Scream
It broadcast live on every one of their channels. An override of the entire network, the largest in the country, all one-hundred and sixteen stations. At the start of the transmission it was just their company, just one unannounced emergency broadcast from central control, but by the end every network in the country had picked it up.
The face of one man, live, in front of a plain blue screen. A young African-American with short black hair, white glassy eyes and pale, ashen skin which sagged from his face like the jowls of a bloodhound. When his mouth moved, a bloodless slit opened and closed beneath his throat, and the words that tumbled from his mouth spoke in a cadence not his own.
“Ladies and gentlemen, children, governments of the world. My name is Klaus Heydrich. You know who I am.”
*
Alone in his sanctum, the words echoed from the command centre’s speakers, and Mentok’s eyes snapped up. In a moment he had identified the station, deploying armours and drones, though he knew he’d be too late.
“Do not be fooled by this face, this hapless puppet. He is my vessel, my messenger. An hour ago, I offered this young man peace and prosperity – this Acolyte of the Legion – and he threw it in my face. Now his family, and everyone who sheltered them, is dead, and his body serves me anyway.”
“Rakowski,” Mentok murmured into his neural connection, “Check on the Herd family and their fosters.” Though he already knew the answer.
More corpses for the pile.
*
“There is a lesson here, for those left capable of learning. For the nations who remain. I have bided my time to speak with you, allowed you to expend your greatest efforts.”
Inside the Pentagon, no one spoke – every person in deadly silence, watching the same face on a hundred screens. The entire government brought to a standstill.
“They have all of them been futile. Your continued defiance is futile. You have seen my powers; have seen that I cannot be stopped. The only question now is how much? How much of the Earth must be sacrificed, how many more lives thrown away, until you accept that you cannot win?”
*
“Do not be fooled – I do not want this devastation. I have no desire to destroy your homes, your families, your nations. I want to save this world, to end its weakness. Its stagnation. We have been blessed with the knowledge, the power, to shape a better future – yet look at us. Discordant, debased. Rotting in mediocrity, weighed down by inferiority, led by deviants and cowards.”
The plant had stopped work. The machines hissed and steamed but no one cared. A hundred blackened workmen stood silently together, every eye fixated on the screen of the tiny television.
The blank face of Will Herd stared back at them.
“I want only virtue. I want the natural order. I want to take your burdens and the shackles of your failures and build a world free from invalids, imbeciles and incompetents. I want to renew humanity. I want to cure it of its infection, restore its purpose and drive. Do not fight me. Embrace me. Together, we can bring mankind into its golden age and end this cycle of suffering, this slow and piteous death.”
*
The red walls of the Chinese party room sat silent. Slowly, from their individual chairs, the ministers exchanged glances with one another. An aide whispered in the Premier’s ear. Across from him, the President’s fingers touched to his temple.
“My offer is simple. Governments of Earth: reject the Mindtaker’s war. Pledge yourselves to me, submit to my new world order, and I will bring you the future he owes you. It is not a matter of if I will be victorious – it is a matter of if you join me, or if you are dead. There will be no mercy for those who continue this pointless struggle. But for all those who wish to live – let it be easy. Raise a black flag atop your buildings in solidarity. Or join the Russians in the ground.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
A few men shook their heads, muttering – but many more sat perfectly still.
*
In front of the camera, as the entire studio watched on with shaking breaths, the body paused, unblinking, its eyes empty, clouded orbs.
“You have surrendered your freedom. It has failed you. You have surrendered your sovereignty, to no effect. With those things surrendered, will you now also give your lives? No. Join me instead and preserve them. Accept the reality of your fate. I will not negotiate. I cannot be stopped. Fight, and die. Surrender and live.”
“Citizens of the world, embrace your new order. Or let the suffering continue. It is your choice.”
The corpse’s mouth split into a slack, blank-eyed grin – and then the broadcast stopped.
*
Two hundred feet beneath the earth, in his fortress of steel and stone, Viktor Mentok pinched the bridge above his nose and closed his eyes.
It was always coming, he told himself. He was always eventually going to do it. But maybe, maybe if the various governments stayed steady… if they continued to believe, held their courage, didn’t flinch…
Yes, spat his angry, burning mind – trust in the courage of politicians and bureaucrats. Trust in feckless, selfish morons whose greed and idiocy was only outstripped by their cowardice.
The connection crackled in his mind, and Mentok did not open his eyes.
“Viktor, we-”
“Just tell me how many Rakowski.”
“Portugal has disconnected. Argentina and Mexico – I think they’ve left. Italy. Australia. Indonesia.”
“Any others?”
“Minor nations. Some Pacific islands. And…” the young genius paused, “…China.”
Alone before the towering screens, Mentok felt himself sink. His limbs went limp, although he did not sit. The suit held him in place, kept him upright, kept him standing. The screens flashed red, throwing up images, warnings of people surrendering – control of factories withdrawn, communication lines closed, black flags raised on rooftops. A patchwork of light, breaking out into darkness.
“So be it,” he whispered. So came the end of humanity’s brief voluntary unity. The withdrawals came thick and fast now, a panicked flock of birds seeing one another take flight. Not everyone would be so callous; not everyone would surrender. Not everywhere. But it would be enough.
“Viktor?”
For the good of mankind. He stared down at his heart, at the resplendent silver eagle he’d had inlaid across Siegfried’s chest. So childish, to bother with such a blatant symbol. To attempt to spur courage and cooperation in the souls of lessor men. He’d always known, ultimately, what it would come to. That at the end of things, he would be alone.
There is nothing that cannot be sacrificed for victory.
“Viktor? What do we do?”
We do nothing, Mentok answered, in lone and silent thought. Not now. Not anymore.
There was but one card left to play.
The final secret. The thick neural implants drilled directly into the back of his neck, extending from his brain stem beneath his hair and down along his spine. Mentok’s eyes rolled back, and his steady hands reached behind his head. His fingers found the central node, and the network came alive at his touch. Flashing green and red and calling for him to sing. Sing with it, call out, speak commandments to the dark.
Three words.
“Heart of ash.”
*****
All around the world, the factories of Earth had been turned to Viktor Mentok’s purposes. They had forged his materials – they had made his machines. A sleepless, ceaseless genius, with limited time and limitless resources. They had built his metal creations, his harvesters, his armours and satellites, his defences and weapons of war. And in secret, too, they had made something else, repeatedly, and in their billions. Tiny devices, hidden silently until the time was right.
Until it was time to unleash his plague.
From a million rooms in a million buildings erupted black and rumbling clouds. Like swarms of flies they rose, a billion black dots uniform in size and structure, individually as small as fingernails, together a fast and thundering horde. They did not touch the factory workers – they had all long-since been bitten. They flew too past the towns, those that were adjacent – the plague had already spread there too. Instead, the clouds flew to the cities, disbursing as they went, from thick impenetrable shadows that blotted out the sun to a thin and buzzing haze that spread out like a fog. The black spots descended into every home and business, along every street and alley, up and down, around and underneath.
In the cities where it was night-time, there was little resistance to their approach. The citizens lay sleeping, and through windows and around doors remained unaware of the swarm’s arrival until one after another they felt a sting on the back of their necks. In the daylight regions, there was more panic – curiosity as the black cloud appeared on the horizon, confusion as it got nearer, fear as it drew close. Alarms went up, people lashed out with powers – but the swarm was numerous and nimble, and it descended unrelenting on them all. Those who fought, those who hid, those who wondered, those who ran – all had the metal plague sweep over them, and all felt a stinging on their necks. They fell to the ground, clutching the bite in shock, as they felt something cold and hard bury into them, a pain at the tip of their spine-
And then suddenly they stopped moving. Suddenly everyone stopped. Mankind lay uniformly immobile as the swarm flew ever onwards, turning to lesser population centres in a relentless, methodical spread. Suddenly, across the entire length and breadth of humanity, there was stillness – a silent sea of bodies bearing black spots upon their necks.
Waiting, unmoving, until abruptly they looked up.
Until suddenly, all together, their marks began to glow.
Until in unison they rose, and turned, without uttering a sound. Perfectly still and ready, without panic or complaint.
Six billion eyes stared outwards, and behind them a single man stared back.
Viktor Mentok.
The Mindtaker.
Bearing unity at last.