Someone groaned loudly. Who was that? Niklas suddenly became aware of himself. He was groaning. But why was he groaning?
“Oh pit, stay with me, man!”
Niklas felt something hard put to his lips, and heat flowed through him.
Niklas opened his eyes as life surged through him. The faceless man cradled his head and held a med veil to his lips.
Niklas surged, powered by the med. He swept the man’s hand away, flinging the empty veil, and struck up to grab the man’s throat.
The man was quick, deflecting Niklas’ blow, hitting his forearm away with an elbow. Then, quick as a whip, he shot his dirty boot out, pinning Niklas’ wrist to the ground.
Niklas lurched, and the searing pain of wounds opening ran across his back. The effect of the med was fresh and fueled his instincts.
Niklas kicked, but the man stayed on top of him. The man pulled out a makeshift shiv and held it to Niklas’ throat.
“Hold still, soldier!” he snapped, “or you’ll likely kill yourself. The med’s the only thing keeping you alive!”
Niklas felt the initial effect of the med wear off, and suddenly, all of his pains returned.
He let out a bark of surprise. His whole body felt hot and swollen. Everything pulsed with his heartbeat.
“Easy,” the man said, removing the knife and putting a canteen to Niklas’ lips.
Niklas drank greedily. The cool water soothed his flaming throat.
“I only had a partial med dose. I didn’t want to use it unless I had to, but I was losing you, see,” the man started as he stepped away. “That stuff is deck difficult to get down here.”
Niklas looked around. He was in a small metal structure. He had seen such structures before. They dotted all across Pit forest. It was a Fusillade ruin, or at least what had used to be a Fusillade ruin. The clan had long since stripped it of anything they could study.
The man had a pack and gear on the far side with a dead fire in the center. From what Niklas could tell, it was a temporary camp.
“What do you want?” Niklas demanded.
“You’re welcome,” the man rolled his eyes. “I saved your life, so I’ll be asking the questions. Your faceless mark is new. What did you do?”
Niklas glared at him.
“If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“You’re faceless,” Niklas spat. “You betrayed the Clan!”
He looked at Niklas bewildered. “I don’t know if you’ve looked in a mirror lately, brother, but we’re in the same minefield.”
“I am not your brother!”
He frowned, “It might take a while for you to come to terms with it, but you’re not a drone anymore. Stop acting like it.”
“I’m no friend to thieves or murderers. There is no valor in disobedience!”
He let out a low whistle. “Not a drone then, where you a zealot?”
“No!” Niklas snapped. The masks of the zealots flashed in his mind, and his stomach twisted.
The man nodded and held up a defensive hand. “I’ll have you know I’m neither a thief nor a murderer.”
“Lazy then? Sacrilegious?” Niklas continued. “It doesn’t matter, you are dishonored. You betrayed your clan.”
“My clan betrayed me,” The man countered.
“How dare you!” Niklas growled.
“Shut up, kid,” The Faceless man shot back. “You want to know my great crime? You want to know why I couldn’t coexist with the clan?”
Niklas simply glared in response.
“I didn’t take my med,” he said. “It’s a simultaneous depressant, aggressant, and steroid. It makes you more compliant, violent, and susceptible to directives. It turns men into drones. You won't be so disagreeable once it clears out of your system.”
“Med is a tool. It helps us better serve the clan,” Niklas said, full of confidence.
The man snorted. “The clan isn’t the righteous government you were programmed to believe. You’ll see that becoming faceless is the best thing that has happened to you, Niklas.”
The man knew Niklas’ name, but that was no surprise as the clan had tattooed his rune on his left shoulder in his tenth year.
“As distasteful as it is, I had to use some med on you because of its healing properties,” the man said apologetically.
“Who are you?” Niklas asked.
“First, Tell me what you did.”
Niklas glared, but the man waited patiently.
“I spoke to a Mother.”
The man’s jaw dropped, then he started to laugh. “How on Momalgar did you manage that?”
Niklas turned away in shame, and the man didn’t press him.
“My name is Ismail,” he introduced himself as promised. I got separated from my men when we clashed with one of Abdul’s packs. We were… looking for something. You sure picked an eventful time to get yourself banished.”
“You’re a leader?” Niklas asked hurriedly. “You have a tribe down here?”
“I have a small pack,” he said cautiously.
“This is great,” Niklas said. “My brother will be coming to look for me. I need someone to side with until he does. I figured I’d survive longer if I were part of a pack. It’s temporary, of course. This is all a big mistake.”
“A brother?” Ismail frowned. “Is he faceless?”
“No, he’s a–” Niklas stopped himself. Ismail didn’t need to know that Edgar was an Architect.
“He’s a what?” he asked suspiciously.
“He’s a good man,” Niklas said.
Voices from outside roused their attention.
“Abdul’s men,” Ismail whispered as he spun to pack an old bag with his few belongings. “We need to move. I’m sorry, Niklas, but you walked right into a warzone.”
“What are you fighting over?” Niklas asked, his eyes widening. Having looked forward to war his whole life, now was the worst time to find it.
“Something… precious fell from Pit two. We are all trying to find it.”
“What is it?”
Ismail held a finger to his lips, silencing Niklas. He drew a pair of small black KN-12s from his backpack. The clan armories had discontinued the model ages ago. The primitive kinetic firearms fired shrapnel with blasting glass, ideal for a situation when you didn’t have access to manufactured bullets.
He held one out but stopped short with a stern look in his eyes.
“I won’t shoot you,” Niklas promised.
Ismail nodded and pressed the weapon into his hand. “Three shots, don’t fire unless you have to. We need to go. We’re sitting ducks here. How well can you move?”
Niklas got up, groaning slightly, but he nodded, noting that he had bandages wrapped around his body.
“That would be the med,” Ismail said. “The pit stuff should wear off in about five hours tops. After that, you’ll be helpless.”
Niklas looked down the sights of the KN-12 and nodded. He could feel the warm med flow through and sustain him. He was still in pain even with the med. The pain lingered in the far reach of his mind, suppressed by the med.
“Let’s go,” Niklas said, throwing on his bloodied jacket, now stained brown.
“Here,” Ismail said as he, to Niklas’ surprise, returned his reaper's blade.
“I don’t know where you got that thing, but you had better hope its owner doesn’t come looking for it.”
Ismail led the way, moving out of the cave into the freshly fallen snow. He moved just like a drone, staying low, sweeping the environment. Each movement had a purpose. Seeing a bearded man move like that without a mask looked so odd. Niklas resigned to the fact that he must look just as strange with his face naked.
They moved swiftly. Niklas felt his body protesting the movement even with the pain numbed, especially his knee.
They hiked several miles east before they heard shouts behind them.
“They’re following our tracks,” Ismail cursed.
“Where’s your pack?” Niklas asked in concern. “Do the guys chasing you have weapons?”
“Abdul’s pack is probably the largest,” Ismail said. “He can’t arm his guys well, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be dangerous. If we want to lose them, we must head north toward Pit One.”
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Niklas saw a figure break the horizon to the north.
“Down!” Niklas barked as he dragged Ismail to the snow. A barrel flashed, and a gunshot cracked. The figure had fired from outside of the accurate range of his weapon.
They dropped down, taking cover, and Niklas felt his knee pop. The feeling without the present pain was unsettling.
“They headed us!” Ismail spat. “We’ve run into another one of his patrols.”
The voices sounded closer from behind.
“West!” Niklas cried.
“No! We’re too close to the border guard!”
“What, How?” Had they come that far west already? Niklas was barely cognitive yesterday, but surely they weren’t actually that close.
Niklas saw a figure dart for closer cover. “We can’t stay! Can we go south?”
“We’ll hit the border there too. We could steal away if we weren’t leaving these fragging tracks!”
Niklas saw four figures running at them, following their footsteps from the east.
“Deck!” Ismail cursed. “West!”
They ran as a shot sounded from the flanking pack of faceless.
“They have at least two guns!” Niklas cried.
“You don’t think I can count?” Ismail snapped.
Each step sent a relatively painless jarring sensation up Niklas' leg as they ran. The two parties met behind them and fanned out, driving them southwest. There were eight men in total. Haggard and rough-looking faceless rogues smiled and whooped as they ran.
The giant trees seemed too thin and shrunk as they made their way to the edge of Pit Forest. Ahead, Niklas saw a thick grey smoke wall billow over the top of the forest canopy. From it, he could hear preternatural moaning.
The wall. Niklas faltered at the sight of the landmark. The wall wasn’t solid but an illusion. On this side of Pit Forest, it would run parallel to the Rulkite River
Seeing his comrade fall behind, Ismail turned and fired, causing several of the pursuers to duck. The pause allowed Niklas to catch up. Ismail’s accuracy would be almost impossible at that distance with a KN-12, but no one liked being shot at.
Ismail charged on, but he looked ahead with worried eyes, not at the smoke wall but at the ground. He slowed his pace, scanning the snow.
Niklas passed him.
“Niklas no!” he cried.
Behind them, a man disappeared with a scream into a column of dirt and ice that spewed into the air, causing a tremor through the earth.
“Landmines!” Ismail yelled. “I told you we were too close to the border!”
Niklas slid to a stop, surveying the unassuming snow. He tensed in futility as there was no way to ascertain a safe path.
Behind them, their pursuers slowed, not wanting to venture after them. They were trapped. How were they at the border already?
The faceless behind smiled as they gestured for their prey to come back.
“We need to surrender,” Ismail realized.
“What?” Niklas gasped as fire surged inside him. “And deny our valor?”
“That’s the med talking. It makes you unreasonably aggressive.”
“There’s only seven! And we have guns!”
“Five shots. I know you’re not feeling it now, but you’re in no shape to fight.”
“Be grateful they’re just ragged faceless and not the border guard,” Niklas growled as he hefted his KN-12.
“Yeah,” Ismail said, looking ahead. “About that, where is the border guard?”
A cry sounded, and ten drones broke from the cover of the surrounding trees, charging the faceless from behind.
The border drones had painted grinning demonic faces on the face of their masks. Niklas knew the clan charged the border guard with killing anyone who got too close to the border, be they faceless Sharderins or Relrin. The border guardsmen screamed valor cries with blades drawn. They had firearms but didn’t use them, as they undoubtedly craved a personal fight.
Behind the border guard, Niklas watched in horror as a glittering dark sentient shadow swirled through the trees, flanking the faceless with the border guard. The cloud buzzed like angry hornets and snaked for the closest faceless.
“Swarf cloud,” A faceless man screamed before getting swallowed by the razor-sharp dust cloud.
The pursuing faceless scattered before the border guard, some pushed further into the minefield. One of the border guards rushed past them and right at Niklas and Ismail. Niklas felt a fleeting moment of paralysis as the drone charged them. This drone was not a pathetic reject faceless but a fully equipped, battle-hungry Sharderin warrior.
“Split!” Ismail cried and ran south.
Shocked back into action, Niklas ran west deeper into the minefield. The drone ran after him, dodging and weaving through mines that he could no doubt see through his mask lenses.
“Gyva, please!” Niklas cried as he plunged into the minefield.
The drone quickly gained on Niklas. He ran with his chrome drones blade. Valor required Niklas to fight him hand-to-hand, but Niklas had no valor anymore. He was faceless; if he died, he would go to Pit!
Niklas looked at the drone giving chase. He was a law enforcer, one of the good guys. Niklas didn’t want to hurt him. Niklas cried as he tried pushing himself, but his leg pain returned in sharp stabs to the knee in synch with every other step.
As he passed trees, Niklas could see the wall of gray, murky smoke billowing through vents ahead, accompanied by a dull roar and moan.
The wall.
He had no time to gawk. The drone wore full armor, and Niklas had only a KN-12. Niklas spun, jabbed his pistol in the sprinting drone’s face, and pulled the trigger.
Niklas’ gun bucked hard, and his pursuer's head snapped back. The stunned drone cursed as he spun and skidded into a tree. Niklas hit the load box, sliding the next chamber on the side of the weapon over, and fired again. The drone gagged as it took him in the gut. Ismail used a lot of blasting glass to load the KN-12.
The drone reached for his pistol, and Niklas shot his hand with the final chamber.
The drone’s gloves were armored, but his pistol cracked and shattered under Niklas’ shot.
The drone shook his hand, as Niklas’ shot likely broke his fingers.
Niklas leaped at him striking him in the face with the butt of his KN-12. Niklas’ pistol hit the drone’s mask and broke, leaving him with a handle and no barrel.
The drone glared at Niklas through his mask; Niklas’ first shot had cracked one of the drone’s eye lenses. The border guard lunged for Niklas and grabbed him by the collar.
Crying out, Niklas hugged the man and hooked a finger under the mask near the back of the drone’s mask.
The drone switched his grip, grabbing Niklas around the waist and constricted.
Niklas gasped as the air rushed out of his lungs. He felt his ribs flex dangerously under the pressure. He forced his finger between the helmet's padding and the drone’s head. It was a tight fit.
The drone shifted his stance and loaded Niklas for a throw.
Knowing how to find it only because he was familiar with drone gear, Niklas fished his finger deeper and pressed the disengaged rune. The helmet split apart with a hum, and Niklas yanked it off.
With a cry of surprise, the drone dropped Niklas and groped for the mask.
Niklas hurled the mask away.
With a yelp, the drone scampered after it.
Niklas ran from the occupied drone and dove headlong through the smoke wall. He choked on the sulfurous scent of the thick grey vapors. His boots clicked on the metal grate that spewed the dark plume. After several steps, he broke through to clear air to find himself at the top of a steep snow-covered slope. At the bottom of the hill, the wide, slow Rulkite River twisted and curled parallel to the smokescreen.
The inhuman growl and moan now sounded behind him. Unable to help himself, Niklas turned to look at the outward-facing smoke wall. On the Relgar-facing side, twisted smoke faces animated in wails of pain and sadistic hunger. Some colossal faces in the smoke were human, others bestial, and the most frightening were a chimeric combination of both.
Niklas stepped back at the dominating demonic faces twisting and screaming in the smoke. The twisted toothy grins seemed to growl as though hungry, pleading for destitute Relrins to offer themselves as a meal. They were just illusions, of course, but even Niklas, who knew better, shuddered as he saw them.
The superstitions of the Relrins kept all but the bravest – or most foolish – out.
Stirring inside the smoke wall roused Niklas from his trance.
Niklas’ drone lunged through the cloud with his mask fixed back into place. Niklas saw the drone blade almost too late.
Niklas staggered back to evade the gleaming blade and lost his footing on the steep slope.
His fall saved him. He slipped away from the gleaming point of drone steel and slid down the icy slope. Skidding away from the drone, Niklas slid alarmingly fast and cried out as he lost control of his descent.
The icy river snaked around at the bottom of the hill, and Niklas thrashed, trying to snatch anything that might anchor his slide. He managed to grab some tall dead grass that stuck out of the snow, but it slipped from his grasp. He fumbled for his reaper's blade, but it was too late.
Niklas slid off the end and plunged into Icy water. He gasped as the shock of the cold stung him to the core, and icy water forced its way into his mouth and nose. Niklas thrashed and broke the surface. He sputtered and tried but couldn’t get air. After several labored seconds, he finally found his lungs and gasped air.
At the top of the hill, the pursuing drone had removed his mask and looked after Niklas. He made no effort to follow as the river’s icy current swept Niklas away.
The river roughly shoved Niklas against a boulder and spun him into another.
Niklas thrashed and kicked as rapids threw him about like a rag doll. He spun to see a log looming across the river and tried to duck, but it was too late. His forehead struck it, and his vision flashed white and then black.
“What do you mean jumped?” Edgar demanded.
“Jumped right off the bridge, and honestly, if I had the nerve he did, I would have done the same with the zealots right behind him.”
“Are you sure it was Niklas?”
“No, I didn’t get a good look, and it was far away. He did have dark hair, and he came from the third level. Why would a drone be on the third level?”
Edgar pulled back, both scared and annoyed. Idiot Niklas, what did you do?
Edgar interviewed the drones on the second level, and they all shared the same story. Niklas had jumped down the light shaft to evade zealots. None seemed to know what happened after that.
“Did he fall all the way down?”
“I didn’t see, though word is that he landed on the first level and then jumped again to the under level.”
“The shrap fool,” Edgar cried, mostly to himself. The one time he could have been there to protect Niklas...“What else do you know?”
“Only what I saw and heard,” the drone assured him.
An officer stepped out to confront Edgar. “I hear you’re looking for your brother, a drone.” The officer was perhaps in his mid-thirties and was short, though not as short as Edgar.
“Sir?” Edgar said. The man was a third-mark officer. It was debatable who held the higher rank.
“I saw the whole thing. I was on the third level.”
“Is he okay?” Edgar cried.
“He’s alive, but that may not be a good thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
In response, the officer handed Edgar a makeshift bag. With scarred hands, Edgar opened its folds to find the shattered remains of a drone mask.
“No,” Edgar gasped in horror. His brother was banished from the clan and rejected among outlaws and thieves.
“Why did this happen?” Edgar asked, suddenly remembering the reaper's blade he gave to Niklas the previous morning. Could Niklas have gotten caught with it? “He’s the most obedient Drone I know.”
“A mother called him out of a crowd to speak to her.”
“What?” Edgar cried. “Why?”
The officer shrugged. “The zealots accompanying her took offense to it. They made him faceless.”
“She called him to speak with her, and the zealots made him faceless for obeying?” Edgar asked aghast.
The officer shrugged. “I don’t think that is really why they made him faceless. They’re zealots. Maybe they were just bored.”
Edgar closed and clutched the bag in a tight fist, the mask pieces grinding together inside. “Who did it?” Edgar growled.
“The Zealot who branded him was Master Brynjar.”
“Master Brynjar.” Edgar chewed the name, committing it to memory. But he stopped short. “Sir, how do you know all this?”
“I was on the third floor when it happened.”
“And you went all the way down to the under level to retrieve his mask?” Something didn’t sit right, and Edgar reassessed the officer, trying to find and see through his deception. One didn’t just do this out of the kindness of his heart in Pit. “I don’t think so. What interest do you have in my brother?”
“I don’t have any interest in your brother,” the officer claimed. “I simply have a personal grudge with Master Brynjar, and I think you could carry it out much better than I, Reaper.”
Edgar snorted. “And you just so happened to know the brother of that random drone is a Reaper? I doubt. You won’t lie to me again, sir. I’m going to let you try this one more time.” Edgar shrugged his sword off his shoulder and caught it with one hand on the hilt.
The two drones, content to watch up that point, cursed and scrambled away.
The man held his ground. “You wouldn’t touch an officer, Edgar, not here.”
There it was again! “I never told you my name. Who are you, and why do you know me?”
The officer stepped an inch from Edgar’s face, his officer mask almost touching Edgar’s Reaper mask. The officer drew in a long draught of air as though he were smelling for something. “I have my mission, and you have yours. Master Brynjar is the name of the zealot who stole your brother’s life, and that is the truth.”
“Not good enough. I need answers, now!”
The officer laughed at the demands as he turned his back on Edgar. “If you wish to settle this as soldiers, feel free to meet me in the under level, Reaper. But deal with Master Brynjar first. The Zealots are a common enemy.” The man stepped away.
Edgar watched the officer in confusion. What was going on? Everything about this encounter was out of place. “Where is my brother now?”
“Not a clue. Good luck finding him,” the officer said as he got to the lift. “We may meet again, Reaper.” The lift hummed as he went up.
Edgar struggled to contain the slew of new thoughts. Niklas was faceless? What would he do on his own? The faceless could become violent. What if something happened to him? Edgar had to find him. He stopped himself.
Niklas wasn’t a child anymore. He was a drone. He could take care of himself, at least until he found him.
Edgar’s thoughts shifted to darker thoughts as they often did. Master Brynjar. The Master Zealot had declared war on the Logas. Edgar could not allow such an act to go unpunished; he beat the pup but woke the wolf.
I’m coming, Niklas.