The inside of the bus was exactly as one would imagine it. Two rows of seats and a path to walk between them, the only exception being that somewhere in the middle of its length the regular seats were replaced by their specialized counterparts. They were small, foldable and put in sideways, next to small tables. Perfect for blood donations. This time, however, they served a different purpose.
- Please, take your seat. - a modulated voice sounded from the speakers. - Your weapon can do the same.
Dirk followed the instructions, attentively searching for the speakers. His search proved fruitless, as the ever present darkness wrought about by the tinted windows limited his visibility.
As he sat in the special seat with Jason right next to him, a peculiar machine descended from the ceiling. Looking like a humanoid torso, it ended at the solar plexus, being supported in the air by thick cords and tubes. Its singular, oval eye in the middle of its skull-shaped head lit up with a blinding white light.
- Good afternoon. - it spoke in an unfittingly chirpy male voice. - For the sake of this interview my name will be “John”, I shall interview you, potential hire, about your work experience and any special skills you might possess. Be aware that this conversation will be monitored and recorded for the sake of brevity and security of Ouroboros medical company. Is there anything you’d like to say before we start?
- Will my weapon also be questioned, in its limited capacity? - Dirk didn’t seem to be phased at all by the machine playing the role of his recruiter.
- Negative. - it responded, not even glancing at Jason while talking about him. - Its capabilities shall be ascertained in a different manner before departure due to time constraints and the desire of Ouroboros company to keep a low profile. Is that all?
- Yes.
- Then let me begin the interrogation. - after those words, the machine suddenly shut down.
The veteran couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at this sudden turn of events. But before he even opened his mouth, John’s eye lit up again, this time shedding green light.
- Name, slash, callsign? - John's voice now sounded much more monotonous.
- 'Chernobog'.
Using a name could prove a bit disastrous if he were to ever mix it up, call signs were much safer. But why choose some obscure Slavic god as his moniker? Ego, perhaps. It felt right to be called a god’s name.
- Years of combat experience? - without waiting or any confirmation, the machine continued.
- Tw- twelve. - Dirk almost made a blunder, losing himself in reminiscence for a second.
If he said the actual number of years he wore the military boots, it would probably raise unnecessary questions concerning his origins and inspire too many folks to start snooping where they shouldn’t.
“Renown and notoriety are two sides of the same coin” - he reminded himself as a warning.
- Personal baggage?
There it was, the part he revised with Jason on their way over.
- Class B regenerator unit, broken and pacified, magnetic proximity leash, “Gaol Helmet”, a combat knife and a “Makarov” pistol with four spare magazines. - Dirk calmly enumerated, praying that he didn’t forget anything.
- How much are you able to sacrifice?
The veteran suddenly looked up at the machine. He got so lost in recounting all the tools Jason showed him that he didn’t notice when John’s eye color shifted again, this time to magenta. Add to that the voice which now sounded like a child’s, throwing Dirk completely off.
- How much are you able to sacrifice to ensure your survival, Chernobog? - the machine repeated itself.
Something was different about the way it spoke and the light it shed. Its sentences sounded much more human, and Dirk felt an alien gaze peering into him.
The question laid before him was nothing new. He asked himself the same thing many times over the years. But despite that, only recently did the old dog come up with the answer to it that he could get behind wholeheartedly.
- Nothing. Because sacrificing anything implies failure, and success is my norm.
- Well said. - the thing responded.
The machine’s eye went dead for a split second, then returned to its green tint.
- Special qualifications, slash, additional skills?
- Recon, priority target elimination, strategic coordination. Expert level marksmanship with designated marksman rifles and small sidearms, sharpshooter with most others. CQC expertise, including Krav Maga and Mixed Martial Arts. Ability to operate most ground vehicles.
- Specific achievements in the line of duty?
- Classified.
With a barely audible creak, John switched his persona again, back to magenta.
- What is your opinion on the current situation within the Empire?
- No comment.
- Hmpf. - the puppet gave the most human response thus far, then switched to blue. - The preliminary interview has now concluded. Your applicant number is 38. You may proceed to the upper floor and await our decision. Be warned that violence within the confines of this transport is strictly forbidden. We at Ouroboros medical company value your time and appreciate your patience.
A door at the front of the room opened with a crack and a hiss, presenting Dirk with a narrow staircase, just barely lit with a blue glow of a fluorescent lamp that stretched along its whole height leading up.
Ares, or Chernobog now, made a show of tugging at Jason’s leash, barely containing his surprise at the ease with which it exerted force on the regenerator, just as Jason had warned.
They climbed the stairs and were greeted by a similar layout to the floor below, with two rows of old, shoddy looking seats. This time, however, they had company.
Around four other people resided within this space, seated far apart from each other, minding their own business, fiddling with coins, necklaces, dog tags and other memorabilia, or whatever they had on hand to kill time.
“Other mercs.” - Dirk surmised in his head, giving each a passing glance as he and Jason made their way to the back.
It was a strategic choice.
The back was the best, because it would allow the veteran to keep an eye on his potential colleagues with his own blind spots secured. There was also simple comfort in the back seat of a bus, but that was secondary.
As he walked with Jason in tow, he passed a grizzled, but fit looking guy with a tribal tattoo around his right eye, a young lad somewhere around 25-30 with a red bandana on his neck and a cowboy hat hanged on his back, a woman who looked like she could break anyone in the room in half, and a jittery guy with this insane spark in his eye that Dirk could swear he’d seen somewhere before.
The mercs returned his curious gaze with ones of their own, some for longer than others, but mostly kept to themselves, even if Dirk could see flashes of disdain and disgust as they realized what Jason really was. It was to be expected, really. A reaction so predictable, that it was almost reassuring.
The horror the first ever deployment of regenerators wrought was still fresh in the memory of people around the world, even if they weren’t directly affected, and even though the B type, which Jason was acting as, was a far cry from the sheer destructive power of those A type monstrosities, some still viewed the next generation with equal parts fear, reverence and hatred.
Others, on the other hand, postulated that the usage of regenerators as a whole was a travesty. An affront to the very notions of human rights and dignity, for they saw those creatures as equally human and demanded them to be treated fairly.
It was true that they possessed higher cognitive functions and looked more like regular people, but at the same time their resemblance was only skin deep.
Dirk, however… he took the pragmatic approach.
He didn’t know enough about this new batch to judge one way or another. The soldier simply didn’t care enough to learn about them after his downfall, preferring to stay inside his own isolated little bubble, looking for happiness at the bottom of an empty bottle.
A deep sigh escaped his mouth as he took his seat.
The ones from way back when were truly abominable, attacking anything and everything on sight like rabid animals, seeking flesh to consume with single-minded determination.
They were like locusts.
Deadly pests to be exterminated, which he did… but then there was Jason. No matter how Dirk looked at him, all he saw was just a naive boy looking for his place in the world.
Dirk couldn’t hate the regenerators, but he also couldn’t blindly love them the way some people did, which only made this whole charade of him using Jason as his weapon seem all that harder to maintain. “A necessary evil.” - Dirk dubbed it. Perhaps calling it that would ease his mind.
Time passed slowly, and despite some noise coming from both outside and inside the bus, no more people arrived at the upper floor of the vehicle.
Instead, about an hour after Dirk’s interview, the hidden speakers came to life.
- We at Ouroboros medical company thank all the applicants for their patience. The results shall now be announced. The passing individuals will be transported for practical evaluation. Applicants whose numbers are not announced are asked to leave the premises immediately. - the voice of John resounded through the room, his body nowhere to be seen. - Applicant number 7, applicant number 19, applicant number 21 and applicant number 38 have been selected for further evaluation. Once again, we at Ourobo–
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
- Bullshit! - a voice rang out in the front. It was the jittery guy. - You can’t do this to me, ya hear? - He shot up from his seat, screaming at the top of his lungs.
- Applicant number 29, we respectfully ask you to vacate the premises.
- I need this job! I’ve got too many ungrateful fucking mouths to feed to go back empty-handed!
- Applicant number 29, your review process has concluded. In spite of your impressive resume, you have been deemed unfit for the position. Immediately head for the nearest exit.
- Oh, no, no, no. This won’t end like this! - he mumbled with a deranged chuckle, turning around to face the other mercs, but his eyes seemed weirdly fixated on Dirk. - It’s about the money, yeah? You just can’t hire that many of us, yeah?
- Applicant number 29, this is your final warning. Leave immediately.
But the man was too far gone to listen. In a fraction of a second, he reached for the gun he kept in his back pocket, spurring the rest to do the same just milliseconds apart.
Jason moved in front of Dirk, serving as cover and ready to pounce at the madman, muscles already bulging.
But before the second even concluded and the man even had the chance to take aim, he fell to the floor, dead. His head twisted all the way around like a bottle cap.
Behind him, none other than John hung from the ceiling, his cyclopean eye red as the blood that gushed from his victim’s mouth and nose.
- Let me remind you that any and all violence is strictly forbidden within this transport. Ouroboros medical company does not take responsibility for any injuries or death resulting from breaking the company rules or any other unfortunate accidents. - he looked upon the fresh kill. - Cleaning services will be dispatched to your location in 9… 9… 9… 9–
The machine suddenly cut off, leaving the mercs to stare at it, not necessarily with shock, but at least a healthy dose of surprise. After a few seconds, it rebooted.
- All the accepted applicants are now asked to move to another Ouroboros transport vehicle. Designated personnel will escort you there. We at Ouroboros medical company thank you for your cooperation.
That spectacle sure left an impression on Dirk and other mercs, but death was part of their job description, so they simply left the bus as instructed, with the veteran leading the charge. Then came the surprising part, once outside he noticed a discrepancy.
This place wasn’t their original location.
“How didn’t we feel even the smallest turbulence?” - his face remained a featureless mask, but underneath he was quite disturbed. - “Are we in some kind of hangar?”
After him, all the other mercs spilled out, equally confused. Some voiced their concerns, while others simply waited in calculating silence. Around them were nothing but colorless concrete pillars and other buses like theirs.
- Do not be alarmed. - John’s voice reached their ears from all around, despite them being outside the bus. - Ouroboros company has displaced you into one of our testing facilities where you shall undergo a practical evaluation. Do not worry. We are proceeding with the next part of your evaluation. During the practical examination, your declared skill sets will be tested to ensure the quality of your services and your own safety.
At the same time as John finished the explanation, one of the walls beside them lit up. A door-sized chunk slid open, revealing the elevator inside. From within, five soldiers emerged, dressed exactly the same as those at the vaccination point. Two stayed on both sides of the door, while the other three passed the band of mercs without saying a word and entered the bus.
Balaclavas, goggles, harnesses and flak jackets, those troopers made Ouroboros look like a professional military circuit.
- All temporary employees, please enter the elevator. - one of them asked in a commandeering tone.
Since all the people left had more brain matter in their heads than participant 29, they did as requested, sparing only a few glanced back at the bus, curious as to what was happening inside.
As Dirk got into the metal box, it turned out to be much more spacious than it seemed from the outside, as all seven of them managed to get inside and stand quite far away from each other, with personal space to spare.
Leaning against the wall opposite to the exit, Dirk saw Jason kneeling in front of the gym bag. From his point of view, he could see that his fellow passengers all put their hands on their weapons the exact moment Jason suddenly took a knee.
- Don’t worry. He’s just putting on the mask. - Dirk explained with a stiff smile. - I need him primed and ready for the practicals, after all.
It took a second, but a few passengers relaxed after those words. On the other hand, the hardy looking woman frowned instead. Chernobog couldn’t tell why, but her expression seemed conflicted, stuck somewhere between doubt and curiosity.
- Where did you get him? - she asked, just as the elevator closed and started moving.
Her voice was surprisingly deep, but despite her hardy expression, Dirk felt no malice in her words. Hearing this question, the other mercenaries perked up, curious to know the answer since the moment he and Jason entered the bus.
Dirk was thankfully prepared, having managed to read the script made by his regenerator pal at least twice.
- The wastelands around City-18. Found him under some half-melted Empire transport - the veteran tried to keep it concise, so as not to oversell it. - He was practically fused to the rusting heap of scrap.
- He didn’t attack you? - one of the other mercs felt more confident asking questions after someone else started.
- He tried, even though his neural center was completely wrecked. His arm swiped at me on instinct as I passed. The only reason I noticed him, really.
Now even the Ouroboros grunts started listening to the story. Dirk was almost disappointed with how easily he got everyone’s attention with his lies.
- And then what? - another one pressed him, obviously invested in the story.
- I cut him off with some power tools, careful not to disturb the piece of metal that kept him dormant, and threw him onto my truck. I was hoping to make a nice buck by selling him to… well, never mind those bastards. - Dirk sighed, shaking his head sideways, catching himself getting immersed in his own drivel. - But nobody wanted him. Too hard to control, and too expensive to maintain. So, here he is, trying to earn his stay.
- But how did you get him working?
- I’ve got my contacts. It wasn’t cheap, can tell you that much.
Just as Dirk reached the closing act of this embarrassing charade, Jason got up again, wearing a large gilded helmet, shaped like a bovine skull with the horns of a ram. The image was quite bizarre, and it took the other people in the elevator a bit to compose themselves.
Once they did, Dirk nudged Jason’s shoulder with the leash controller and continued prattling on.
- It cost me a pretty penny, but I got some more goodies thrown in with the servicing deal too, allowing me to manage the big guy easily. He’s pretty tame now, but still, I wouldn’t try my luck with moving too suddenly or trying to aim in my general direction with him around.
With the last line, Dirk chuckled, with a few others joining him. With this foolish stunt, he seemed to have garnered at least some shallow level of respect from the few mercs present. The story was bound to spread, like most gossip. Dirk just hoped that he wouldn’t be the hottest topic out there. He wanted just enough respect to have a peace of mind. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to track his every move.
The woman visibly relaxed, turning towards Dirk with an extended hand.
- Guess it's as good of a story as any. - she approached him, but kept looking at Jason, who remained docile. - Name’s Prusk. An introduction is the least I can do for this sudden interrogation, old man.
“Old man?” - the veteran felt somewhat offended, but at the same time it gave him a rough estimate of her age.
- Chernobog. - he reciprocated the gesture, immediately noticing the strength of her grip. - It’s fine. They are not exactly a common sight.
- Yeah. - she responded shortly, which Dirk felt was a little underwhelming.
She wasn’t even looking at Dirk. She kept on staring at the giant beside him. But that was fine, too. Her act simply painted a more vivid mental profile of her in Dirk’s head.
Thus far, he could say one thing for certain.
“She is way too honest” - he wanted to laugh so badly. - “She looks pretty young, though, so that naivety is not all that surprising.”
But the extent of her innocence, as weird as that word sounded used in a room full of killers for hire, became apparent with her next action.
Prusk turned to the side and extended the same hand to Jason, throwing everyone around for a loop, even though they all fought not to show anything on their faces.
- What’s his? - she asked nonchalantly, not really grasping the weight of her actions.
- H-his? You mean the regenerator’s name? - playing out this sentence made Chernobog cringe. - I called him “Argonaut”. I’m not very creative with names, now that I think about it.
- Yeah, no shit. - despite her gesture garnering no reaction from Jason, she kept it up. - Do you have to, like, allow him to shake my hand?
- Pretty much. H– Those things are not very smart. They are obedient, though… Unlike those A-class beasts. - a mere mention of those super-weapons of old caused the air in the elevator to become heavy.
Not a single man of any nation liked discussing what happened during the Red Rebellion, not even its victors. Those few months when they roamed the Earth were a black stain on the history of mankind, one that nothing would ever wash away, so the next best thing was to act like it never occurred.
Seeing as Prusk was only turning the whole elevator ride more and more awkward by the minute, Dirk turned towards Jason and pointed the leash toward him.
- Argonaut, shake! - he ordered, and the weapon complied.
The giant wall of muscles turned towards the woman standing beside it. The regenerator raised his hand, a simple gesture that on its own raised the temperature in the elevator by a couple of degrees. Prusk, either oblivious or irrationally brave, smiled slightly.
The beast slowly and mechanically moved the hand towards her and grasped it. His grasp was very weak, almost pathetic to the outside eye.
“Masterfully played.” - Dirk applauded Jason’s choice of action internally.
- I’m Prusk, looking forward to working with ya Argonaut. - her words were met with silence.
Prusk shook the regenerator's limp arm up and down a few times before letting go.
The other mercenaries smiled slightly or even chuckled, seeing the arm attached to this palace of muscles that was Argonaut simply flailing about with no strength behind it. It was as if she was playing with a harmless marionette.
Then the elevator let out a shrill ping, marking the end of its descent.