Michael.

The first hour of daylight began to creep in past the horizon and onto the vast expansive desert before them. A stark contrast to the light of the explosion from before, whereas the light from that had felt ominous and threatening there was something peaceful and calming from the sun’s own light. As though it were the conclusion of some ancient battle between two forces of light rather than between the typical fictitious light and dark sides. But long before that, the stars had faded from sight as the first glimpse of light started turning the sky all sorts of pastel purples and oranges.

The moon, Charybdis hung stubbornly at its zenith as though it were peering down on the group with a curious crescent eye. Michael’s heart still thumped in his chest ferociously after his near-death experience and he found that his hands, though replaced with carbon fiber mesh weaves and titanium ceramic rods that acted like his bones, surrounded by plates of porcelain and rubber that mimicked his original skin colour couldn’t stop shaking. Combine that with the thrilling detonation of the largest non-nuclear explosion he had ever seen occur so close to him it was no wonder why his heart was in a perpetual state of agitation and stress. Every part of him seemed to tremble with anticipation and nervousness. Wondering where the next threat to his life would come from and how to evade it.

Michael wondered if this was normal for his heart to remain in a constant active state for so long; He knew the long-lasting effects of medications were a call for concern but he never did figure out if his heart racing was also a bad thing. In the end, he tried to refocus himself and his breathing in order to bring it down a few beats per minute but found it to be an exercise in futility. Sand had started seeping in through every crevice and gap in his shoes and he could feel the coarse, granular texture rub between shoe and skin. Except, it wasn’t skin either.

His real arms, legs, and various organic bits were cut off and disposed into a biohazard waste bin somewhere back in Balko’s capital city, rotting away and attracting all sorts of insects to feast on them. Something about that seemed so distasteful to Michael. Granted it was not as though he was dead and someone had desecrated his remains but he couldn’t help but feel that his discarded organic components were deserving of a more dignified respect. Like a part of him he wished to give a farewell to instead of rotting away in a plastic bag marked for incineration. Something about it made him feel like what was taken away from him needed to be respected more.

On the outside, he was given arms with retractable blades, legs that had inbuilt acoustic dampeners, and smaller implants attached to many of his major organs with small pumps to inject whatever chemicals were needed at the time. Michael despised all the mechanized bodily augmentations that had become the norm in human society these days and had hung on to the hope that one day the rest of the world would see things as he did, but after the invasion his brother had insisted he go through with it and have himself augmented to increase their chances of survival in an otherwise hostile world.

It had felt like a betrayal of his beliefs and he felt like a hypocrite for it. He was already self-conscious enough as it was to know that if his younger self had saw him now he would have been disappointed and shocked beyond belief, possibly try to do everything to avoid meeting this outcome. But, he had to begrudgingly admit that undergoing the process might have saved his life once or twice, something he was never going to admit out loud lest he never hear the end of how the opinion of his brother is always the right one.

Michael took a sip from his water canteen and looked around, scanning his surroundings. With each step he took, he felt as though he was forcing himself upward forcefully and swore he could feel a strange tugging sensation from the implants inside him. Though Thomas would claim it was all in his head, Michael could swear that he could feel the implants bounced up and down with each step he took like a weight that wasn’t meant to be there, tugging along his organs. It was an alien sensation but one that didn’t seem to make him nauseous, which Michael was grateful for.

“We will need to pick up the pace!” Ghilya said loudly. “It gets really hot here and its still a few hours away.”

Ghilya briefly glanced at him before returning her gaze to the front. Michael could have sworn he saw grief in her eyes like he had never seen before. Deep and profound, it was as though staring at them for too long would drag him under the ocean of depression and struggle to breathe under the waves of sadness batting him around like a piece of driftwood. Instead, he kept his gaze forward and continued to march forward.

When the sun came up it illuminated everything brightly. No clouds in the sky were present to provide temporary shade or relief, any moisture that was to be had had long since evaporated.

The river they followed all the way to the Great Dividing Mountains did not proceed beyond the mountains. Leaving them to be without any source of hydration in the sparse, dry, desert. Clarke was the first to show signs of tiredness and fatigue, his cherry red skin and constant perspiration would have been cause for alarm had it not been so obvious just how out of shape the senior politician was.

Oddly enough it was neither him nor Michael that was the first one to complain about the sweltering heat. Instead it was Thomas who opened his mouth to whine.

“Fffffuuuucck!” He shouted skyward with a long drawl. “Its too fucking hot!”

Each of us glanced at him with a deep scowl.

“I know!” Michael replied, his voice tired and annoyed in equal measure. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat dripping freely from his face. “We’re all hot and bothered, just keep going.”

Thomas said nothing. His exhausted state preventing him from firing back any witty remark.

Michael was looking forward to the safety and security of this old military outpost that Ghilya was leading them toward. Though, in light of his previous experience with ancient human dwellings this far out he had tempered his expectations in favour of lichen-covered stone that would be thick enough to withstand direct explosive attacks. He even expected it to have holes and partially collapsed walls after decades or centuries of neglect. But as long as the roof was still there and providing some shade then it was all Michael could hope for.

Given the stillness of the air and the absence of any sound aside from the group’s feet shuffling through the sand it took Michael by surprise he didn’t hear the wings of a dragon approaching.

“Get down!” Ghilya whispered harshly.

Thomas and Clarke looked back at her for a moment before adjusting their view toward the sky. There it was, over the mountains they had climbed, a trio of dragons flapping their wings hard before nose diving along the mountain. They shot at velocities Michael struggled to estimate and did as Ghilya said. He threw himself to the steep incline of a sand dune and pressed himself flat.

“Bury yourselves!” Ghilya commanded.

The three men looked at each other in confusion before Ghilya repeated herself. Michael shuffled his whole body in the sand like a worm to partially submerge himself in the granular ocean. Where he couldn’t sink, he used his arms to fling sand over himself while silently cursing how dirty he was getting. He did not like this.

Ghilya stood up and kept a firm gaze on the approaching trio of dragons.

“Aren’t ya gonna bury yourself, missy?” Thomas asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

Ghilya shook her head. “I can be out here in broad daylight. None of you can.”

As soon as she had turned her back on them, Michael had taken the opportunity to roll his eyes in annoyance at her. The way she had said it came off to him as something akin to a boast. ‘I can be here, I am allowed to. You aren’t, so there!’. He could imagine her sticking her tongue out in a juvenile fashion like a child bragging about what they can do and what other’s cannot. It was not as if he had deliberately forgotten the nature of their journey, with the threats and dangers present it was clear to him just how far out of their league they were.

The dragons kept getting closer. They had to be within a kilometre of them, he could almost make out their details and features from here. Ghilya stood around and inspected her own equipment to make herself look busy for when they flew overhead. Was she afraid if she didn’t look busy then the dragons would find her suspicious, or was she perhaps taking the time to do a mental inventory of her gear while she had the time? Or perhaps the most disturbing outcome that came to mind was the possibility that she was preparing to fight them.

Michael found himself nervous at this outcome because if they came too close to the ground then the dragons would see them and they would be easy pickings while Ghilya tried to fight them off. As subtly as he could, Michael shifted his arms under the sand so if a fight were to occur then he could spring into action as quickly as he could. The dragons drew closer, their colours more prominent now, horns and other ornamental details started to take focus and shape. The one in the centre that Michael categorized in his head as the leader was a black dragon with bright orange accented scutes and wing membranes. Several bands of gold pierced its hide in many places giving it the appearance of a dragon punk. He could see the jewel encrusted rings on its lip and studs dotting along the eye ridge, each one glimmered in the sunlight like a miniature star radiating its own light. It made Michael think that it would help spot him and his brother and Clarke if they were illuminated by the reflection. They were almost right on top of them and then... They continued on. The sounds of their wings flapping grew distant until he strained his hearing trying to pick up any sound that wasn’t the gentle hiss of sand moving.

Ghilya looked hard in the direction that the dragons went, she placed a hand on her forehead to shield her eyes and leaned forward. After a few seconds she turned to look at us and gestured for us to come out of the sand.

The time it took for them to clean the sand out of every crevice, every niche, every pocket on them had taken nearly ten minutes of trying to rid themselves of sand. He hated it from the coarse texture and its ability to get into every crevice it could find. Though he hadn’t checked yet, Michael was certain he would find sand in his pants and rubbing against his skin in uncomfortable ways that he wasn’t comfortable checking right now.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

They continued on, the heat from the sun reflecting off the sand amplified its power ten fold.

The sand dune they ascended looked to be over twenty metres tall at a rough estimate, though Michael was certain that it was more than that if he actually measured it. There was no way around it as it looked to be hundreds of metres wide like an imposing barricade made of sand. Michael entertained himself with the idea of tunneling through it then shook his head as though to rid the stupid idea from his mind. When the group had reached the peak of the dune, they were able to see everything for kilometres in every direction, if there was anything worthy of noting then it was not visible to them for all they saw was sand.

Except, that it was not all they could see.

At the base of the sand dune the ground had flattened itself out into hard dirt with dry, spindly looking shrubs sparsely placed around the circumference. In the centre of the dirt bowl was their goal: The old outpost.

It looked larger and even more decrepit than the one Michael saw last time back in the jungle. There was no moss or lichen covering the thick concrete exterior of the blocky building and there didn’t seem to be any sign of damage that could provide a breach in security, at least none that he could see from here. The building was shaped like a small warehouse made of feet-thick concrete and steel that shared a domed glass roof in the centre and a rusting radio tower. The front of the structure looked partially buried under mounds of sand that had piled up over the years.

“That’s it?” Clarke asked with disbelief. “That place is going to be infested with sand mites or something.”

Thomas replied. “Its all we have for the time being, so unless you want to take your chances and keep on going-“

Clarke waved his hands placatingly, almost like a gesture of surrender. “No, no. I was just... Uhh... Making an observation, uhm, regarding the accommodations.”

Thomas snorted. “What you mean is that this is far removed from what you are used to back home. No continental breakfast, no masseuse, no room service? Just how on Munhiero will our beloved representative of the people survive such... austere conditions?”

Michael stifled a laugh.

Clarke shot a dirty look back at Thomas that Michael could easily distinguish as unamused. When he spoke, the disdain for the comment was even more prevelant. “ Hey, I’ve lived in sparse places before. I’ve been to some seedy hotels when I travelled across country. I’ve been to third world nations where plumbing is the height of their technological achievement. I’ve been to the moon base, dammit! That was no five star accommodations I can assure you.”

“It still sounds so unbelievable that you were able to achieve this.” Ghilya said sounding a little sullen. “I mean, just how far has human science gone? You can replace limbs and fly to the moon. Wagons that can fly and guns... Your bombs.”

When Michael heard that, he didn’t think about what to say next. It was as though his body went to auto mode and selected the first random subject generated from a list of ‘anything but that’ and went with it.

“Heeey! So, have you been to the Dragon Lord’s lair, Ghilya?”

“...Yes, I have.” She sounded puzzled and gave Michael a strange look. “I am pretty certain I have told you this before.”

“Oh good, well at least we won’t have to worry about getting lost. You are familiar with the way, yes?”

“Yes, I know where to go.”

Clarke cleared his throat. “So are we working on our tans here or are we going to go inside and get some sleep. I think I feel a yawn coming on.”

He let out a long yawn that stretched his mouth wide open and held it for a few seconds like a snake stretching its mouth muscles. Michael saw the tendons in Clarke’s neck tense like suspension cables before his mouth closed. Like an infection, Clarke’s yawn seemed to have infected Michael and he yawned too, causing Thomas to follow up. Ghilya didn’t seem fazed or she was holding it in.

Thomas shifted his posture where he stood. “Hey, Mikey. Can you zoom in and spot anything that might give us trouble in there?”

Exposure to the sunlight helped stave off the sleeplessness for a bit but now that the sun was draining them of their energy it was leaving them in a near purgatory state between wakefulness and sleepiness. Michael did his best to keep his eyelids from closing over his vision to briefly scan the outpost. It had been weeks since his surgery and still after everything that had happened to him, using the ocular implants and zooming in on a target had been disconcerting to say the least. It had felt like he was traveling towards whatever he was viewing at a great velocity and his body would tense as though he was preparing to collide with it. His heart hammered and he started breathing heavily in anticipation of an impact that would never come.

When his stomach had settled, Michael carefully looked over the old outpost intently. A cursory inspection revealed nothing new that he hadn’t been able to ascertain from afar but he was able to take in new details that spoke of the history of this building. The front of it, though partially buried in sand, reminded Michael of medium sized police stations with a set of stairs leading to an exposed area in front of a set of double doors that most likely held a waiting room or reception behind them. The stony construction still looked sturdy despite the many decades of neglect, and unlike its rainforest counterpart it didn’t have any exposed holes in the walls. Towards the back of the building where it appeared to have been buried in the sand dune like it was being consumed by a wave that had suddenly stopped, the base of the radio tower was wider and less rusted than its other counterpart. Whereas that one was tall and thin, this one appeared to be wider at the base and its antennae and radar dishes atop reminded Michael of a early model mobile cell tower. Suspension cables hung taut from the base of the array to the roof of the building, for the supposed age of the building, Michael was impressed that it was still standing after all this time.

“I can’t see anything different.” He eventually said with an uncertain shrug. “It just looks abandoned with no one around, no structural damage that I can see.”

Without saying another word, Thomas made his way towards the structure with everyone closely following behind.

When they arrived under the sheltered front area, it started to hit more closely just how neglected this structure was. Michael spotted a raised moat that ran parallel the two walls leading to the front door and spotted the spindly and twig-like remains of some kinds of plants that had long since dried up and died. Perhaps when this place was operational the occupants had proper greenery and had kept them watered regularly.

Thomas approached the glass double doors with a casual gait, when the doors didn’t part wide open as expected he merely leaned forward and pressed his face up against the glass to see inside. A part of him had expected to see some faint movement behind the thick layer of dirt encrusted over the glass to suddenly leap out and shatter the glass in a bid to attack them but nothing came of it. Still, Clarke and Ghilya had their fronts facing outwards for any sign that someone or something was coming this way, not thinking that a third set of eyes was necessary, Michael approached the glass next to his brother and peered into it. Faint, distinct shapes took place but the thick layer of dirt on the glass obscured too much for him to make out anything with accuracy. Thomas pushed himself off the glass and approached the centre of the double doors and widened his legs, he was able to work his fingers into the gap and made a muted grunting sound.

“Michael!” He grunted with effort. “C’mere and help me with this. Pull out your blade and try using it to help pry this door open a little.”

Michael had never once considered using his Ithinite blade as a lever before and he was hesitant to comply mainly of fear of snapping it in this attempt or damaging the mechanism that held it within his forearm. He complied with Thomas nevertheless and carefully forced the serrated blade in-between the two door frames. Trying to twist it to create a big enough gap for Thomas to get his fingers in was a strange sensation. The stress of doing so could almost be felt in each and every one of the mechanical components that made up his arm, when he had achieved an ideal gap he was eager to retract the blade and assist his brother in prying the door open. The door frame budged little by little, an ear piercing shriek let out by the dried up and disused bearings made Michael constantly scan for anything that might be hiding or resting that could hear the noise and come running. The door widened from an inch wide gap to three, to a foot wide until it was just wide enough for everyone to shimmy their way in before closing the doors behind them.

Inside the outpost, the shade provided a much needed relief whose effects were already being felt by Michael. He could hear the others let out a soft breath of relief as well which was good to hear.

The three humans of the group activated the flashlights attached to their guns and found the room they were in looked to be some kind of reception area. There was a desk in front of a wall with the old military logo of the Balko armed forces; A five-point star surrounded by two chains. On the right side of the reception desk were multiple bollards that lined up the pathway to go around and behind the desk. No, not bollards: turnstiles.

They each seemed to be missing their barricade which allowed for the group to walk through them easily. The room behind them was illuminated by sunlight coming in through the sand stained domed ceiling. The room was round with a round elevated platform surrounded by a thin railing. Desks and computers lined the walls like some kind of command centre but there were more corridors and signage than the jungle outpost.

Neither Thomas or Clarke seemed at all interested in the round room and instead walked past it and down the hallway. There was something strange about this place, Michael thought to himself. It felt way too silent.

His stomach cramped with nervous energy, the feeling of being observed weighing inside him like a stone. The horripilation of his neck hairs unnerved him more than the abandoned facility they were exploring in.

“My god, look at these!” Thomas muttered more to himself than anyone else.

Thomas gave a closer look at the old cubical computers and desktop monitors with a look of amused interest. He hadn’t seen computers this old and in this good of a condition before. Technology made obsolete by centuries of progress. Michael was pretty sure that the enabler module in his submachine gun was more sophisticated than the combined processing power within this very room. Clarke approached Thomas from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I remember my dad still having one of these that worked when I was a kid.” Clarke said in a hushed but fond tone. “He used to have these games on CD’s, hundreds of them. I doubt you could find any of them nowadays.”

“What kind of games?” Michael asked.

“Uhhh, let me see... There was one called ‘Cold Protocol’, it was an old shooter where you explored a large wreck underwater and have to survive the remains of the crew. There was a few that were just math games and even an educational one about airports. Another fun one was called ‘Invasion of Planet Kappa’ where you played as a soldier on the frontlines where you have to kill these giant bugs that just come at you in massive numbers. Honestly, it was pretty impressive for a game of its time.”

“Do all your games involve violence and killing?” It was Ghilya’s turn to speak. She sounded curious and uncertain rather than disgusted. “Because it seems like its all your culture and entertainment seems to focus on.”

“Not everything is about blowing stuff up and shooting stuff. Some games are educational and some are relaxing. I’m more of a city builder kind of guy myself.” Thomas said, placing a hand on his chest at the end of his sentence. “There’s something about having everything exactly the way you want it, designed purely to fit your own creation.”

Everyone had moved on from the ancient computers and proceeded down the hall. After twenty feet of walking the air seemed to shift another degree lower as though the corridor was sectioned by various degrees of temperature. Michael was convinced that they were under the sand dune that swallowed up the rear end of the building. He wondered what hidden treasures or secrets lurked under the sea of sand, and if there were any comfortable places to sleep.

Rows of closed doors lined the walls of the corridor with what appeared to be a fire escape access at the very end.

“Clarke can you check the left side? I’ll check the right.” Thomas whispered in a hushed tone.

Michael approached his brother from behind and asked in an equally hushed tone. “What should I do?”

“Just watch our backs and be ready to come running if we need help. Same goes to Ghilya.”

And so he did. Watching them carefully open each door and inspect the rooms in succession made them look like plain clothes cops on their first day of the job. Each door could be opened easily via the handle and in the instance where one didn’t budge, neither Thomas or Clarke seemed to hold any reservations about kicking the door down or shooting the lock. Ten doors on each side and three had been inspected, Michael and Ghilya kept close to the elder men and occasionally glance into each room that had been opened, inspected, then cleared before moving on to the next one. Each room looked plain and unassuming; a miraculously pristine but dust covered office, a breakroom more confined than the one in Thomas’ clinic, another untouched office. The doorknob on the fifth door rattled quietly as Clarke tried to open it to no avail. He raised his revolver, took aim then shot the doorhandle and kicked the door open. He made a ‘phew!’ noise as he blew air out his mouth and waved one hand around his face.

“Fucking hell, that is rank!” He exclaimed.

Michael and Thomas approached the Senator with guns raised on the door and that was when the smell had hit them. It was as though a wall of every single repugnant scent had been thrown into together and left to fester and merge until it had all become one overwhelming stench. It made his skin crawl just being near it, his olfactory senses were so overwhelmed that it had translated into taste that nearly triggered Michael’s gag reflex.

“The fuck died in there!?” Thomas asked, his voice nasally from blocking his nose by pinching the organ together.

Though he really didn’t want to, Michael raised his flashlight in and recognised the small white tiles and cubical stalls that lined up the wall. There was no signage to indicate what this room was but judging by the mixed smell and the tiling all along the walls it was very obvious that whoever used this room last did not leave in as presentable a state as the surrounding offices. Nobody dared to look inside in fear of the sight being equally as unappealing as the smell itself and were equally enthusiastic to resume clearing rooms.

The final two left for Clarke didn’t need to be opened for there was no need to. Two brushed stainless steel double doors with a small touchpad on the side indicated these to be elevator shafts. Michael knew it was too much to hope that they would be in working condition but was happy to see them nonetheless. Thomas on the other hand, approached the fire escape and inspected the staircase. It went down to an abyss of pure black that seemed to consume light and sound, Michael wanted to let some spit dangle from his mouth and watch to see how long it would take for it to hit the ground before Thomas proceeded to head down the stairs.

One floor down, two, then three floors down. Each door on the landing was locked or obstructed on the other side, nobody knew for certain. By the time they had reached the seventh floor they had found the door to be left ajar slightly. A gentle breeze escaped through the narrow gap along with the familiar scent of industrial oil and the same musky smell that seemed to permeate the rest of this building. Thomas opened it up, the hinges croaked loudly in protest, joints that had been rusted and dried grinding loudly like a ghastly, ethereal moan making them all wince in anticipation at the potential consequence. There was a catwalk in front of them, the room was dark, and everyone brought their source of light up to bear and gasp at what they saw.