Gyze was one of the few “Old captains left, who still knew how to get things back up to speed in a hurry. At the unfortunate behest of his crew Gyze was needed to finalize judgement at the helm of the ship “the Beacon Crest”, where a wide dome shaped room was the hub of activity, somewhere between a live newsroom and a frenzied stock market floor. Computerized seats that looked like they belonged to some racing arcade game indented themselves into the wall each with a corresponding operator a buzzing hive of nerds who looked to clean cut to be authentic pirates, were essentially honorary ones. Amid the center of the room were some very sturdy looking display table, each with its own purpose for more strategic task for commanding delegates. One of such was the localized geographic display map where one could see a wire frame grid of the terrain usually below them, that now showed an indent created by a blue hologram representing the ship.
“Ah master Gyze! I’m glad you could make arrangement to keep the appointments I’ve made for you.” Said a man with feathered snare of gray thorns for hair. He wore a one-piece burgundy trench coat, with the sharp shoulders of a military suit jacket, made of some dense material that seemed wrinkle proof. A wide perfect circle shape collar made a crater where his neck started. He looked his outfit made him look as if he could work in the medical, military, sanitation field simultaneously, successfully, with an enthusiasm for evangelism on the side. This was the cunning and ruthless “Acting Captain” Greis Keiz who loved being captain a little more than anyone truly should. His silver thorned stubble seemed to crawl down seamlessly from the eruption of waves on his head down to his strong commanding face, even if he wasn’t the right person for the job, he looked like he could be. His square shaped head and jaw made combined with his small round glasses dug in beneath his rigid looking white eyebrows made him look like so eager eyed snow leopard ready for an opportunity. The man looked inexplicably old and young at the same time , somewhere between 30 and 50, wrinkles perhaps camouflaged by the dense bristles of his hedgehog like hair forest. Two greasy old keys, that looked like they fit into some monstrosity of a tractor hung from his ear, earnings that looked like some bizarre soundless wind chimes. Nobody knew if “Greis Keiz” was his true name or a nickname from his attire, but he would tell under no spell, who’s peculiar ego made him immune to the captivation powers of Gyze and his kin.
“Please omit your formalities. What has happened to my ship?” Gyze
“Uh you’re never any fun you know that, so damn moody all the time. But were obliviously in some shit if we need you to formalize ou plan of action. We got caught up by some Writhing Roach Ravens before, basted things dug some pretty good holes in the ship. You want the good news or the bad first? ” Greis
“Give me the bad.”
“Well, we’ll be grounded here for at least a week, and if that wasn’t bad enough the feds will probably come snooping around for that moon rock you ‘had to have’. On top of that we’re in the middle of this damn jungle, the very same jungle that took us out of the sky in the first place. Getting the raw materials here, without drawing attention will be a challenge. Good news is it’s mostly engine and hull damage, simple repairs just time consuming and if nobodies found us yet they probably didn’t here us crash out here. But that’s the gist of it.”
“Good take care of it. I’m going to explore around us, see if there is anything interesting around here.” Said Gyze with his aquatic body walking away from Greis.
“I always hate when things ‘Interest’ you. Always more damn work for me.”
He shouted a loud enough for him to be heard, as Gyze left as quickly as he arrived. “Wilkes, Geoffrey!” Greis Roared
“Sir?” Geoffrey stood up from his computer seat with his headset half on over one ear.
“You’re going on a field trip!” Ordered Greis.
“Me sir?” Asked the fresh-faced young man of African European lineage with two fiercely focus orange painted hazel eyes, with a slightly confused look on his face. “You know I’m not very combat efficient. My specialty is in intelligence and communications.”
“Exactly, and that’s why I’m sending you. Consider this a training exercise. Trust me, you wont be needing any combat experience whatsoever. Your job is to keep an eye on our dear sweet Captain. Don’t let him do anything I wouldn’t do, savvy?”
“I think I copy, but I don’t think have suit for the weather out there, maybe you should send someone else?” Inquired Geoffrey in his formal black military officer pressed uniform with a white seven-pointed star logo containing a skull insignia on the shoulder sleeve.
“No, no trust is the only asset I need on this mission and you’re the man for the job. Go get ready take the subway the back hatch hangar I’ll have them rig you up with everything you need.”
Geoffrey was man who trusted no one but himself, a man who made a name for himself aboard the ship in 3 short years after being recruited at 18. His parents perished in the “Texas Exodus Massacre” almost a decade ago, when Texas and the Edge of New Mexico became the epicenter of combat between 3 nations, turning it into the Disease Sea, surrounded by the Corpse Compost Containment perimeter. A majority of New Mexico and half of Arizona became the Uninhabitable Dirge of Desolation, turning most of the barren land into Burning Blood Sand desserts where no are suspected to live among the raging red sandstorms. Until any advance was punished by the crushing obliteration of Odesscyrah Federal Consortium’s titan suits: Deth Mettle, Zanzibear, and Guiltless Goblin. By blasting “the 50 clawed craft” called the Hiscariot Terraform Terror from the sky, and by finally bludgeoning the crab clawed humanoid boxing titan, The Fissure Ripper, into crumpled pile of scrap. Finally ending the Unimpeded March into Odesscyrian territory. But the war could have been stopped way before it got to that point, in Geoffrey’s perspective. He once did consider himself a true Odesscyrian, but they couldn't be trusted to end the war, much less win, so he would find his own way, with or without the government, whatever path that was. He was very calm, almost timid to the untrained eye, but Greis could see it in him buried so deep even without the powers of Gyze. He burned with restlessness, a subdued hunger for battle, for not just justice, if such a thing could even be had, but vengeance, and rebellion. But at just 18 he needed experience, a challenge to crack him loose from his cocoon.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The deceitfully fresh faced black suited young man crawled down to the pits of the subway terminal after making his descent down from one of the redistricted access “high office elevators”. The vast contrast to the sky terminal of which he was accustomed to was immediately apparent. The red maintenance lights painted the alien collage of industrial infrastructure that glued the platform together. Gangs of predominantly men clamored around the wide platform of the railway gutter. The wide arching roof connected by brick pillars, was charlatan's attempt to imitate a traditional old British style train station, to limited success. What would normally be a skylight, was some cistern of steam bathing a cacophony of pipes, slowly engrossing anything above with an infinitely accumulating lacquer of grease, perhaps thicker than the pipes that also made its way down to some of the bricks. The mob pirate citizens, sat in tight clusters like some kind of heard of animals, waiting for their chance to fight for priority positions aboard the incoming vessel. The howling frenzy of their daily dues went mostly unbothered by his presence, with the occasional side eye or spiteful leer latching on to him. Their yellow crusted zombie fangs showed their lack of interest in anything involving dentistry, unless considering a specialist as a cannibalistic food source. Many were shirtless, including the women, covered in an adhesive layer of sweat, slathered in streaks of shit perhaps from brushing up against a grease ridden wall. Some were full time tenants of the platform with tents, while others, more elaborate construction attached to the walls, where sexual moans could currently be heard. Others were lying about as if lifeless destitutes, while parts of the heard snarled as some of it’s members sat crouched down into an ape like posture. But some were just rugged folks looking to get through their workday maintaining the ship. But the one thing that drew people to the ship was it was fair, fairer perhaps than many of the other national government hierarchy. “You participate, you earn your keep”. At least that’s how Geoffrey saw it, and could a life of crime be worse than a world where your family and home are destroyed by war overnight? He didn’t think so. There were of course some policing agents aboard the Mordant Despair, With their own headquarters lodged tightly between the mutant arrangement of buildings mirroring a more unhinged architectural version of New York City, with some building growing out of walls connecting other traditional upright buildings rising above the metal sidewalks separated by searing sewage rivers, headed to the water-cooling chambers. Some building still rose above those one anchored to the ceiling with gratuitous amounts of welding, and a few even connected to both the ceiling and the floor. This was the ‘residential’ central cargo hanger the capitol city aboard the ship Sequestorm City, where many lived their lives and made a living, if they weren’t off ship “sorcers”. This hot damp sauna like swamp of metropolis seem never sleep, with no signals for any kind of circadian rhythm that could possibly breach the hull. Damp enough to have fully flourishing fungus gardens on the rooftops ,as well as many other unwelcome place they had invaded, and other synthetic light fed crops.
The viscous humidity caused the feebler members of society to invest into elephant faced breathing mask just to traverse the open air, but approximately every 48 hours it would rain for about 12, as if the whole was some elaborately mechanical unbelievably expensive watch, with this city as it’s rain making dial.
Geoffrey stared out of the window of the railway system that hung above the city as he passed through it he soul see neon signs sizzling through Swampy fog of the glowing red city, though he could only make out vague impressions of things through wall of haze. He could live here. He thought, if he lost himself entirely, and gave up on his adamant drive to make a difference in the world to burn his name into a chapter of history, like attempting calligraphy with a lit cigarette, but that was not who he was even though he at time romanticized becoming a derelict vagrant, free from himself.
He enjoyed the newfound vacancy aboard the shuttle, the sweat fueled huddle somewhat alleviated with each passing stop, allowing him a clean view of the vista from the back of the train, the furthest point away from any of the boarding doors. But the stagnant smell of feral fermenting flesh still stained the air, in the otherwise remarkably clean vessel. Perhaps burrowing its way in any seam it could, from the rising fumes of the city itself. The train docked into a station invested in one of the buildings glued to ceiling like a metal spider egg, or a globular stalactite coliseum. Its altitude made it a hard target for less well to do vagabonds from enjoying an extended stay aboard the train or the terminal, except for the exceptionally crafty few Transit Traders who found a way to make it their lifestyle.
The doors slid open a mass bodies poured out while some backwash seeped back in, Geoffrey stood observing, grappling to his grab rail pole. He was already sweating, pooling splotches under his armpits that were well camouflage by his black suit. Secretly he was dying of thirst, having completed only half of the 1-hour transit to the lower bottom quadrant of the ship. He tried to maintain his cool cut composure, which was still maintaining fairly well, until the invisible wave of humid exhaust engulfed him in dense humidity after unintentionally being invited inside by the clamoring transit goers. “Damn!” Geoffrey hunched over as if he too took a slug to the gut, panting for breath while drawing in more heat than breathable air. He pulled himself back up on the pole next to him, before thrashing to unzip the suit jacket of his uniform that he now felt was suffocating him. He freed himself form jacket, revealing his plain white tank-top and a huge chunk of hardware that covered half his forearm. He then resumed his hunched over panting stance, drowning in sweat as his breathing returned to a less frantic state. He remembered he did have his flask full with his 8oz ration of water, which was mandated equipment for officer personnel, and he hadn’t changed the water in it in months. It would have to do for now to avoid a pit stop into the unknown. He paced his chugs being careful not to drown himself more than he already was, to ensure not a drop would be wasted. He then crashed backward on the hard yellowed enamel of the bench seat behind him, under normal circumstances he preferred standing, surveying, analyzing his environment. If anxiety could ever be a super power it almost was for him, he was a threat hunter, or at least that’s how he thought of his ability. The double-edged sword of his razor-sharp keenness was a supernatural paranoia that gave him jittery hair trigger reflexes, but he could hear a pen drop from the front of the train if he was listening for it, when he wasn’t being haunted by the whisperers of the dead.
“Yes, this is first officer Greis Keis. I’m sending you an officer for a special deployment mission, I would like you to give him a full rundown of the suit’s functionality, so he’ll be as prepared as possible. But I have a modification request, I want you to rig his navigation to randomize coordinates every 30 minutes.” Said Greis resting his Lan phone beneath his tilted head propped up by his arm.
“Sir, Are you sure?!” Replied the maintenance chief, unsettled by the peculiarity of the unusual request.
“Absolutely. Make it happen!” He smirked as a spark of excitement jolted across his eyes, like a mischievous scientist running some volatile experiment of ambiguous ethicality.
“Uhhhh, yes sir!” He replied affirming his cooperation, although enthusiastically.