One of a scientist’s greatest fears was their work turning against them. We spend so much time with our products, our experiments, and our data that an emotional attachment begins to form. There is an invisible bond, a borderline obsessive compulsion to keep that work for ourselves. Yet, we have to remember that our products are tools, and their uses depend on the hands that hold them.
To have a product betray its purpose was almost like watching a child stray from its path. One could hope one day it would return, like a prodigal son or daughter, but often they stray too far to ever return to the original idea.
My mother had always loved her work products more than her own children. The things she constructed, designed, and even imagined seemed hundreds of years away yet she was determined to make it happen in her lifetime. She had missed all my fencing tournaments or science fairs. The only time I ever felt she had been happy to see me or Angelique was when we entered her lab. From there, all she talked about was work.
This violet glowing machine hanging from the epicenter of the ceiling was a product I never thought I’d really see again, let alone in a place like Colony Negative. I remember seeing it in the Deveraux Laboratories, the initial patent and design of a vacuum degassing machine commonly used for water treatment. But the idea was to use a similar technique to begin removing dissolved gasses from the air itself, not just liquids.
I remember the night it was showcased, half-buzzed off disgustingly expensive champagne and wanting nothing more than to return to my own studies. Investors lined out the door to all get their hands on this: military, industrial, ecological. All men in big and fancy suits with a line of money to throw at my mother. A machine like this could remove dangerous gasses from mines and oilfields, or assist the military industrial complex in stopping unethical gas attacks.
I suppose the only time I would have been happy to see this machine would have been Colony 599.
Now, I knew what it was really intended for: oxygen deprivation.
Damien Rok was right when this room was designed as a trap, clear to see now with the lights on and corpses strewn across the floor. I was able to briefly study the maps District Three scientists had left around of their compound and territory and determined this section to be the best shot of returning to our own main base. They would have known this was the route I was most likely to take, setting up the bait and I fell right in for it.
I focused not on Damien still struggling to gather his wits on the floor, hearing his audible breathing through what had once been my mask. There was no time to think about what I had done. I could hold my breath longer than him and I was familiar with this machine. If I could get close, I could stop this process and we’d both live. Leaving that up to him, in his current condition, would have been a death sentence to us both.
Our relationship was so oddly symbiotic. I think we were processing the four different relationship styles, first starting as competitive rivals. Maybe that’s what we still were back at base, with me in my lab and him in his intelligence office. There were moments when actually in the field that resembled parasitism, where we sickened each other to benefit ourselves. I think we both realized now that would get us nowhere.
Mutualism was the only way to survive.
With a sword in one hand, and my medical knife in the other, I had to climb these black walls until I could reach the top. From there, there were plenty of cave roots to help, if they were sturdy. In my mind right now, I wasn’t thinking about safety because there was none. If I didn’t do this, I would die. Damien wouldn’t be able to make the same honorable sacrifice I had just had to save me, and I didn’t want to wonder if he would even try.
The climb was exhilarating but I knew I had to conserve my oxygen, due to how limited it would soon become. It made me a bit reminiscent of my university days, escaping into the mountains with my sister and other colleagues to escape the burdens in our minds with a bit of nature. Angelique. Angie was my motivation to keep going. I had to do this for her.
The sword cut like butter into the metal, much easier than that welded bronze they had set up. The knife in my left hand was only used to hold my position temporarily before I could move the sword up. My boots often lost traction in the climb, the tip slipping against the flat surface which meant mainly my upper body was exerting most of this physicality.
But finally, I was close. My heart raced out of exhaustion. My head felt light, dizzy and confused. My oxygen was running low and so was the time I had. Once in reach to the cylindrical vacuum, I hung by one arm while the other let my knife gently scrape at the top near the secured mount. Just underneath was the chip interpreting data of what precise molecules and particles to attack. If I could remove or damage that, this machine would have nothing to construe.
I thought about just slashing my laser sword at it, but with the rate of fans spinning with velocity in this machine, it would most likely blow up in my face. Literally, not figuratively. This attempt might look suicidal, but it wasn’t intended that way. I had to undo the mistakes of my mother. I had to take her inventions and ruin them. Otherwise, I worried I’d become just like her.
With the world fading away around me, my knife finally felt the edge of the upper panel and pried it off. Oxygen was gone. My lungs burned, screaming at my brain to open my lips to gasp, but there would be no satisfaction in doing so. All I could do was choke on my own held breath. My fingers scratched the surface underneath the panel, needing to find wires, just three small wires intertwined in this well designed, killing machine.
And I found them. There was no time to cut. All I could do was utilize the last of the strength and rip the chip from its screwed-in position. I could feel my limbs go limp, succumbing to what felt like the beginning of a deep sleep. The hum from the machine stopped, and all I could feel was gravity pulling me down with no oxygen to scream from the fall.
I landed on weak, tired arms. Damien had mustered enough strength to break my fall, resulting in me landing on him as I practically slipped through his arms. I heaved and coughed for oxygen, almost fearing I had failed before hearing my lungs wheeze with delight. That vacuum glowed no more and I could exhale with relief.
We laid there for a moment, splayed on each other's backs as we let oxygen revitalize us. Both of us just wanted to rest there, close our eyes and sleep away the sins we had created and wake up refreshed and anew. But the sounds of distant growls and very faint screams was enough to force us to keep going. It’s all we could do.
Go and go and go, never get a moment of relief for ourselves.
“Fuck,” I mumbled to myself, rolling off him before looking at him.
He chuckled, surprising me given the fact we both almost just died.
“It’s not funny,” I retorted, rising to my feet before extending a hand to him. He looked so odd with my mask across the lower half of his face. It almost was too small, but it had done the job in providing him oxygen in a time he certainly needed it.
At that moment, I realized he was now seeing me in my monstrous form. There were only a few that really knew the true disfigurement of my scars. Damien Rok was the last person I had ever wanted to see this side of me. I couldn’t let his judgemental ego get to me with those immature comments of his. Yet, all I saw when I looked into those gray eyes was a softness and a hint of amusement, amusement for whatever he thought was funny.
“I just didn’t expect that to be the first words I heard from your lips,” he explained his chuckle, surprising me. Of course he had heard me converse, but the mask distorted the true pitch and tone of my voice. His own voice now was distorted by it. Only now, he’d have to hear my true voice until we could get the fuck out of here.
Once on his feet, he limped for a moment as he grabbed his sword before gently prying the mask off his face. He took a moment to admire the technology of it, before handing it to me with a soft smile.
“I suppose you’ll want this back,” he offered.
“It’s no use. It won’t recalibrate with my system. In order to quickly get it to register to you, I had to wipe its connection with my chip. I can’t establish connection until I get back to my room,” I explained, shying my eyes away from his gaze. I knew eventually his facade would fall. I knew eventually his eyes would speak the silent words I had seen from a lot of men.
“Oh,” he continued to look at me, “you didn’t have to-”
“I did. You would have died otherwise. The pain in your system was making you breathe harder and you wouldn’t have lasted as long as I did to turn that machine off,” I retorted, grabbing my things.
Upon grabbing my pack of supplies, my eyes caught Doctor Wueh’ corpse on the floor. A corpse I had killed, willingly shot to save my own skin and that of my military counterpart. I had scratched the itch, that horribly dangerous, contagious itch that would spread if I wasn’t too careful.
I wanted to go my whole life never knowing what it felt like to kill, never once dreaming of an anger that would provoke me in such ways. Today, it wasn’t anger that resulted in my poor judgment. It was fear. Perhaps the murder would have been easier for me to swallow if I had let him ultimately turn into an anathema and killed him then. By then, his soul was already dead.
That was the difference between anathemas and humans: souls.
And all of it had been for naught, the button was pressed anyways, and Wueh was dead. By my hands or a biohazard enzyme that consumed him, to him it did not matter. To me, it meant everything. A soul for a soul, and mine was just disfigured by this action.
Damien finished cutting the rest of the welded blockade enough for me to squeeze through, feeling him follow right after. We were free of District Three’s kidnapping, although I knew part of me went willingly. I didn’t know specifically how many days or hours they had held us. All I knew was that I wasn’t the same woman leaving as I had entered this compound.
We walked side by side, Damien with his rifle steady but we were beginning to feel safe (safe as we could) as most of the anathemas were probably drawn elsewhere. Elsewhere, being the slaughterhouse we just escaped. Barely escaped, actually. I was beginning to think maybe I did have some luck on my side, or if my knowledge mixed with the man next to me was enough. Just enough to survive.
“Go on, say it,” I sighed, knowing it was about time we got this discussion over with.
“Say what?” he asked, his head turning my way.
“Oh come on,” I rolled my eyes, “that it looks…or rather I look - fill in the blank with your favorite, derogatory adjective.” I had heard them plenty of times already. I thought maybe in the beginning without the mask people would understand. They didn’t. Mentors and colleagues in my own field had shriveled away with disgust.
Ugly. Ghastly. Disfigured. And my favorite from the one time I felt vulnerable enough to show a man I was once seeing: Revolting.
Damien Rok was silent for once and I thought he either didn’t hear me or was trying to avoid the conversation. Yet my eyes had met his, seeing him still gazing at me. His eyes stared but it wasn’t the kind I was used to: this odd sense of awe. No. He stared at me like he had since the day we met, and the lack of a mask didn’t seem to change that.
“You look powerful,” he finally said, looking forward as he seemed happy with his answer.
It wasn’t one I was expecting, most of all from him. I almost thought he was lying, but I knew from that initial interrogation with him he often looked to the left when lying. He had said that straight to my face with belief.
We said nothing else to each other for a while as I tried to piece together his words, only navigating this labyrinth together. The only time we really did speak was when figuring out which way to go, but that was hardly an argument. Damien was very quick to trust my judgment. In all honesty, he seemed just as exhausted as me and had no energy to argue. It wasn’t until we walked a very long, straight hallway and entered a chamber of extending tunnels: a foyer, so to speak.
“This looks familiar,” Damien hummed quietly, looking around.
“We’ve seen like five of these already,” I noted, but noticed his intrigue. He glanced around before his eyes stopped at an imprint in the wall. There was a large impact, about the size of a human as if it were thrown into the wall. Dried blood was at the bottom, but no body was found.
“Huh, there was a body here last time,” he mentioned. No doubt that body was now a roaming anathema, one to be careful of.
“Are you sure this is familiar?” I asked, seeing him nod assertively, “Do you remember which one you came from?”
He took a moment to perouse his memory, trying to remember which tunnel he must have exited at the right angle to view that dent in the wall. Or rather, what had been a corpse. He finally decided on the most eastern tunnel, which made sense.
“I think it was this one,” he hummed, “and then I took that tunnel over there.”
“Why did you take that tunnel? That wouldn’t have taken us back to where we came from,” I questioned.
“Well there was a corpse and I figured for safety’s purpose, given I was carrying an unconscious scientist over my shoulder, it would be best to go the opposite of where the corpse was flung from,” he explained himself, his tone a tad defensive.
“Okay okay, I’m not questioning your judgment,” I clarified, raising my hands in slight surrender.
“Mhm, sure,” he smirked softly, limping back towards the tunnel he remembered and I followed suit.
Eventually, we had to stop. The exhaustion between the both of us was growing and ultimately we had no choice. We needed to eat, sleep, and most of all recover to unpack everything that just happened. Damien assured us we were close and I believed him, so we found a small room with one door. It only took ten minutes to open with a panel but it was secure enough for the time being. It was just a bit cramped, practically side by side in a small storage room. But safety came above our wants.
“Still nothing on your datapad either?” he sighed, glancing down at his data which was useless unless he wanted to perouse hundreds of intelligence files. Both our comms were disconnected, so our best chance was finding a team-member alive either above or below the surface. Preferably above.
“No,” I shook my head, unpacking some of my things for the night. The datashard Wueh had given me was tucked in my own boots and I finally decided to pull that out.
“I guess we'll just have to wait,” he groaned as he sat down.
“Here,” I pulled a Stimuli from my pack, “I took it from District Three’s supply. That should stop your moaning and groaning.”
“Oh, so thieving is only okay when you do it,” Damien teased, accepting it, “I saw that look you gave when Grimes mentioned missing a protein shake.”
He began to strip all of his armor and I did my best to disgracefully look away. Yet, the reflection of my datapad with the minimal glow lights we laid around was enough to see his muscles contort with his tight gray undershirt and briefs. Not to mention the extent of his injuries. That left side of his looked worse than before, the shock Wueh had given in that final chamber catalyzing the pain further. At that point I couldn’t help but look over with sympathy.
“You sure you don’t want it? I thought without your mask that…your pain is worse?” he asked hesitantly. I was honestly a bit surprised he remembered that.
“It would only be a temporary reprieve,” I shook my head, hating how the sweat drenched across his shirt only made his muscles more apparent, “with you it should begin the healing process and you’ll feel better in no time.”
Damien Rok was built. Not that odd body-builder style of muscles often seen in magazines, television stars, or even male sex models. His muscles were most apparent when using them. Perhaps if he had followed a strict diet, he’d look just like one of those bodybuilders with only ten percent of body fat. The fact he didn’t look like that meant he valued delicious food over strict nutrition, and I admired that.
He was attractive, I’d give him that. Certainly not enough to even tempt me, like he’d even want to try.
He stabbed himself in the thigh with the stimuli, getting as close to the bullet wound as he could. He did so without hesitation, unlike when he didn’t want to stab my thigh with that medical device of Garcia’s. Another long silence fell between us as I began to open my rationings which were nothing more than dried fruit, crackers, and overly salted pork. He demolished his rations before I even began touching the crackers.
“It was an intelligence report from Sabbath, a paragraph with the word anathema typed inside it all,” I finally spoke, realizing he didn’t exactly know the context floating around in my head, “That’s what made me hesitate. Wueh showed me Sabbath documentation that had a term, as far as I know, that only District Five uses.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that report,” Damien nodded in understanding, “We accessed it a few days after I gave you that helmet. My team is aware that intelligence is leaking somewhere. Doctor Wueh showed that in hopes to convince you that I probably still worked for them.”
“You knew about it? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, although I knew deep down why. I didn’t have the necessary clearance, according to Milithreat intelligence guidelines. And…because I was a primary suspect.
“It wasn’t that I thought it was you. Okay, maybe briefly I did,” he sighed, before scratching his head with slight shame, “and…even now I wondered too, until you brought it up that’s why you hesitated. I saw the way you looked at my tattoo and then you easily took apart that Oxy-Vac-”
“That’s what they fucking decided to call it?” I rolled my eyes, before shaking my head myself. It was all beginning to make sense. All of it. I had seen a snake tattoo multiple times in my life, from childhood to adulthood, amidst small circles or even in large parties. Whether on the backs of necks, insides of wrists, subtle or blatant like Damien’s chest. All of them lingered in the grass around my mother, and she welcomed them in. In fact, she embraced them and their investors greater than any other business venture.
I always thought her to be some materialistic snob, yet Sabbath had appealed to her without large sums of money. That kind of appeal for power was greater than any temptation of material items.
“My mother worked for Sabbath,” I finally answered, the words like a punch to my own gut. I should have known. All the signs were there, signs that I ignored. I hadn’t loved her so I focused on my own path and studies, on my own work. There was a part of guilt that resided in that fact. Maybe I could have changed something. Maybe I could have done something differently. If I had been a better child, or if I had been maybe even more rebellious maybe…
No. I was a fucking child. I didn’t know any better, but she did.
She wanted to make the world a better place and worked with a District that only had one worldview: their own.
“You didn’t know until now,” Damien’s voice was soft, oddly understanding. He could see how much it pained me, pained me more than the scars aching deep into my skin, muscles pulling and burning all at the same time.
“Maybe I always knew and just ignored it. The conclusion was staring at my face the entire time and my mind was still focused on everything else,” I took a deep breath, “I could be wrong. But I don’t feel like I’m wrong about this.”
“I’m sorry to say…but I don’t think you’re wrong,” Damien said, “you don’t have a file in Sabbath databases. At least, not full of information not commonly known. And there’s only two reasons I can think of why a person wouldn’t be in there. The first: they work for them already. The second is a top-notch Sabbath scientist wrote in their contract to prohibit information of relatives. Your mother would have been worried someone would have used you to get to her, so she removed any knowledge of being connected with you.”
“Yeah well, it makes me wonder if that did happen,” I muttered to myself.
He looked like he wanted to ask more about that, but out of politeness for my feelings hesitated. I had to get it out anyways, while the thoughts were still fresh on my mind and anger on the tip of my tongue.
“After my…incident, I awoke from a comatose state to the news that my parents died. Rather, my father killed my mother before turning the gun on himself. Investigators concluded my father must have been upset about what happened to me, argued with my mother, and in a violent act of passion killed her. They didn’t find any details as to what could have caused his reaction, it was all based on assumption. My father was a very soft, quiet man who loved mathematics more than he loved people. Killing wasn’t really in his nature.”
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I felt a tear escape my eyes and immediately brushed it away, feeling anger overcome me instead. I shouldn’t be upset. They weren’t good parents, even though I knew that. But I missed the desire for them to be good parents. I remembered all the nights I just wished they’d give an ounce of love or attention to my sister and I. We both never felt deserving of it.
Damien shifted awkwardly, moving closer to me, “Well, what about your sister. You still have her, right?”
“What?” I sniffled momentarily, glancing up at him knowing I had never mentioned Angelique to him.
“Sorry, but…that day I went to give you lasagne, David mentioned you were on a call with your sister. I didn’t want to interrupt that. And the fact he said I wasn’t allowed in the lab, I didn’t want to make a scene,” he explained, “I apologize if bringing her up is a problem.”
That seemed to clarify more than him just digging up files of information on me, which I knew he was capable of. Yet everything he seemed to know about me were from things I told him, or things he observed. He’d never once shared something about me that I didn’t bury in my closet of skeletons. Either he did dig and was very good about keeping those secrets, highly plausible for a man in intelligence. Or maybe everything he wanted to know about me was something he’d wanted to hear from my disfigured lips.
“Here,” I pulled out my datapad, going through some folders within folders before finding more personal items. I pulled up an old photograph, one taken from my camera, that had both of us on Colony 501 at the peak of Mount Genesis. It was before the incident, before I…well I lost a lot that day.
“Wow, you’re twins,” Damien smiled, inching closer to look at the photo. I knew what he was thinking. Angelique Deveraux was a man’s dream. She had probably had a boyfriend for most of her life to some extent all the way through university. Her hair was longer than my own, skin and face much fairer although she still had that sharp Deveraux jawline like myself. She was just…warmer. She had a warm smile, soft eyes, and most of all a very welcoming heart. She loved, well, loves people. She didn’t really hate a soul in the entire world, even our parents.
“Go ahead, say it. She’s drop dead gorgeous,” I laughed softly, feeling my own cheeks grow sore upon looking at her. She was beautiful, both inside and out.
“Yeah she is. But…” he paused. I could see his eyes linger towards the right side of the photograph, the side I stood on. I’m sure he’s seen photos or evidence of what I looked like before my tragedy, so this shouldn’t surprise him too much. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem my type. She looks too nice, I’d be worried about breaking her heart.”
“At least you seem self aware. Do tell, Damien Rok, how many women's hearts have you smashed into smithereens?” I teased.
“I think I’ve disappointed several, but never shattered. I never let it get that close to be so damaging,” he blushed slightly.
“Well, when I tell Angie I think she might be disappointed but I’ve already warned her you seem like a one and done kinda guy,” I nudged him, “she will have to cope.”
“Tell her I’m flattered then,” he smiled softly, his eyes watching me and not the photograph now, “and tell her that…you saved my life.”
“In order to tell her that, I’d need to tell her that you saved mine first,” I retorted, but kept my tone soft. I wanted to let him know that I was thankful, just as thankful as he sounded for me.
“You didn’t have to do what you did, Jacqueline. You could have grabbed a sword, forced your way out, and not look back,” he explained.
“You’re right. I could’ve. But I went through so much lying and effort to prevent you from being thrown into that anthema cage, I wasn’t just going to let you go to waste. And again, you also saved me. You could have easily left me and didn’t. This makes us even.”
He paused for a moment, still looking at me. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, but the more nostalgic kind. He eventually grabbed his datapad, staying close as he went through files of his own. And not just personal files, but Sabbath files. That was clear from the classification markings at the top and the snake emblem sprinkled all over.
What he showed me was a photograph of himself, similar to getting a new photo and identification card on the first day of a new job. But instead of eager enthusiasm to get to work, there was only a look of frightfulness in a young boy's eyes.
“This was me. Or rather, is me. This was my first day in Sabbath. I was nine, I think,” he pointed at the youngest mugshot of him. He looked scared, a child who didn’t know where he was or who he was with. His face was littered with bruises, indicating maybe a lack of discipline or respect resulted in the injuries. Yet there was a bit of determination in his eyes, a hope for survival.
“Your eyes were blue then,” I observed with a soft smile, “You have a little bit of blue now but…not as strong.”
He smiled softly in return, switching to the next photo, “This was me at sixteen, after passing all my training and becoming an agent.”
That once scared little boy had changed into a man, or rather a boy who cockily believed he was one. He had that infamous Damien Rok tilt of the head, devilish smirk, and the sensation of being on top of the world. It was typical of most teenagers to feel that way. With his environment growing up, no doubt they fed his ego when he followed the rules and excelled well. Here, it looked like he had excelled.
“And then this was me at twenty-five…after my first mission as a lead,” his voice grew quieter. It was clear to see why as he went to the last photograph. There was a stark difference from the last photo to that of before. Not only did the boy grow into a man, but he also had come to terms with just how brutal life was, how dreadful his upbringing had created. That cocky, on top of the world teenager was now a defeated, deflated man. His hair was longer, soft brown curls instead of the normal buzzcut, stubble across a tired cheek. He looked like a drunkard on the street, a young man who had wasted his early childhood and had no potential, no future to look forward to.
But in his eyes, they still held that bit of blue to them but there was so much dread. There was so much pain. Soft scars accompanied his appearance, near his eyebrows or neck. He had seen warfare outside of training simulations or games. He had lived in it, and reaped the consequences. He had seen more in a span of eight years than any man should experience in his lifetime.
The Damien Rok beside me didn’t look so defeated as in the previous image. There was a healthier glow about him, with that hint of teenage cockiness back in his humor. Milithreat seemed to have given him a new chance to move away from this past. His humor was one I brushed aside as some weird immaturity for a man his age. I was beginning to see it was his attempt to use humor as means of a coping mechanism.
“What was it like?” I asked with a whisper, looking at him to let him know that he didn’t have to answer. It was very apparent with what he had shown what it had been like, on a surface level. If he was willing to share further then I would listen.
“Your entire life is determined for you. You will wake up at the same time every day, and go to sleep at the same time. Your entire day is scheduled to the hour. Your food is pre-determined every day. If you were good, you’d get an overcooked, grisly steak. Bad, and you wouldn’t get to eat at all. Every day, we’d train. We’d shoot, we’d exercise, we’d learn to kill. Every single day, you’re told exactly what will happen,” he explained, trepidation laced in his voice, “for those without structure, without discipline, I suppose it was helpful. That’s how I viewed it anyway.”
“Determined by…that algorithm?” I asked quietly, hoping I wouldn’t get too far ahead of myself. But he nodded, telling me I was right.
“Yeah. The Machine: everything that algorithm predicts, states, determines, examines…anything it can evaluate is truth. It knows everything. It knew everything about me, what I wanted, what I lacked…what I’d do,” he whispered quietly, “at first I thought it was a bunch of bullshit. I thought it was just this dark magic that they used to control us. But you were right about science. Data isn’t wrong, is it?”
I knew those words we had spat at each other in that interview room all stemmed from this pain. The pain in his voice and his eyes, the memories of everything that had happened to him all came flooding back. My words to him then were probably stinging slaps in his face, words that I understood now to have caused him turmoil.
“This…was my brother,” he explained, pulling up a new photo lineup. A lineup with just one photo. In that photo was a much younger boy, possibly the age of six, holding a torn up stuffed toy in his arms with tears streaming down his face. There were no bruises on his porcelain skin, but the fear was apparent. “This was Scott, my younger brother.”
From the lack of more photos, it didn’t take much to determine that something had happened.
“I failed to protect him,” Damien sighed, “even worse, that algorithm was right. At the time, I got so cocky with that Machine. They’d sit us down whenever they liked, let us talk to it, challenge it. It was like playing with a god when they wanted us to pray with It instead. Like any rambunctious boy, we like to be defiant. So I challenged it. I mocked its abilities, I told it to predict something so impossible that if it ever happened, I’d believe. If this impossible thing would occur, then I would have no choice but to believe any prediction it made. When it told me this impossible task, I laughed in its face.”
The left hand upon his own knee trembled, and without second thought I placed my hand over his own.
“Damien you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I assured him. He knew that. Yet he was willing to share regardless. He was willing to share the insides of Sabbath, now truly knowing I wasn’t a part of that system, that I didn’t believe in their cause.
“It told me I would kill my brother one day. To me, that was impossible. This was my little brother. I protected him every day, took punches and fought anyone that cursed at him. He’s a lot like Angie, I think. He had a very kind soul, and didn't really ever want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to get along with everyone and Sabbath didn’t like that,” he swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, “one day we were doing simulation training. They always had us in teams conducting missions, minor things like infiltrating compounds or hand to hand combat. Things to prepare us for the real missions that lay ahead. That day, it was just me against six combatants, my brother and his friends. They wanted me to prove I could win, despite being outnumbered.”
He took another long pause. His right hand flinched slightly, his primary index twitching as if he remembered the exact trigger squeeze that had killed him.
“The ammunition was live. It wasn’t a simulation, the lasers were real,” he admitted painfully, immediately turning off his datapad, “I didn’t know until the simulated mission was completed.”
“Damien, I-” I paused myself, not even knowing what to say. How could I? The man had unknowingly killed his own brother. What he thought had been a game turned into a nightmare. I could see why Sabbath did that, why they wanted him to make these decisions. They wanted to remove all attachments he had, both physical and emotional, and turn him into that machine I mistook him for.
I squeezed his hand, “You didn’t know. Damien, it sounds like they set you up. I was right when I said algorithms could be faulty, they’re not fool proof because they’re designed by humans. And we are very flawed beings. Whatever it had predicted, whatever it predicts…it’s not true. You still have free will. You can decide to be whatever you want to be. They wanted you to believe it was real.”
“And I fell for it. I fell for the party trick. I followed this god of data, obeyed its demands like the obedient son Sabbath wanted me to be. Every single thing it predicted after that: my first mission, the mission I got captured by District One…even the day I would leave Sabbath. It knew,” he shook his head, ashamed of himself, “it knew my birth because it created me. And it also knows my end.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked slowly.
“There’s a reason why this has been a struggle for me. I’ve never been a leader, I’ve worked better alone in the field. Intelligence wasn’t much of my strong suit, Milithreat just placed me where they thought I’d be less damage control. In Sabbath, I led squadrons, but most didn’t come back alive. Sabbath only cared if the mission was successful and I was in one piece. I know now what this data means to you, what you’re willing to do to get it. Even if it means betraying me, even if it’s lying or stealing. At least I know how strong you are,” he explained, finally looking my way again, “And I need you to know that I can’t be weak. I need to be strong too.”
“You are strong, Damien,” I assured him. I felt him squeeze my hand back in appreciation.
“Sabbath told me…forty days of judgment will arrive after I fail. I have never failed a mission under Sabbath, under Milithreat…even now on Colony Negative. I have not failed. Not yet. The first mission I will fail in my life, will be my last. Sabbath predicts forty days after I fail my mission, I will kill myself,” he admitted, his eyes dead serious on mine.
He wasn’t lying. This wasn’t some odd want for pity or compassion from me. He wasn’t telling me because he wanted my sympathy. He was telling me as a warning, a warning that he was going to do whatever it took to not fail. That’s why he carried me away when I got bit. That’s why he believed the bite wouldn’t make me turn. Believing I would turn into an anathema would ultimately fail his mission. And if he failed…
I now realize why even his medical data had pinpointed signs of depression, loneliness, and minor suicidal tendencies. I first thought he was just reckless and those decisions worsened his sense of control. Failure for most was a wound to improve upon. For him, it was a death sentence.
No. He wouldn’t fail. I couldn’t let that happen. I now realized I had to be careful, more careful than I was before with my own life. My brashness was tied to his own, in this odd, constricting vine-like relationship. We needed to entangle together to survive, but tangled too hard, someone was going to choke.
“That’s not going to happen, Damien,” I whispered, “This algorithm is just a machine, but I need you to think of it like a person. No person has ever stopped you, Damien Rok. If you’re going to defeat this predestined life of yours, you need to kill the control it has over you.”
“I know. I know. But it’s been twenty years of perfect predictions. Twenty years of seeing a lot of shit I wish I could get out of my head. And the only people out there that might understand my sentiments would be someone from Sabbath,” he shook his head.
“They might understand, Damien. But they won’t sympathize. To Sabbath, you’re nothing more than a tool for their grand design. And even if they’re not as powerful as they were decades ago, even if their reach for colonization is limited…they still exist,” I assured, “and you’re right, they may be the only ones to understand. I will never fully understand your pain, everything that you went through. But I can show compassion and still see your worth: worth as a human, not a tool.”
He nodded gratefully but didn’t look at me any further. I think both of us had reached our limit of sharing right now, and that was okay. I think I might have shared more than I intended, but I was also relieved Damien had shared with me. I knew Sabbath was bad, but I never knew it had gotten this deep. If only there was one way I could show him that algorithm was wrong, that he wouldn’t have to worry the day he failed.
Because he would fail, in one way or another. He was human, as was I, and this place we resided in only made the odds even worse.
“Have you thought about maybe talking about it with Grimes?” I offered, grabbing my blanket to start getting ready for rest.
“No. I don’t want him to see me in a different light,” Damien dejected the idea.
“Yet you shared it with me.”
He shrugged at that, “Sometimes, Jack, you feel easy to talk to. And other times, you’re a real pain in my ass.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I laughed softly, curling up against the wall, “Do try and get some rest, will you?”
“I’ll try,” he nodded, looking away from me. I thought with all the things and thoughts in my head, sleep would almost feel impossible. Yet, the exhaustion had been so overwhelming that sleep came easy. It was the dreams that haunted me. Long dark hallways, anathemas crawling and clawing at each side of me, chasing a young boy with dirty brown buzzed hair and sharp blue eyes.
In the end, I couldn’t save him.
-
When I awoke, it was to Damien’s hand clasped around my lips. The sensation shocked me, staggering slightly before seeing him silently shush. And I could see why there was a need for quiet.
A large moving object was right outside our door and in the hallway. Footsteps could echo in this place like light taps. Whatever this was sounded heavy, gigantic, and would brush against the walls, dragging its heavy nature with it. My heart accelerated at the sound, knowing a normal anathema wouldn’t sound like that, even if it was between the walls.
Eventually after a few minutes of vibrations feeling more and more distant, the sound faded along with it. Whatever monster had pushed its way in traversing these narrow halls was gone. Gone for now.
Damien eventually removed his hand, grabbing his things, “We should go.”
“While that thing is still out there?” I asked.
“It’s here whether we like it or not, and it’s heading the opposite of our heading. We should keep moving,” he insisted gently, and I wasn’t going to correct him.
“Did you get any sleep?”
“A bit,” he hummed, although it didn’t seem very satisfying, “it was a bit difficult given you curled up against my shoulder.”
“I did?” I asked with a horrified glance. I knew I was never really one for physical touch, it wasn’t exactly my kind of intimacy. At least, that’s what I had thought. People always say the right one will bring out those emotions and acts of love. I never found a single person that I even remotely connected with to think about that.
“It’s fine,” he insisted, not wanting to discuss it much further, “let’s move.”
So, we did. There was no time to really discuss what we talked about the night before. If anything, it felt like we left all those heavy thoughts and burdens in that small room. Maybe it had just been a brief moment where we regurgitated all the things that haunted us and we’d never return to that moment again. Like two trains crossing paths nearly colliding, we’d never meet at that same path again at that same time.
Finally, he was right in everything that looked familiar. And with a brightness seeping into the darkness of the halls, we were met with a very recognizable hole in the ground, or rather up into the fresh air. We had made it back, the same way we had entered days ago. Except the sound of roaring wind was above and that dampened our moods.
“A storm, that explains the lack of connection,” I sighed, knowing we’d either have to wait it out or maybe push through.
Damien found an odd shaped rock on the ground, a smooth stone before turning it over. On the back were etched symbols from a knife, one he seemed to recognize.
“What is that?”
“It’s a code, something Grimes and I use if we need to communicate with each other. Kind of like our sign,” he explained, smiling softly, “it basically says, if we are alive, he stationed that semi-broken Sioc above. We can get out of here.”
“Semi-broken is better than nothing,” I sighed with relief, “but what about the storm?”
“I think we should drive through it,” he explained, “the longer we wait, either in the Sioc or down here, the more and more our personnel might believe us to be dead. My datapad is also on the verge of dying.”
I didn’t really like the idea of blindly driving in a sandstorm to get back to our main base. But he was right. The longer we waited, executive decisions could be made outside our control. Even worse if they had sent a party out to go find us, thinking we were still out there somewhere.
A deep vibration was felt beneath our feet, similar to what we had awoken to just earlier. Whatever that thing was, it was coming back. There wasn’t enough time to come up with a secondary plan, only follow Damien’s guidance.
“It’ll have to do,” I whispered, securing my gear before looking up. It was a long climb up. If the rest of the crew was here, with that equipment it would be an easy glide to the top. Without them, well, we’d just have to climb by hand.
“Ladies first,” Damien offered, handing me the rope as he secured his own gear as well. But he made sure to have that rifle ready to fire if needed. Whatever was in these halls sounded large, large enough even his rifle wouldn’t even dream of penetrating. But I think both of us, as intrigued as we were, weren’t wanting to sit around and find out.
The climb was hard, my already sore muscles aching and burning but there was a sense in relief that Damien was close down below. He made sure not to jostle the rope with every movement up I made with his own weight, which was rather considerate of him. I almost couldn’t get that thought out of my mind: that Damien Rok was nicer than he acted.
His actions with Cole were seen as stupid, reckless, and him trying to control an environment that got way out of his hands. His hangover caused by undisciplined drinking was also seen as immature and sloppy. But I knew now that him losing Cole hit him harder than he’d admit, not because he hadn’t lost soldiers before. He was rather used to that. To me, it seemed the first time it happened under Milithreat direction.
His consequences from Sabbath haunted him like ghosts, and just as they plagued him when awake, I knew they did worse things in his sleep.
We can never truly escape our own monsters. Perhaps Colony Negative was the same.
The dust and debris chaotically blowing against my skin cut like fine needles. The only solace was reaching the Sioc and sitting beside the tire while the vehicle took most of the storm damage. Damien eventually followed suit, unlocking the back doors by pressing a few coded buttons. We climbed in with heavy breaths, taking just a brief respite before he moved to the front seats.
It was then that I noticed we didn’t have any keys for it.
Damien didn’t seem to care, getting underneath the seat and pulling a panel away, like a mechanic getting dirty. Only instead of engine parts to play with, it was electrical components to mess with. The engine eventually purred with life, and so did the screens surrounding us.
“Thank you Grimes,” Damien sighed to himself, getting in the main seat before pointing to the co-pilot spot, “buckle up, doctor.”
“Our navigation is practically useless and we can barely see out the windows,” I sighed, tightening the seat belt, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Positive. I may not know much about the tunnels underneath, but I know my way around this surface,” he grinned, “sorry to say, we’re all out of helmets.”
“Hah,” I rolled my eyes, “Don’t drive so fucking stupid this time. Just tell me what I need to do.”
“Work on the comms,” Damien set the Sioc into drive, “see if we can establish something, even if spotty.”
“Yes sir,” I enthusiastically replied, figuring it was useless.
Damien drove with speed, but not the same as that chase we had weeks prior. He remained well balanced in his driving, adjusting speed to the amount of limited visibility, while also letting his muscle memory come into play. Comms were alive, but not necessarily awake. It wasn’t until we slowly began to reach the outer urban perimeter there was an opening.
“District Five Control, do you read me?” I asked into the provided small microphone.
Static.
“Control, this is Doctor Jacqueline Deveraux. Does anyone read me?”
“Holy shit,” a muffled voice broke through, “Patch in Kylie, now.”
A brief pause: “This is Ruenova.”
“Ruenova, this is Deveraux and Agent Rok.”
“Heh, well I’ll be. What’s your status?” she had an amused, surprised tone.
“Heading your way now, actually,” I replied, seeing Damien’s focus, “We will need those hangar bay doors open soon.”
“We’ve got fragile cargo in there. The storm might-”
“Ruenova, open it from the test settings. That will mitigate any damage,” Damien spoke over me.
There he goes again, taking risks.
“That’s a very short window,” Ruenova noted, “But you have three minutes. If not, you’ll have to sit tight for a few more hours.”
That wasn’t exactly in our plan. What I wanted more than anything was a hot shower and to put a new mask on, fall asleep to soft jazz and forget this ever happened. Yet, everything about this place insisted plans were not to be followed.
“How far out are we, do you reckon?” I asked Damien.
“Four minutes,” he replied, stepping on the gas now, despite the Sioc constantly losing traction, “I need you to turn the turbo on.”
I sighed, but moved to that panel to mimic what I had seen Owen do weeks ago. I knew by now not to question Rok’s judgment, knowing this turbo was meant to gain momentum, not speed. But at this moment, it didn’t matter. We both just wanted to go back to our temporary home.
“Let me know-” I lurched to the side as Damien swerved, barely missing a ditch in the ground that would have permanently stalled us. My hand immediately braced his upper arm in the process, clenching to his armor.
“Sorry,” he apologized for once, stepping back on the gas again.
“I’d ask where you learned how to drive…” I muttered, but had a small smile on my lips.
“I’m glad you asked, Jack. I don’t actually have a proper license,” he retorted. At first I thought he was joking, but now it was all starting to make sense. For an unlicensed driver, he was holding himself well. “Alright, turn the turbo on now and brace yourself. Should only last about thirty seconds but it’s all we need.”
I did as he said, still bracing to his shoulder as the Sioc immediately fought with the wind. We could see the dust slowly begin to settle, reaching the end of the storm. And with the end of the storm, a clear, visible sight of our home base.
“You going to slow down…?” I questioned.
“Nope,” he shook his head, “otherwise we miss our window.”
“Great,” I sighed, “Vehicular manslaughter isn’t exactly my ideal death.”
“Mine either. That’s not what’s predicted,” Damien shrugged. He truly believed in that Machine. To the point where his dangerous behavior when it could result in his own death was dismissed. It was almost frightening how…unfrightened that notion made him. He wasn’t afraid of his actions because he truly believed the most permanent of decisions wouldn’t happen today.
We were feet away when the doors closed, Damien flooring it before the feeling of wheels on sand changed to that of metal. He immediately slammed on the brakes, turning the Sioc at an angle as we barely made it through. Luckily enough, away from most of the storage and other vehicles in the hangar as well, and feet away from the nearest wall to slam into.
We both laughed. How could we not? We made it back, remarkably in one piece at least physically. The odds had felt stacked against us, and together we had combined to beaten them. At least, for now. Those odds would only grow the more we went back. And after what happened, I think we both knew we had to. Every time, we left that place with more questions than answers. But that’s what kept calling us back to it.
“Standby. You’ll need to be medically checked and quarantined. After that, I expect debriefs from both of you,” Ruenova’s voice echoed over.
We both got up with shaky legs, stumbling to the back as we could hear movement outside. Damien sifted through something in his pack, digging through Garcia’s medical bag before pulling out a plastic surgical mask. It wasn’t appealing in the slightest, but it was clear Damien held it for a reason.
I feared sharing with Damien my monstrous form, yet came to terms with it. I would have come to terms with it now, showing the emergency crew and medical staff if needed. I knew all the rumors that would spread like wildfire, the kind of game where people would do anything for a rare glimpse of what the others saw.
Damien wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Thank you,” I insisted sincerely, looking into his eyes. I could see that faint bit of blue amidst the gray, a hint of sympathy yet amusement in them. His soft, tired face changed as he swallowed, a dangerous, hesitant look forming in his eyes. I was too focused on my relief in being back here and planning on getting this mask over my lips to notice it.
Pain equaled in pleasure, yet the moment had left as quickly as it had arrived. His finger lifted my chin up before his lips crashed into mine, a brief, powerful, scornful feeling against my mutilated soft skin.