Augustus opened the hatch and swung to the waist into the air ventilation duct, immediately finding a large shape lying to his right. He wasn’t the one to neglect popular culture, and even despite his busy schedule, he still found time enough to watch recent movies. He always preferred horrors, specifically the ones where the protagonist snaps under the pressure and hunts the killer or monster tormenting a small town or apartment complex. Such films were… inspiring.
What glanced at him from the darkness resembled very much a predatory hunter from “Claw’s Touch”. Overlapping carapace plates shielded the body’s soft insides. Six limbs rested underneath the belly. One of his hooked legs had a softer brown tint, and the seam where the cloned part connected to the natural wasn’t visible anymore. Windowed eyes reflected the flashlight’s light, and the sizeable head turned aside, clicking round mandibles in irritation. Had this been a movie, the body would have sprung into action, dragging the screaming man into the pitch-black darkness to be devoured.
“Leave me alone,” the Insectone larva said. Signs of change were all over his body. Strands of thick antennae poked through the melted carapace; two hooked legs were in the process of fusing together to form a fist and an oxidized odor could be smelled in the narrow tunnel.
“No.” Augustus climbed in and dragged the escapee out by the carapace’s edges, not worrying about being gentle. Larvas and the Insectoid Commune had evolved to endure a stupendous amount of blunt pressure. “You should be in your room, recovering.”
“It is too spacious,” the kid complained in a human voice. There wasn’t any hissing or clanking; his mandibles and air tubes perfectly replicated the functions of non-existent teeth and tongue.
The revelation that a child actor had played the serial killer in all five installments of a popular horror series caused quite a stir back home, as human rights organizations protested the dehumanization and potentially traumatic experience for the child, resulting in the producers shutting the whole thing down. Augustus always believed this to be a foolish move. Iternians used any opportunity to exercise their civil rights and stage a protest march. There was no need to kick an Oathtakers’ actress out of business and replace her with yet another boorish hatchet-wielding maniac.
“Spacious?” asked a dark-skinned doctor, dressed in a green medical robe with a coiled serpent emblem decorating his chest. The scarless skin and a glint of fear in his blue eye betrayed the man as an Inner Iternian, someone who saw mutated Abnormals on television or in study materials. He took the Insectone out of Augustus’ hands, and the explorator made him hold the kid tighter before the rascal could break free. “Ah, yes, I read about it. You people… I mean, Insectones prefer tighter quarters where bodies push against each other, right? I can see how our rooms might be uncomfortable for your kind. But, boy, we can’t have patients running amok in the hospital or sleeping in our ventilation system. What if you catch a cold? Come on, let’s make everything normal.”
“Nothing will ever be normal.” The Insectone spoke in a quiet voice, and Augustus stopped texting Mike and continued to listen to them. “Everyone in the tower said everything would be fine. They died. Brother claimed that the bad guy died, and we’ll rebuild. The zombies murdered him. People say he is a hero, and I just want my brother back. Normal. Ha. What? What is going to be normal? Are you going to resurrect him?” His mandibles spasmed. “Thought so. Nothing will ever be okay anymore.”
“How long has it been since you shared a connection with other Insectones?” The doctor asked, impressing Augustus. Not useless after all. The man deduced the correct reason for the spasm and didn't get fooled into thinking it resulted from the change or emotional distress. “You’ve only talked with your brother after the incident, right?” He sat the boy down and summoned his medical history. “Don’t worry, there are plenty of others we can call on for help.”
“Why?” the young patient asked. “Everyone dies. Everyone will die. I don’t want to connect with anyone else. Listen, doc. Sister told me that Iternians steal organs from dead bodies and put them into living ones.”
“This is a gross oversimplification…”
“Take mine. I don’t need them anymore. I don’t want this life anymore.”
Augustus closed the hatch and stormed to the Insectone. He pushed the doctor aside and pressed a finger between the round, glittering, faceted eyes, easily holding the kid seated.
“Don’t need your life anymore?” Augustus asked. “That’s okay; I’ll tell you what to do with it then. You’ll accept a link to one of the towers’ eldest and give your opinion about the rooms, helping to redesign them for other Insectones. Then you get better, make friends and accomplices, finish school or whatever passes for education in this wild dumpster of a land, and join the police or the military.” He saw his reflection in the boy’s eyes. “Remember this pain, this hollowness threatening to drown you right now. Slaughter it in your brother’s name by living happily, and don’t let others experience the same.”
“Sir, let a professional handle the situation.” A hand took him by the shoulder, and Augustus let the hospital guard escort him to a seat as the doctor carried the kid away, speaking to calm him down.
He opened his terminal, checking on his trainees and responding to the incoming messages. What he said to the boy was a load of bullshit. He owed no one to live, and he certainly owed no protection to the world. People chose to do these things on their own. But the boy needed something — clear and easy-to-understand steps, something he could cling to and carry out — a sort of automatic routine with a clearly defined goal at the end to push through the darkest swath of his life. The age of loneliness, where countless children were left to starve as an outcome of a raid, was nearing its closure, and someone would help the young patient. In a day or two, the Insectone will forget all about the assholish Iternian.
Augustus hoped to live to see the day when cities once again lit up the planet even in the darkest night, and enlightened ones led the younger generation into the golden future.
As his family should have been doing. If not for…
The frustration was palpable; it sought to creep in and poison the mind. He shrugged it off. Self-blame doesn’t help anyone. Maximilian hadn’t been hunting him specifically, and his connection to this filth had saved the trainees’ lives, if Elina’s account of their encounter was correct. That was the crux of the matter. How did the Numbers know about his students? Eight was a vengeful bitch, incapable of letting things go, so his obsession with ruining Elina was simple to understand. It tried to keep tabs on her. But Augustus rarely officially announced his presence. A leak, perhaps? If so, who? Another human supremacist who had wormed his way into the Academy? A member of a doomsday cult? A corporation trying to stage a power play at the expense of the Numbers’ cruelty?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
It almost adds up. Maximilian resurrects a dreaded monster, and wouldn’t you know it? A Barjoni was among the people who stopped it. And it just so happens that the Barjoni family also seeks to expand its interests in… He blinked, banishing suspicions. He was a Rho. His relative was in another attacked facility, and even now Argus was milking the situation for all it was worth, trying to get the same preferential treatment, calling him every night, asking…
Speaking of. A message popped on his terminal. How’s my baby boy doing? Sure you don’t need anything? A hand, a crew? Just wink, and I’ll arrange everything. We’ll transfer your students back to Iterna and away from Barjoni’s butchers in no time.
He stopped his eyes from narrowing, accepting the care. His dad loved him, despite all Augustus’ faults and shortcomings. And love, overbearing though it may be, does not deserve scorn. I am fine, uncle. We will stay here. He decided not to call Argus a father through the messages. Too dangerous with these Barjonis around.
What do we know? The Rho family and he specifically are the most suspicious bunch here. The Numbers attacks on the trainees increased. Why? The one in the Ravaged Lands was deliberate; this much the Intelligence had learned based on the shared information. It was also crude. The other attacks did not involve the trainees all together. Their presence served as a bonus to the murderous filth. How do I know it? Governor Abel had recorded and terminated several Numbers in another facility, the one serving as the primary distraction to lure him out of Stonehelm and buy time for the main force to resurrect the Chosen Prince.
This left the attack on the Akebia group. The whole situation reeked of some sort of coordinated plan, but of what, exactly? What could the Numbers have gained by briefly controlling the old power grid? Satellites worked day and night; Artificer himself visited the place, yet there was no answer. No nuclear mushroom rose on the horizon, spelling doom to a nation or a city in faraway lands. No ancient facility came to life, spitting out murderous bots. Could Maxmilian truly care only about resurrecting the Chosen Prince? Doubtful. The energy surge is the key to the mystery. Iterna’s plague plays some inhuman game. And though their end goal was well known, the immediate scheme remained shrouded in mystery.
I won’t be coming over tonight. Sorry, must keep vigil. Augustus texted a message, finding relaxation in admitting a weakness, a flaw.
Barjoni Self Care built an impressive medical facility in Stonehelm. Its wide halls were colored in soothing tones, comfortable seats for future patients lined the walls between cabinets, and qualified personnel stood ready to use up-to-Iternian standard equipment to treat pretty much everything. In a show of unity, and really in gratitude for being allowed to work here, the Family graciously agreed to heal the victims of the war.
This caused problems. Augustus had no idea what kind of benefits the Family offered the medical personnel to lure them out of Iterna’s safety, but where he’d found their medical skills praiseworthy, their knowledge of the outside world wasn’t up to par.
Where Iternian medical practice ever kept young patients of different genders separate, other lands did not have such luxury, and naturally, the separated youngsters panicked, thinking the doctors planned to sedate them and take them apart. Insectones despised spacious rooms and physically suffered at separation from a group. Bands of young Malformed roamed the halls. Though many had lost limbs, families, and many were very young, they were by far the most dangerous bunch here. Other kids looked like kids. One Malformed was his size, a kit of a group’s leader. He often sucked at his thumb and looked hungrily at the others, not quite understanding why it was suddenly bad to bite and eat others. And another Malformed broke into the kitchen, asking if he was being mocked.
Augustus didn’t even blame the boy. Anyone who thought a bowl of soup would suffice as a lunch for a behemoth of bone and rough muscle was woefully misguided. Thankfully, “colorful lights”, as Malformed called cartoons, were enough to distract their youngest, and the Normie kids had agreed to teach the older kids how to play video games.
In short, everyone had their fill of slight hiccups that will be corrected in the near future. In the meantime, Augustus volunteered to help and spent his time catching street urchins before they could sneak back to the streets, sending them off to study or rest, removing Insectones from ventilation shafts, and explaining to Malformed of all ages that no, corpses in the morgue and vat-grown organs are not in fact morning snacks.
He hadn’t had a lick of sleep ever since the whole mess ended. He briefed the Intelligence, informed Headmaster Torosian, and contacted the youngsters’ families, bringing them up to speed and offering his sympathies. A squad of fourth-generation Problemsolvers was on its way from Iterna. Officially, to guard the country’s interests. Their real reason was to keep the trainees safe, as Augustus believed the trash who donated his sperm to his traitor of a mother was irrational enough to try to score ‘points’ by attempting to assassinate the kids. The Intelligence shared his concern and assigned the twin’s brother to keep them safe.
One less thing for him to worry about. What’s next? Augustus’ helmet rested on a seat to his left, and one of its lenses peering over his eye, keeping him informed about his wards. Carlos is nearby, Elina is testing her arm, Eliza and Vasily are floating in their capsules, their minds relieved of all dreams. Rowen is tinkering with a hearing-assisting device and Jumail…
Well, shit. Should I stop it? It is not against the rules, but… He listened to the two through the cameras on the practice field. There was no real reason to trail Jumail. The boy had worried him before; he often rushed into danger, trying to save everyone at the cost of his own life. Something had changed. He matured, no longer risking so blatantly, and Augustus wasn’t sure if he could take him on anymore. There were very few things left in Stonehelm to threaten him.
Still, the way their discussion is going… It might grow problematic….
We have shitshow on our hands, too. Mike replied. Lord Steward demands a celebration ceremony to be held, insisting on the presence of representatives of every country to show unity and dispel fear. Not a bad move, as it binds the Reclaimers’ grabby hands. Sword Saint peaced out and went hunting. The Ambassador went ballistic that Ice Fangs had outmaneuvered us, blaming the Secret Service, the corporations, and everyone in sight for missing an opportunity.
Sounds fun. Augustus punched.
You have no idea. I’ll tell you later over a wine. Ciao, and stay safe.
Keep your head safe, too. A shadow darkened the screen of his monitor, and Augustus’ hand closed over the hilt of his saber, then relaxed as he realized who sneaked up at him.
“Augustus,” said Enrico Barjoni, dressed in a strict business suit.
“Enrico.” Augustus nodded at a free seat.
Enrico tried to fit his impressive bulk of muscles into the seat, clicked his tongue, and pulled the armrests up, freeing himself some space. He placed a blue-nailed hand on the explorator’s shoulder, squeezing hard enough to crush the fabric of his vest.
“I heard you saved my boy’s life, Rho,” he said. “Much obliged. I am in your debt. Mind showing me that saber of yours? Just want to see the blade you used to cut that shambler.”
Augustus pulled off his saber and handed it to the man, hilt first. Enrico took the blade like a knife, holding it up to the light, testing its balance, and examining the edge. He swung the weapon and skillfully changed the direction of the downward cut.
Sending the edge straight into Augustus’ eyes.