or take a century or so."
"Shut up, RS-D5. I don't need to hear about dating advice from a man who's in a contract marriage for a century." I wipe off some spinal fluid from my left arm and shake off bits of an arm that fell on my right foot. "Your wife is crazy."
"Crazy for me, you mean. Of course, the money's good too. And she's so hot." The mix of smugness, greed, and sappiness coming through the line made me consider cutting off the call right then and there. But then again, too much free time alone with your thoughts makes a person go strange, especially when its these times with the new guests that are at our doorstep.
The big ones get handled by the Gigantes, but its really the rank-and-file types that are the nastiest to fight with. The blue ones treat energy and mass like its a toy and the flames they throw around can either melt you or turn you to glass or pull you apart. The green ones are tough fuckers, farting toxic gas and shitting corrosive fluid. The red ones are angry, like really angry, and they're pure death at melee. I don't like the pink ones.
We left the little hidey-hole the cultist made out of the Oraculum' walls and marked the spot as 'pending for purging' before moving on to our next target; a rail transport relay hub where a bunch of the Oracle' guests were supposed to be going through. The order came through right as we were in the middle of our mission, and now it's been close to about an hour since shit hit the fan for the rich snobs. It makes my eyes tear up at how much they must be suffering right now under the cultists' tender mercies.
We better get a big fat bonus for this.
I love to sing. The words flow freely from my mind to my mouth and from there my music enters the world to spread joy and love everywhere they go. Everybody knows I love to sing, and it seem obvious then that I'd become an idol. A celebrity. A superstar. An icon. It was tough, grueling work making my way to the top, and the bodies I left behind made a pyramid upon which I survey all that love me, that want me, that worship me. But it wasn't enough that I am beloved in one stage. No, my legend, my myth even, needs to be sung throughout the heavens themselves, 'till the end of time and beyond.
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And now I have found it, the first step to transcendent skill beyond all mortal peers. Those eyes peering back beyond the mirror are now within me, whispers so delightful in their details of the joy my work will bring to this universe. All I need to do is sing the song gifted by my patron: the Lowest Pinnacle of the Most Exalted High. It is a song that cuts to the marrow, to the core modules that govern thought and reason. In the presence of boundless ecstasy, the lesser minds of my audience fracture and collapse, to be reassembled anew into obedient pawns and dolls.
Ah, what joys I have brought since my illumination into the truths of the world. How I assembled my loyal retinue and turned them one after the other, feeling their screams and tears and cries turn into moans and sobs of happiness and despair. A concert of unity in times of strife turned into an orgy of violent excess and madness, dispersed only by the accursed efforts of those I had foolishly deemed my betters. I loath most of all the Oracle, with her quiet and unassuming presence belying her true nature as a despotic tyrant. She does no justice to the office with her even gaze, relaxed posture, and utter lack of depraved tendencies as one should have in that position!
Ah, but forget about that bitch. Look at me talking about my lessers when I should be paying attention to my audience. They came in one by one by rail car to see me in the middle of nowhere. Truly dedicated fans they are! I saw them plucked from their seats and plopped to their place in my stage, either broken or whole, it makes little difference really. The energies of the Warp—as my patron calls their abode—waxes and wanes like my creative moods, and judging by the color I'd say it is in a festive groove.
"I am on fire! Literally!" I say as an inferno drapes itself on my shoulder. "This day can't get any better." A thump came from my left, and I saw what used to be my third manager slump to the ground sans his head. A shrill whine came next further back and my backup dancers' backup dancers melted into goo. A bomb blew up my security next and I felt glee crawl up my spine. New fans have arrived!
"Welcome, all new comers to my new show! I, the Great and Mellifluous-" I was cut short as a hailstorm of tiny blades cut through my skin and down into my bones. It made my blood boil and fur shiver in delight, so I gave them a note of my approval. Alas, the handsome feller that shot me couldn't stand my power and was reduced to dust and so much waste. So much for that fling.
"Now, now, there will be time for handshakes later. For now, sit tight and be good fans and listen to my-" A blinding flash took away my sight and most of my face, boiling my brain in its container and with it most of my thoughts. It was a new experience, yes, but left me bereft of sensations for several minutes. A poor turn of events, and I had half a mind to complain to the culprit in question.
He was a thin thing, nothing to write home about, but the gun he carried look positively delicious. Such a raw testament of violence, such girth and length, all in a portable package. And it was in all black! It would make a most excellent microphone for my talent to be spread even farther, trembling earth and sky with lyrics to die for. I resolve to liberate it from his grasp.
"You! Prepare yourself as I, the Magnificent Maviosa, perform your doom!"
And now, .
This damn music is annoying. I thought as I dodge another invisible note of death from this wannabe diva. Already two of my team are either dust or in pieces, and I'm not looking too good either from the near-misses I had. And if that wasn't enough, there were hundreds of thralls shambling around and being enough of a threat that I can't afford to ignore them. Have I mentioned that there were hostages as well?
The one with the worst luck though has to be RS-C2. They were supposed to be the dedicated anti-leader types, but even a full power shot didn't so much as faze the leader of this fucked-up concert. And now he has this Maviosa' full attention, which means he's getting a front-row seat to a karaoke session from hell. Fortunately for him, we have his back.
I check my ammo counter for sec. More than enough for the lesser foes, but unknown if I could dent the main target' health bar before my reserves run dry. At least I haven't exhausted my Liquid Metal yet, so a melee option is still in the cards. I pop a dozen heads and processing cores with impeccable aim and smart bullets, then throw out some gas grenades for cover and thin out the herd around me. I need some time to call out somebody I hope is still kicking.
"RS-D5, you dead yet? I could use some backup here before I get swarmed." A bit of static bleeding in with moans came through, clearing up as my friend finally picked up his part of the call proper.
"RS-D4, no can do. I'm knee deep in guts right now, and the bastards are changing up. They're turning into those demon fucker types. You know the ones." God, I wish I didn't know what he was talking about, but I do. I take a closer look at the thralls around me and notice some of them were becoming taller, skinnier, with their right hand or left morphing into a large pincer perfect for cutting people to pieces.
"RS-A1, tell me you're seeing this." I say as I mix some laser fire with my gun play. "We might be thinning them out, but what's left is turning from bad to worse!" A barrage of missiles answered my call, clearing the crowd just enough for the mighty bulk of my secret love to enter my sight. Even now, she was as pristine as ever, her armor immaculate, and her shields holding strong. What did worry me was her body language, fully focused without even a bit of levity in it, unlike our last mission where she was clearly bored.
"RS-D4, don't bother me with the weaklings. Deal with them yourself." She said without stopping her body from killing for even a single second. Her five-ton body moved as though it was as light as air, barreling through flesh and crushing metal when it collided with the enemy. She charged at a transport walker turned living being, melting the newly-grown mega speakers on its back with her Plasma Cannons before it could transmit Maviosa' deadly tunes. Two more still stood, however, and they synchronized their sound into a deafening blast of armor-shattering power.
RS-A1 slammed her arms down into the floor and pulled up a section of it to take the brunt of the attack. The makeshift shield held true for about thirty seconds before it failed, weakening the attack enough for my leader to tank what was left with her shields and armor. Even then it was a near thing as most of her shields flickered to near non-existence and her armor hung on by a thread.
"Now there's a woman with some grit in her yet! But I'm just getting started!" The singer, now aware of our team's true might, began to intensify his performance, clipping the wings of RS-C2 before it could dodge and finishing dodge one second later. The reverberations of his song play havoc with my systems and I felt my body vibrate as though it would turn to putty at any second. Waves of destruction lashed out all around us, carving up everybody from friend to foe. It didn't matter to the singing fool, not when his addled mind told him he was putting on a great show.
"Come on, there's gotta be another way to take him down. Another way to shut him-" My eyes widen as the solution came to me, so obvious and yet so easily missed. A brief concern for civilian casualties rose at the back of my mind, but I ignore it. Insurance will take care of it, one way or another.
RS-A1, come in. I have an idea to nix the bastard's mouth shut. Sending you the details now. I let the message fly in-between seconds, dodging death and dealing it with everything I got. Two seconds pass, and a confirmation ping came around my way. It came with a short and simple message that made my core soar to infinity.
Good job. I read it once, twice, thrice, and then a fourth time before I remember I was still in a combat zone. The closest shambling fool to me met his death with one shot, and that bullet ricocheted off to find five more victims to end. As blissful as it was to bask in my euphoria, I had a job to do. I carve a path through the horde to the near-edge of the rail transport relay hub. There, a near-invisible seam ran through the floor, going up the wall until it was too faint to see. Somewhere along that line was an emergency manual switch which would engage emergency defensive shutters to snap shut this part of the Oraculum, sealing it off from further entry and exit.
To my left, another member of team arrived and I saw that it was RS-D5, my buddy. He noticed me and nodded before running off to search the left side for the switch. I pick up the pace and ran to scour the right side as well, dodging and killing what fiends were still hellbent on killing me. As I reached the wall, I engaged the maglocks on my feet as well as a small anti-grav engine and walked up the sheer surface, making sure to keep my sensors peeled for any signs or signals peeking out that would catch my attention. As luck would have it, I spot a blue-ish color leak from a tiny bump peeking out of the wall, about the size of a pebble.
Just as I was about to activate the switch, a giant claw tore up the wall before me, its owner landing a second later. Its grin was full of needle sharp teeth, with pure black eyes that looked down on me. I gave a short burst of bullets to its head and several micro-missiles for good measure, but it dodged them all with a dancer's grace. Its two feet seemed to float skate off the wall with ease and I found myself within striking range of the creature' claw. I can dodge it, but that would mean putting more distance between me and my goal, and time is ticking by even as I think.
Unimaginable pain seared through my body as the claw cut its way through my left shoulder and down to parts of my waist, but my gamble paid off. My thrusters launched me forward towards the signal and I slammed down the physical switch my right arm, sending in a confirmation data-burst through my commlink for good measure. The light goes out from the switch, before coming back on with a red glow, spreading out into the seam up and down the wall. Warning signs stream into my head from the Oraculum's emergency network, advising me to stand clear of the shutters before I get crushed.
Now there's an idea. I thought as I turned around to watch my current foe twist around its back so it could face me. It growled before leaping in for the kill, whatever meager firepower I have left not enough to stop it from killing me. That purplish claw soared through the air, tip aimed right at my head and ready to pierce through when it abruptly jerked sideways, thrown far away from my face. The culprit responsible proved to be a Marauder Missile, launched some ways away from a back I knew all too well.
I laugh at my luck and accidentally disengage my maglocks, tilting forward as my little anti-grav engine tried its best to keep me afloat. Just then, a roar even louder than Maviosa' singing came from the seams in the walls, floor, and ceiling. Giant shutters of reinforced alloys slid into place from every side, interlocking with each other and sealed into place at the molecular level. This happened several more times until the entire railway transport hub was sealed tight with no means to escape.
"Cage is set. Begin the vacuum." RS-A1's voice came through the team's comm channel. With the authority given to her by the Oracle, our surroundings began to consume the air itself, lowering the pressure more and more until finally silence reigned inside the room where once cacophonies reigned. The transformed thralls looked no worse for wear, though not much could be said for the organic ones as well those survivors that still breathed air to live. The star of the show, Maviosa, looked particularly enraged as he shouted again and again to no avail, suffering a full-blown celebrity meltdown right in view of everybody as down comes the pain. Every way there was to kill a man was used indiscriminately against the target, no volume of bullets fired too high, no power output used too much, and no explosion too big for this foe. Eventually RS-A1 gave the order to halt as it became clear from the white-hot crater my team's assault left behind that we have achieved our objective, and could now begin the clean-up process, as well as saving the survivors.
Well, the ones that are left anyway.
