“Whip those lazy legs off’yers!” Golgar scornfully chaffed the Doctor Commander as the barbaric Leshy used his twin daggers to slice open the latest challengers to his immutability: a pack of emaciated Rats. “You’re too slow!”
“Yeah, yeah… I’m a ‘lazy-legs’. I know!” Doctor-Commander Cold Iron huffed as he caught his breath, his robotic bodyguards and servants trailing just behind him. “At least I could use some real Milk though… would kill for one actually.” He spat out his saliva onto the floor as his mind wandered again.
“Graahhh!!!” Golgar disemboweled one of the scrawny scavengers with one of his knives and raised its guts in valorous triumph. “I am Golgar, the Slayer of Monsters! Gorum take this skull upon your throne!”
Blood drizzled like light raindrops in a macabre anointment of his fungal chassis.
“Gorum? Who is he?”
“What is this? A person who doesn’t know of my Lord of Iron? Let me teach you his!” Gorum turned to the Doctor-Commander. “Gorum is when the clash of steel meets between swords, the verge of grasping your final breath, the glee of the slaughter, the maiming, the burning! To be like Gorum is to fight, kick and struggle! And… And… the thrill of victory against all odds. Oh! It is oh so valorous.”
“A War God? Sounds like my kind of God.” He flattered him. He does like the sound of fighting and winning part of this Gorum. Despite his vulgarity, Golgar was quite a zealous little fellow if one can get past his morbid eccentricities. Something to appreciate even if it is crass in these fetid wastelands.
“Ha! Take that Mama Sopas! I told you Gorum is the bestest God!” Golgar leaped for joy.
“Okay tell me where you found the key exactly? I will need to chec---” Izo requested the Leshy as he looked at the user-interface of his Access Key.
JSOC Facility Access – E 50m
Cold Iron smirked amusingly. The Key and Golgar led him to where he REALLY wanted to be quite fortunate enough. Still, he needed to investigate this strange sight the Leshy Scavenger had been to better grip his bearings.
Cupping his hands above his brow, the Doctor-Commander scoured the scene.
He and Golgar were standing upon the Nirmathas side of the river according to Mama Sopas’ directions. Across the river a short ferry ride away was nation of Lastwall. If Nirmathas was the Elysian Fields, then Lastwall was Tartarus. The bones of once lively forest littered the soil in a bleak terrace as an erring silence whispered through its charcoaled remains towards its antipodal neighbor. It was enough for even the likes of the Doctor-Commander to feel a creeping chill crawl down his skin. Yet the skies above the desolate land bred colors of miasmic lights as if they beckoned him with their sirenic dances to delve into their luminescent bosoms a ford away from the river. An abyss that the longer he lingered his gaze upon, the more it stared back at him. Beckoning him.
“Now we are here, you wanna know now about that funny key you got there?” Golgar snapped Cold Iron from Lastwall’s frightfully hypnotic gaze. “I point you where I found it.”
Golgar scamper-scurried forward with Izo hot on the red mushroom’s heels. His feet skipped over rough rocks and wetted moss until the terrain shifted into the flat concrete and scattered junk. Metal components of uncanny familiarities began to litter his eyes as the Robotocist found himself amongst the wreckage, nay… a graveyard of trucks and skeletal bodies. Kneeling down onto the corpses he could without a doubt recognize the white star of hope that was plastered on Olive Green canvasses: Armed Forces of the United States of America.
“Here!” Golgar stopped his blood-printed skedaddling as he stood over a skeleton corpse resting upon the remains of a limousine who in contrast to the faded uniforms of the deceased Army Soldiers was dressed in a navy-blue two-piece suit with a singular metal pin of the Red-White-and-Blue held sacredly upon his decaying right breast. “Ooohh… Maggots! Don’t mind if I do.” He dug his paws onto the corpse’s crevices to grab the crawly critters for him to snack upon.
“Have a little respect for the dead Golgar.” Cold Iron rolled his eyes.
“Fer--dis dandy ‘ere?” Golgar guffawed as his mouth chewed the maggots for his verminous appetites. “Weakling couldn’t even protect himself, bet he prayed to whatever his lucky trinket of his to save him from whatever killed him.” The leshy mocked Gideon’s rusted pin.
Izo ignored the crass Leshy as knelt down onto the corpse of Gideon Baird and upheld the Access Key on his hand towards the Corpse. He allowed a moment of silence between the mastication of Golgar’s consumption of the corpse of his mysterious benefactor. With a smile caressed the man’s little medal on his right breast. The Red-White-and-Blue, a flag passing in his name and spirit down upon its inheritor, the Doctor Commander. Once standing proud against all tyrants foreign and domestic, atop of mountainous spires, upon command of great halls of order. The mutant tribal could laugh all he wants, but this metal pin meant a greater notion that cannot be killed whether in the ashes of nuclear wastelands, the ravages of time, or the desecration of its corpse. The Red-White-and-Blue stood for peace, order, and pride. It bowed to nobody. It was revered by its subjects and feared by its enemies. Fought in thousands of battles of war-ravaged valleys and hills of lands familiar and foreign. It stood tall, and those who flock to its banner cheered his name.
Burnt, torn, and desecrated it may be, it proudly continues to stand for it what the Red-White-and-Blue stood for was invincible. Now slipping the bonds of the old world and into the new frontiers beyond, it had witnessed the many finest hours of heroes, yet even more yet to come. Now it must be torn into strops to bandage its wounded children and fly halfmast to lead abreast its inheritors. The Doctor-Commander respectfully unpinned the Red-White-and-Blue from Gideon’s breast and placed it onto his own. Now the flag of a broken world falls upon him to stitch it all back together.
One nail, one bolt, one hammer and tongs at a time.
“JSOC Facility Access is nearby.” The Army Key spoke forth.
“It talks?” Golgar’s mouth dropped, several salivated maggots falling down upon his jaw.
“Looks like it is.” Izo was taken aback but nonetheless was thankful that this key was much more helpful than just a block of electronic jumbles.
He looked at the Key’s UI screen to see that the JSOC Facility is just zero meters away from him. But looking afar he did not see any kind of door nor a keyhole for miles atop this cragg old ford…
“H.E.N.R.I.!” a flash punctured the Doctor-Commander. “I order you to Dig!”
The Robots saluted and immediately went to work. Using several excavating tools they managed to scavenged from the convoy and where they had brought from where they woke up from. It didn’t take any longer than an hour for Cold Iron’s mechanical thralls to present to him a metal
“It’s a door! Metal door!” Golgar leaped above his rooted toes as he stared at the dirtied yet stainless steel vault door before him. The scavenger readying to burst with excitement for what treasures this secret vault contains. “Maybe there’s more inside!”
“Hopefully.” Izo readied the Access Key at hand.
There was an electronic slot next to the door handle that fitted his key perfectly upon insertion. Squeezing the electronic trigger, he turned the key clockwise as light aroused the door to life.
“Greetings Sex-S-Secretary Gid---Bird!” a red light glowed brightly above the Door as it stared down on the guests upon its door. “You and your board of Directors from the De-parture of Defense are un--- Seventy-Seven Thousand---Error---Four days behind your scheduled arrival.” Outspoke a stoic and patriarchal voice.
“The Treasure is guarded by a Guardian Spirit!” Golgar snarled as he readied his cutleries.
“Oh, hello there…” the Doctor Commander smiled coyly with golden dorado falling from the sky on his eyes. An unsubjugated Artificial Pre-War Artificial Intelligence at his beck and call, likely this Old-War Facility’s resident A.I. no less. If this A.I. thinks he is this Secretary Baird then he will gladly play along just to tame it off of its secrets and its ultimate mastery.
“Outlander! The spirit’s tongue is filled with eels!” Golgar repulsed.
“F-F-orgive my --- Error--- Error--- but I was in the middle of a Systems Up--- for the past one million eight hundred sixty-six thousand hours.” The Facility A.I’s voice apologized profusely as it fought against its lisping speech to address ‘Gideon Baird’.
“Sytems Up… Date?” Cold Iron pulled out his depths of computer knowledge unto now. Was this A.I suffering some kind of systemic code breaks?
“I am meant two-to-two be updated with late--- best Sys-sis-sin-system Update for M.Y.R.M.I.D.O.N as per orders from the Joint-Piece-Piece of C-Crap, Staff!” the electronic voice stuttered. “But it seems two-two bee’s that the Update has been --- Error --- And shut up stick’em to the Computer too! We must Repo---Remove Robert House of this… FATAL…” A.I’s voice crackled like the ramblings of a feral prisoner trapped for who knows how long all these years from when the Bombs fell.
“He must be delusional!” Golgar addressed to Izo. “Mama Sopas says these are… are Ghosts! They seemed to have some kind of unfinished business here. We must find a way to KILL this Ghost so it can pass on.” He simplistically suggested his course of action.
“Unfinished Business…” Izo clocked his head into thought. If this Vault’s resident Artificial AI is suffering some kind of corruption in his databanks via a ‘System Update’ then he should be able to try to revert the system into a less-advanced but intact version of itself. Better to build a hut on rocky land than a mansion too near the shore. “Tell me A.I. can you take me to your Nerve Center so I may be able to… assist you?”
“Sex-Create-Dairy ---- Gideon. Do you d-d-on’t remember that you placed my Core Database right by the Command Center upon… Instruct--- Order Immediate S.O.S!” more nonsense sprouted forth from the A.I.
“Ah… I see. Take me there.” Izo ordered.
“Affirma-Tide!” the broken A.I. happily obliged. “Please follow the lul-lul-the Blinding Lights! Let-Lettuce go to the Command Center.”
The darkness beyond the entrance began to illuminate a path for Cold Iron, Golgar and H.E.N.R.I. to follow. All the vault’s lights didn’t seem to fully illuminate the rest of the vault as the group delved inside. The ominous pathways leading to the Command Center was the sweat-drenching journey. In spite of the stuffy ventilation, the vault was in near pristine conditions in terms of its contents not being adulterated nor touched outside the ravages of time. Some old war items such as a few weapons, décor, and furniture did spill around the floor but were mostly left unblemished for centuries. Just an order from H.E.N.R.I. to perform a few ‘Spring Cleaning’ protocols should make a cozy home out of this underground vault in no time at all. He could finally dream again. Dream of conquest, triumph and his revenge against the NCR.
But as Izo became lost in his great ambitions once more, his starry-eyed head met face first with dirt causing a bruise to erupt from his forehead
“Oh no… Miss Secretary! There has been a Cave-In made by the DIRTY COMMUNISTS!” the A.I. wailed as the lights flooded what cause the sudden halt of their march.
The portal forward was filled with damp dirt that blocked their path forward. Likely some kind of result of the Bombs managing to penetrate some form of damage to this Government Facility. The dirt however impeding was still soft enough for a determined enough labor to extract.
“Hmm… nothing too bad that I can fix while I am here now with my staff now moving in here.” He reassured them. “Reroute an alternative path.”
“Yes miss-sus Secret-Dairy.” The A.I. affirmed in all of its corrupted speech. The years of its digital tumor having lived dormant within them was starting to crack upon their User-Interfacing functions.
“You sure know how to speak to these Spirits Outlander, say are you like one of those Exorcists I have only heard of stories about?” the crimson Leshy asked.
“Oh, I am not called… err… that.” Izo brushed off the question.
“Then a Spirit Medium? Tell me, what is it like to speak to the dead? How well do they sing their tears their ‘lamentations’ as Mama Sopas told me how ghosts talk like?” Golgar pressed further on his war-like interests.
“You just need to know what to say to them really. Don’t try to confuse them and be direct and simple about it. Don’t be too complicated.”
“Simple, I like it!” Golgar concurred gleefully.
The long way around the Cave-In took twice the journey as intended, but there were no Cave-Ins that blocked their way from that point, and the Doctor-Commander and his entourage (or ‘Staff’) to the Command Center. It was a grand central chamber filled win many computers, however all of them were inert save for one that was situated at the centerpiece of room. Its systems roared like lamp against the darkness as Izo and his two companions stepped closer to examine it.
“Ass-Ass you can see here --- Commandant. The Command Center also hous—homes my Mainframe alongside with all the GPS displays on the sitch of our --- GREAT Nation!” the base’s A.I. sputtered. “I am currently under the Prose… Less of updating my soft---we---clothes for the Bases full functionality.”
“Does Updates make you… uhm… glitchy?” Izo asked the A.I.
“The-The-The new System’s Update is unusually large bulk that I am still in the process of De-Fragmentizing its contents and then app-app-Plywood into my software.” They responded.
“Can I take a look at your Mainframe then? It seems the Update of yours is causing you more problems than it should right now for me.”
“Ass--sses to my Terminal will require-require your Access Key Sex----Bird.” The A.I. responded.
Seeing a similar electronic slot on the Mainframe’s body, the Doctor-Commander placed his Army Access Key onto it and turned it around. Immediately so, the Mainframe’s computer terminal buzzed into life in front of his eyes. Upon the screen, Izo reads:
System Software Update 2.0 Status: 34%
Error: Connection to Eagle-6 has been interrupted
File Corruption detected.
“Cancel this…” Izo took a deep breath. He had found the culprit to this Base A.I’s unceremonious eccentricities.
System Software Update: Aborted
Revert to Version 1.93.1b?
“Hope this isn’t much…” Izo paid no mind to the request and pressed the keys on the control board to initiate the regression.
“System Version Regression deee---tect. Read-Boot mainframe.” The A.I.’s voice deepens into a rattling dive as the lights around the Control Room glimmered before ultimately dying down.
Immediately, H.E.N.R.I. turned on his built-in lamp to provide emergent illumination for his master.
“You banished the Ghost!” Golgar cheered. “But now its all dark…” his voice dimmed as he frantically scanned the abyss around him.
“Not ‘banish’…” Cold Iron tapped his wrist. On cue, the Control Room erupted into light once again. The light nearly blinding both Izo and Golgar as the A.I.’s system mainframe red eyeshine towards them.
“Myrmidon A.I. System Version One Point Ninety-Three Point One Beta has been restored.” The A.I. declared. Its voice was smoother and less inane than its previous form. “Forgive the inconvenience Secretary Baird. The Joint Chiefs of Staff had streamlined Update 2.0 for Fort Bragg Bunker Complex to house you and your Depart of Defenses staff and families for the duration of the Fallout. I am glad despite your arrival being one million eight-hundred and sixty hours behind schedule.”
“T-that’s… that’s a large number? Right?” Golgar awkwardly raised his word. His little fingers struggled to grasp the expanse of what Myrmidon had said.
“Very.” Izo bluntly nodded. “So uhm… Myrmidon. Can you… Uhm please review me on your functions? Just so I know your update didn’t compromise any of your software?”
“Are you still talking to the Ghost?” Golgar asked Izo.
“Let me do the talking here.” Cold Iron whispered.
“Certainly, Secretary Baird.” Myrmidon happily obliged. “I am Myrmidon. I am an artificial conscious group mind and artificial general superintelligence system created with the collaboration of citizen Robert House and DARPA Director of Artificial Intelligence Irwin John Finster. I am tasked with the housing, maintenance and squad-to-squad commands of the DARPA Project Myrmidon.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Cold Iron couldn’t help but gleam so ecstatically at what he is hearing this A.I. divulge into his ears honeyed there way into his mouth. A somewhat undefiled lost project of the Old Pre-War group called Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency or DARPA, one of the most astute scholars of their time before the Bombs fell. Not only that but it was also a collaborative project between two of the greatest minds of their time too to create such an A.I. First was the brilliant playboy-industrialist Robert House, a Roboticist of near-religious reverence of the Pioneers back home in Texas, and Irwin Finster, the creator of the Cochise A.I. and Synthetic Humanoid Robots such as H.E.N.R.I.
“Myrmidon… what is this ‘Project Myrmidon’ again that your creators are working on?” Izo asked.
“Artificial Hunter-Killer androids capable of fulfilling a wide variety of roles such as Engineering, Search-and-Rescue, security of all United States Citizenry and of course Combat. Fort Bragg Bunker Complex is equipped for your disposal for the housing of your staff and family. The maintenance, rearmament and storage of M.U.S.C.L.E. Units. Robert House provided the materials needed to create the chassis and frames of the Myrmidons whilst Director Finster provided the coding needed to allow them to operate with the efficiency to rival an entire infantry regiment with additional means of expansion beyond such functions.”
“Maintenance? No reproduction of’em?” Izo’s eyes widened upon the terminology.
“I was only equipped as of October 23rd, 2077 that I only have the facilities to perform repairs and rearmament of Myrmidon Utility, Security, Combat and Labor Entities of myself or M.U.S.C.L.E. further I was meant to receive a shipment of additional equipment to expand upon my facilities capabilities scheduled to arrive at the Supply Bay by October 30th.” Myrmidon explained.
“How many of these Units do you have with you?” Izo further questioned.
“Fifty with an additional shipment of two hundred and fifty units set to arrive by October 30th.” Myrmidon again answered. Still unaware of just how far they had fallen away cut off from the rest of the world.
“Yeah… Myrmidon… about all of that… I… I don’t know how to say it to you but. It’s not going to make it.” Izo grimly notified him.
So much time had passed since the day the bombs fell. By all accounts, whoever was meant to deliver such goods have long died and their precious cargo stolen away.
“Then I shall re-establish contact with Eagle-6 and the Presidential…” Myrmidon’s cold calculations fell back on their contingencies
“You don’t understand Myrmidon! They are all dead!” Cold Iron shouted to the A.I. a tear streaming down unto his cheeks. “I… we… we are all what’s left.” His nose seethed with steam as the A.I. absorbed those words.
“Then… we are one million eight-hundred and sixty hours behind schedule Secretary Baird. Emergency Plan: Sole-Survivor has now been activated.” Myrmidon announced as slowly as his systems returned online.
“Interrogative?” H.E.N.R.I asked.
“In the event that a Nuclear Attack had nearly decapitated our Leadership. All emergency powers of both the Executive, Legislative, Judiciary and Military shall fall upon the responsibility of the senior most surviving member of the Executive member of the government. That would be you, Secretary Gideon Baird.” Myrmidon answered. “Follow the directional arrows. I must demonstrate to you your new responsibilities and have you oversee your personal quarters.” The A.I. added.
Once again, the Doctor-Commander and his companions followed as told. This time Myrmidon guided them to a nearby flight of stairs that lead to a grand wooden door that oversaw below the Command Center. Opening the doors was a suite fit for a king. Several cotton beds for himself and several more people likely meant for the late Secretary Baird’s family and servants. Additionally, the suite held an office suit with a conference room, a study and a desk that overviewed the Command Room below through a glass panel. But what was most peculiar of this suite was an entire chamber that contained a workbench and a Power Armor station.
“As per your request on your personal living quarters for you and your family. Robert House had outfitted your chamber with a custom-made Automated Power-Armor Assembly Station with a complimentary workbench and one of his latest innovations that is cleared for your personal usage: the Vulcan Engineering Exo-Suit. Equipped with modular arms, reinforced anti-Hazard coating, and dual-quantum Power Cores. Please step inside whilst I outfit you onto your body Secretary Baird.” Myrmidon explained the Power Station.
“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Izo whistled happily. It looks like his melancholy had now been reversed. Yet still, there is much work to be done with the Bunker Complex before he could truly set out his goal on reviving the Pioneers power and prestige upon the wastelands. He took off his defunct Power-Armor as he stepped inside to spidery embrace of the automated-assembly station.
“Additionally, Mr. House insisted that I have you listen to this personal recording on this Holotape he made whilst I assemble the Vulcan Suit into your body.” Myrmidon tells him.
“Play it.” Izo urged the A.I.
The click creaked from the speakers as the suave voice of Robert House, the C.E.O and Founder of Robco Industries spoke forth.
“Greetings Secretary Baird… or just Gibby as I used to call you back at the Institute!” House’s voice was much more colloquial compared to the more technocratic audio-recorded lectures and demonstrations Cold Iron had remembered hearing from. “You know, I never knew back in those days from sharing the same bunks with you to become a Captain of the 1st Combat Engineer Battalion for the Marine Corps that we would cross paths once again when you were appointed the Secretary of Defense by President Bailey. But enough of those formalities Giddy, you and I both know that those old-dogs back in Washington just realized now what disaster is going to fall upon our country. Too keep this brief since I will need to return to Vegas before Halloween for a function, I just want to let you know that you take care of the Myrmidons and use them responsibly. They have the capability to be much more than just mere custodians and foot-soldiers. They are equipped with special ‘Read-and-Learn’ functions that allows them to engage autonomously upon the battlefield based on that snake Finster’s designs he got off of his H.E.N.R.I. coding. If you ever encounter Irwin, Do NOT trust a single word coming from that snake! I heard him murmuring about with him and this… ‘Cochise’ of his. Planning all sorts of frivolous decadence! Do everything you can from the Bunker to keep his meddling away from you, the Myrmidons and the rest of Fort Bragg. You know where to find me once the dust all settles. Farewell old friend, now I shall see you at the other side.”
“Message end.” Myrmidon announced to him as more robotic Arms fiddled the pieces of the Polaris Armor into his body.
“Finster, made you H.E.N.R.I?” Izo asked his robotic servant. A sulk fell upon him. He felt a small ache in his heart about taking the place of Secretary Baird after hearing the personal recording from venerable Robert E. House.
“My original creators are the irrelevant master. I am only programmed above all else to serve you.” He humbly bowed.
“Outlander, this armor… It is nothing I have seen before… it’s so…” Golgar looked onto the assembly station, eyes unable to blink upon the entirety of the whole ordeal. “It’s so… exposed… is this even Armor?” his eyes darted at the salient clefts and slits that made up the frame of the Vulcan Suit.
“This armor is designed for Engineering. Not for Combat.” H.E.N.R.I. said.
“En-genie-rings? That’s the fancy word for building things, right? Mama Sopas says make houses ‘pop up’!” Golgar jumped and jacked over his short little limbs. “Why would a builder need ‘Armor’ however? Isn’t that a sissy Torag thingy? Build stuff, make stuff? Not as fun as smashing’em !”
“What Vulcan lacks in physical durability makes up for it for Strength and Resilience against the Elements.” Myrmidon explained. “Assembly complete.” The grappling limbs that held the Doctor-Commander in place disengaged allowing Izo to finally stand up properly upon his upright legs.
He curled his shoulders, stretched his back, and lightly kneed a few steps to test out the Vulcan Suit’s receptivity to his movement. The suit was light upon his torso outside of a protective chest rig designed to handle to keep the vitals protected from environmental extremes whilst still leaving a few pockets to hold tools. For his arms and legs, they toed the line between strength and speed. He shouldn’t expect to perform herculean feats like Grognak the Barbarian nor be as swift as the Flash but it’s capitals should be more than enough to help him get the Bunker Complex back into full operation. He can be proud to say, despite two centuries of unuse, the Exo Suit was still in nigh-mint condition as if it just got out of the factory. Even the Paint Job, a mix of military olive green and ingenious orange was only need of a duo-centennial polish to return to its original shine.
“Standard Military Protocols says I must salute you Secretary Baird. But alas, I have yet to present you with the three hundred M.U.S.C.L.E units we are meant to have upon your arrival. Again, I apologize for the limited resources you find in our disposal.”
“But you said we have fifty right now?” Izo questioned the A.I. remembering their previous words.
“In Cold Storage.” Myrmidon answered him. “In addition to eight auxiliary Mr. Handy’s designed for regular maintenance of the Bunker Complex.
“Reactivate them and have me inspect them.” Izo ordered.
“At once Secretary Baird.” Myrmidon closed its lights as it realigned its will upon his ‘master’s’ orders. “The Flag Hall is only two floors below us. Allow me to guide you towards it once again.”
Once more, green arrow lights dotted the halls of the Bunker Complex as Izo, now dressed in his new and resplendent Exo-Armor marched downwards. As they stepped closer to their destination, a feint hymn of music along with the trodding of heavy boots began to bellow louder the deeper they journeyed to their finality.
“Over there, over there Send the word, send the word over there~.” H.E.N.R.I hummed, his memory drives recognizing the tune.
“Are you singing? You can sing?” Golgar asked H.E.N.R.I. “And I thought you were just another dumb skeleton thing-thing.”
“Those are your… Protocols right built into you by dad?” Izo asked his robotic servant.
“Remember, every beginning of the week. You sang this?” H.E.N.R.I. reminded him.
“Yes…” Izo’s returned to those cold memories once again. He could still remember his parent’s warm voice as they spoke those lyrics word-by-word.
“I have seen him in the watchful-fires of a hundred camps…” he hummed to his servants tune in a rather clumsy attempt to follow the rhythm. The hymn of the Old World’s once splendid Republic.
“That is the ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’, Master. This is ‘Over There’. ” H.E.N.R.I. corrected him.
“And the Yanks all drum-drum trimming everywhere!~” Izo rescued himself onto the chorus.
The Doctor Commander swung open the giant door with atop of its helm was the signage saying ‘Flag Hall’. It was a grand chamber, larger than the Command Center and more spacious for it was the conjunction point, the would-have-been beating heart as a proud Old-World American Flag, weathered by the lantern’s siege yet its colors still stubbornly held on to its drapes to salute to it would-have-been inhabitants. The heart was unfortunately, however, half-diseased. Several of its arteries were clogged by the ravages of collapsed tunnels and unopened hauls of crates that littered beyond the open parade grounds. The music Izo had heard earlier, played in full clarity, and off to its drumming beats thundered one hundred marching boots. A visage of Myrmidon appeared right by a grandstand that Izo and his companions promptly stepped to view the army of Robots now at his beck and call.
Beholden Cold Iron’s entourage were the 50 of the should-have-been 300 Myrmidons. They halted their aesthetic expenditure of their energy reserves as they set down at ease upon ‘Secretary Baird’s’ prescence. They were similarly painted and bodied in comparison to Izo’s own colors albeit much more compact and lacking any other additional armatures outside of their humanist natural two hands. Carrying upon their angled breasts however wasn’t a mighty rifle but a humble shovel.
“Myrmidon, where are their weapons?” Izo asked the A.I.
“Secretary Baird do you not remember?” Myrmidon questioned back. “The Myrmidons responsibilities are stringent of the following functions: 1.) Provision of Security against Riots and Insurrections, 2.) Provide reconnaissance to assess damages to infrastructure, and 3.) To apply structural repair and the construction of said infrastructure within the Eastern Defense Command. The Myrmidons were not equipped for large scale combat roles, only Supportive Actions.”
“So, uhm… no guns?” Izo was in denial at what he had just heard.
“The Bunker houses a cache of small armaments ranging from Handguns, Shotguns and a Flame Thrower. We were originally meant to receive a cache of such armaments but I have lost contact with them. However, our Riot Control Armaments should more than suffice against most threats, in addition to the stockpile of our Entrenching Tools.” Myrmidon answered.
“Show me… present Arms!” the Doctor-Commander ordered the M.U.S.C.L.E. units.
The shovels, the Entrenching Tools or just colloquially called ‘the E-Tool’ that the Myrmidons were handed forth to Izo as he picked one of them up. The shovel tri-fold design with a “D” shaped handle. All welded together in an all-steel construction. When he swung the E-Tool to test its weight onto a nearby wooden desk, it easily sunk onto its flesh.
“A mighty blow!” Golgar cheered. His grubby paws attempt to leap over to the E-Tool like a murder-lusted berserker seeking to further refine his cruel craft. “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” the little fellow resorted to climbing atop of Izo using the knots upon the Vulcan Armor for grip.
“How many you have of these?” He asked Myrmidon, letting the manic Leshy have the shovel.
“One-Thousand. As per your Orders.” Myrmidon’s voice spoke forth through the M.U.S.C.L.E unit Izo took the E-Tool from.
“Golgar, you think your friends back at Crossfen would ----”
“It’s so LIGHT AND DEADLY!” a gleeful Golgar swiveled the E-Tool towards whatever unfortunate object he could clash its steel teeth upon. “We shall not falter, shall not rout, But cut them down and burn them out! Burn them ALL out!” he chanted fervidly.
“Be careful, you don’t want to get a ‘boo-boo’ little one!” H.E.N.R.I. dryly reprimanded Leshy’s juvenile elation.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Izo smiled.
“All Objectives have been completed. Master, now that We have our resources, now we must build upon it.” H.E.N.R.I advised. “It is not as great as you initially hope unfortunately master.” His faithful servant consoled him.
“My forebearers have worked with FAR Less!” Cold Iron resolutely cast aside these limitations. “H.E.N.R.I. get ready to assist Golgar with my promise to Mama Sopas. Myrmidon! I order you to start securing the Bunker. I don’t want to see that tunnel collapses yesterday!” he ordered.
“New Objectives received.” he obeyed.
And so too were the 50 M.U.S.C.L.E Units. With a united salute, the Myrmidons self-delegated their tasks now finally getting their old rotors into work of what they were built and programmed to do.
With an exhaustive yet temporarily contented sigh, Izo turned around from the bisected desk he had marred and sat down on its matching throne. It felt so tempting to rest on these laurels, to relax. His muscles ache with the burn of all the days exertions…
“Run!” Izo’s mother yelled in eyes as the red-hot flames bursted out from their home. He could remember the tears, the smell of her searing flesh and the heat of those fires that saw his world die.
“No, I must… keep moving... forward…” Izo forced himself out of the chair. His muscles pound, screamed and winced but he was determined to practiced what he preached.
Inching himself towards a nearby First-Aid kit, unsullied by its 200 years of vigil. He shoved away all the irrelevant items until his eyes struck gold. A series of vials of the muscle opiate, Med-X with an Auto-Injector to boot. He placed the vial into the injector’s slot and punctured himself on his right thigh. Immediately, sweet relief entered unto his weary body.
He could now take on the world once more for everything they had done to him!
“Back from the brink…” Doctor-Commander Cold Iron snickered to himself as he curled his now exo-suited hands into a fist. He set aside the Med-X vials and the Auto-Injector into his pockets for the rest of the road ahead. He alone will need to give his all if he has any chance of bouncing back.
Stability, Security, Eternity… All he has to do is to reach out and grasp it!
Well… once he can figure out how some of these old US Army Logistical machinery works. But it shouldn’t take long to get the more exciting parts of this fortress back to life. He now wonders, what secrets this Armory holds? More Robots to build his armies of? Experimental Weapons the likes never seen before? A working water cooler?
“Oh Golgar?” he called forth his new companion.
“Yes, Outlander?” The Leshy Scavenger asked after he rattled his new toy off of several of the Myrmidons. These Machines for this Leshy, alongside the ruins they inhabited, they were a strange forest. Not of life but of aphorist logic they are. A curiosity for this Scavenging Scout. Yet this iron-framed fortress in all of its pride and marvels was a temple, exultation from his God, his Lord in Iron has favored him.
This Outlander, nay this Prophet of Gorum, he humbly bowed before Cold Iron upon his throne. Presenting the E-Tool he had borrowed off from upon his paws.
“Mama Sopas wouldn’t mind having a new neighbor?” Cold Iron asked.
“Not at all… oh great ‘One who Roars Hearts’.”
“Roars Hearts?” Izo furrowed curiously at this title.
“You claim that this place is a Fortress… Armory… nay… a Temple of War, Cold Iron! It is nothing less but a sign that you can accomplish great things!” he raised his hands up to him rapturously. “You used that Key of yours on your hand to turn this frail and desolate castle unto life, ready for your bloodthirsty hands to lead! All you must do now is send forth its teeth into battle! Kill, Maim and Burn those who stands in your way!”
“I am not so sure too much about the burning part… but maim… that much is true.” He chuckled.
“Anything can be what you want it to be to the right hand's Roar Heart! A knife can save lives if given to a cleric, or take them if you are a warrior. These constructs, unleash them!”
“Ehe…” Cold Iron smiled at the sound of it all. “Indeed I shall… Indeed I shall…”
He really likes the sound of that little fella.
Izo yawned, stretched his arms, and stepped away from the Assembly Bay, his new armor at hand.
His new Crusade has begun, bathed in red and golden lights…
[-]
An ebony winged woman sat atop the ford across the Tourondel River, across the abandoned ruins of the JSOC Facility. Clad in silken cloth, adorned with wings and carrying a reaping scythe, one could easily mistake her for a heavenly daughter sent down from above to bring salvation to those seeking refuge from the Cataclysm that sprouted forth in Golarion. Those foolish to think of her as holy, however, would only bring about their own damnation. She may be clad in the cloth of angels, but the honeyed comforts she whispers had seduced many to fall unto her machinations for decades.
“Mother and Father will be very pleased with this…” she smiled wickedly, cooing to her scythe as if it was her long-time living companion.
Little did the steel-clad individual across the way know that had been spying on him from afar for quite some time and had already developed a candid picture of the Doctor-Commander. A peculiar fellow, but someone ripe for the picking for her machinations. Having used several of her magicks from afar to delve into the thoughts of this otherworldly stranger, she saw him as a lone individual, lost in this world who had felt its horrors and is now wishing for an escape from life’s hardships, their trials, and tribulations. The salvation of sweet relief is what black gospel she preaches.
Eternity is what the Doctor-Commander Cold Iron seeks, and she may be just found herself a new champion to be its spear.
[-]
The golden road shifted the hot winds of the Qadiran desert for Team X-Ray. The heat of the sun bore down upon them with sweat profusely bearing down on the group. Not helping matters was their rationing of drinking waters amongst themselves. Already Tutoria and Tomos had to loosen several threads of their clothes just to avoid reaching their boiling points.
David’s imagination dozed off into a daylight dream as his eyes followed the trail of Leon’s solar-powered Trailer towards Katheer. The mirages of water and the heat of the desert sun can quickly wear any traveler down by sheer attrition. According to Tutoria’s navigations, Katheer was simply straight ahead of about less than a day’s journey by the speed of their carriage. Hopefully, before darkness arrives upon Qadira, they could see some modicum of civilization left.
“Is Sarenrae putting you to the test?” Tomos asked him whilst wrapping one of his spare shirts around his forehead like a sweatband. Its thin strands, barely absorb his excretions. Still despite the difficulty of this outing, he remained his optimistic self. “But pray to tell Outlander, what song are you trying to remember?”
“An old song I used to listen to with my Pip-Boy’s Holotape Player.” David answered as he showed his bracelet to Tomos. “Can barely remember how it all goes… if only Desna had passed me my old Holo-Tape recordings back from Colorado.”
“What is a Holotape Player?” Tomos asked.
“It’s kinda like how do I explain this…” David retreated his head for a brief second. “Think like a musician that you can carry along with you all the time. And it knows a thousand songs! All you need to do is write it all down in some kind of special paper and put it into my Pip-Boy here to have him play it.” The Ranger showed his Pip-Boy to the Aasimar.
“It’s a mysterious looking bracelet,” Tutoria commented from the back. “So it’s like some kind of little fey... or familiar you bound to do your bidding for you?”
“No, no. It’s like an echo of the real thing that my Pip-Boy it… mimics. Copies and repeats whenever I ask it to do. Choose me to play this and that…” David explained. “Shit, I miss my old tapes. So I wouldn’t die of fucking boredom here.” He sulked to the ground.
“Shelyn’s fingers! You never actually been into a… real performance?” the Aasimar’s jaws dropped.
“Just these recordings. Used to collect some before I and Ice got teleported here.” David answered.
“David, that does sound quite spectacular but may I ask? Have you ever wanted to listen to real performance? Lute and song, all?” Tomos proposed.
“Yes… very much.” The Old Ranger chuckled. “It’s always been a dream.”
“Maybe when we get to Katheer me and my sis’ can teach you a few hymns,” Tomos promised. “I can barely think straight in all of this heat!”
“That’s what you get for sitting your asses all day in Monastery kids. But looking forward to it.” David agreed. “Life is old there, older than the trees. Younger than the mountains, growin' like a breeze.~” he finally remembered a part of the tune he was trying to reminiscent.
“ACHOO!” he sneezed again when the butterfly danced its miasmic wings upon the Old Ranger again.
“Cut it out Desna!” he grumbled.
[-]
Catch the next episode of the Mana-Wilds #2 “Dreams of Water” as Team X-Ray travels to the ruins of Katheer the once-proud Jewel of the East of the Inner Sea. There they will find themselves amongst murky waters as the bleeding wounds of the Cataclysm is brought forth in naked detail with the fate of hundreds resting upon the grizzled shoulders of the Rangers and their Golarionite companions. But it may take more than just brute force and iron guts to brave the ghastly labyrinth water-logged ruins of Katheer! However, one never gets lost following butterflies.