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[>>Now replaying: Log 3.6 - Hashashin’s deed]
Date: Error
Location: The Bunker at Progress’ Head // Zephyro’s Domain
//Reqcuiscat in pace.//
//Nothing is true, everything is permitted. "he overt ,a o0 e2plorin4 this issue! then! is achieved 1 the 1lurrin4 o0 lines 1et,een,hat the plaer de0ines as 4ood and evil. #s the plaer! ,e are 1ein4 led to smpathi8e,ith the various assassins ,hose 1odies ,e control! onl to 0ind all o0 the 1elie0s ,e areled to share ,ith them Juestioned. "his 1e4ins ,ith the creed itsel0 that doesn;t seem tohold up to scrutin. /0 nothin4 is true and everthin4 is permitted! the creed itsel0 can not1e true and is! essentiall! void! 1ecause there is no o1li4ation to 0ollo, it. Most o0 all!the promise o0 the *4ood!@ the 4uideline or point o0 re0erence that 4rants securitinherent in most creeds! is 4one. /0 that is the case! the 4ame seems to ask! ,hatmakes ou 1etter than those ou are 0acin4E?//
[>>DATA CORRUPTED]
E2 %…She emerged from a giant disaster that devoured an entire village. As the beasts crawled forth from the hellmouth, she emerged with them, carrying the torch that had started the fire that summoned them.%
It took me a while due to his glitching and the panicking crowds, but ultimately, I managed to catch up to Zephyro. I grabbed his arm just as he was about to reach the city gates. Townspeople streamed around us and into the city proper, completely ignoring the gates by clipping right through the massive doors. Another glitch ravaged the world and for a split-second, I saw the gates for what they truly were; massive, futuristic fortress gates, overgrown with vines and other foliage. They melded into the forest perfectly, and I wondered if that was by happenstance or design.
Someone, or something, was pummeling the massive duplex-steel plates with artillery fire. Each hit was strong enough to make the metal shudder and bend just a little more. It wouldn’t be long now.
The sheer size of it was stunning. The walls reached as far as I could see, there were hundreds of overgrown spires and factories beyond, and none of it had been built by the time Chris and I had attempted our experiment. Our biggest advantage had been stealth, and we’d made sure the bunker was hard to discover, hiding its entrance in an old cave nestled deep inside a mountain overlooking the sea.
From the looks of it, we were still several kilometers away from that cave, and the entire stretch of land from here to there was filled with industry. Zephyro’s people had been busy. For a very long time.
I wanted to ask Zephyro what was going on, why people could just walk straight through solid wood, where we were going, and what I should do first. My anger demanded the safety of knowledge, told me to force him if necessary, and I managed to keep it in check and not yell at the Vizier.
Still, I was about to give him a stern talking-to for just leaving me like that, but as he turned to me, I immediately let go of his sleeve and stumbled backward, shocked by what I saw.
His face was impossibly gaunt, like a corpse dried out by the sun. He coughed up some blood. A grimace cracked his features. His blind eyes refused to meet mine, but after a moment’s hesitation, they briefly shifted with a deep regret I didn’t quite understand.
As the vizier closed his eyes, cyan-colored fragments jetted over his body, and his face reset to the one I knew. Deep lines. A graying beard. Intense brown eyes, endlessly seeking some sort of forgiveness. Behind him, the landscape distorted, fragmented, and reassembled itself. To me, it looked like a camera’s auto-focus readjusting.
For a second, the city gates, now suddenly behind us, looked like a nondescript brown mass before the textures loaded in properly. I noticed several cracks in the heavy wood, and as I watched, it splintered further in eerie silence.
There were no more people coming in.
Nobody had explained anything, I didn’t know what to do, I was completely blind, and suddenly as if someone had flicked a switch, that clenching sensation took hold of my chest again. My anger swelled in response, offering a reprieve.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I wrestled with it for a second, but then I gave in.
“Enough,” I said, tapping into the feeling. It was too much. I just had to let it happen. It felt right.
“Sultana, I-“
“Enough!” I said, meeting his eyes and refusing to let them go. “You will tell me what is going on…“
“But Sultana, it is not safe—“
“…now!” I had just kept talking, not raising my voice, but my anger laced every letter of that word.
Zephyro considered me for a second, and then another coughing fit wrecked his body. Finally, he inhaled and, voice weak and worn, said
“العدو عند البوابة”
He blinked a few times, clearly confused, then shook his head and coughed again. Blood speckled the sand.
“The enemy is at the gate, Sultana. We do not have long. I need to show you what happened, so you understand and are prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“For you to rule, Sultana. You must claim the throne in the palace. I will explain more, but we need to get away from the gate— Allah yahmina…“
Zephyro spun, wrapping me in a fierce embrace to protect me as the gate imploded.
Splintered wood hit us like hail. Chaos reigned. People screamed. A person I only saw flashes of shoved past us. There was more shoving. Bells, hundreds of them, ringing an ear-splitting staccato. Zephyro left to take control, and we got separated. The terrified throng jostled me around until I braced myself and pushed against it with all my might.
I noticed I was snarling and did not stop. The crowd was manic, trying to flee deeper into the city, and I struggled to not get pulled along. I couldn’t afford to. I didn’t want to. I needed to help, needed to get Zephyro to answer my questions, to know what was happening, to take control.
The worst passed and the crowds thinned. They left behind a ruined market square, broader than it was deep, surrounded by squat, middle-eastern looking houses on three sides, and a splintered, broken, burning, smoking abyss that used to be the gate. Even a cursory glance showed several details out of place. Mud bricks met satellite dishes, handcarts sported antigrav boosters instead of wheels, and every third or fourth store sign was blinking neon instead of hand-drawn calligraphy.
I found Zephyro standing at the front of a ragtag group of civilians holding crossbows, facing the gate. Some looked like farmers, some like artisans, and there were even two scouts, but none of them were dressed like proper soldiers. At Zephyro’s command, they raised their weapons, no bolts nocked. They didn’t even carry quivers. The wreckage of the city gates smoldered, and for a second I swear I could see something disturbing the smoke, but nothing else happened.
Until the first crossbowman fell.
Directly after, another. The woman made a strangled noise, then collapsed. Another man whimpered as his head simply separated from his shoulders. Blue sparks rose from their bodies, and for a brief moment I thought they were just electricity, but they didn’t fade, didn’t fizzle out. Instead, they hovered in the air for the span of a breath, then were sucked through the open gate.
The line did not break. But they were not firing either, even as more fell, and fear poured into their eyes. Zephyro looked on as they died, grief carved into his face so deeply, any further and it would carve into his bones. I made to jog towards him, but he turned to me, panic in his eyes.
“No, Sultana, get back! They seek to weaken us before they go in for the kill.” Two of his militia died at the same time.
“Then do something about it!” I yelled at Zephyro, lacing my excess anger into my voice.
> What are you hiding, Torchbearer? Who are you, really?
I stoked the anger higher, drowning out the voices of the dead.
“The filthy mockeries of hashashin are hiding themselves using foul trickery! I can’t-“ Zephyro said. Another guard went down.
The anger told me to do something, to take control, to save the day because no one else would. Only my battlefield experience kept me from charging in. My experience, and Stax’s words.
> You’re the commander, Sam. You’re too valuable to stand at the front.
I took the anger, hot and violent, and—with an effort of will—bent it towards a seething calm.
> Don’t just whale on them, Sam. Think. Use what you have available. Make them hurt.
I assessed my options. I didn’t have a weapon besides a ceremonial scabbard—without a sword—and the torch-scepter. My robes seemed to be fit for fighting, but I doubted they would offer much protection. A brief moment of focused listening confirmed my Wish hadn’t returned yet, either.
As I watched another glitch rush through blocks of burning houses and out the destroyed gate, a new problem became apparent. I was laboring under a lot of assumptions that might not even hold true in this place. It seemed like this was some sort of metaphorical reality, but all metaphors are flawed. Maybe what I saw was not what it truly was. Maybe something I thought was a crossbow was in fact a nail gun. Or worse, maybe this was all just abstract, an insubstantial representation of the Real, an immersive theater built just for me, and I was just supposed to watch.
But no, that couldn’t be right. The splinters hitting me had hurt, and Zephyro was trying to protect me. This wasn’t a play or a movie. Stuff in here affected me, which meant that I must have been able to affect it.
I looked at my weapons and my robes again. If I was stuck in an old laptop in the real world, did my equipment in here matter? Was my scepter just a symbol of power, or could I use that power, metaphorically, to exert some sort of control? I grimaced. All I had were theories. There were too many questions and too little time for answers. I had to focus.
What about the sitrep then? On my side, there was Zephyro, who was a trained soldier, and his townspeople, who clearly weren’t. I thought training would matter little in this place, considering they actually were just programs, but maybe their representation as workers and artisans meant they didn’t have the right subroutines, or maybe not the tools to do real damage. Perhaps what I was watching was the equivalent of welding torches and power drills being brought to bear against trained soldiers.
If that was the case, I wasn’t enthusiastic about our chances.
As far as terrain went, we had a breached fortification slowly burning to the ground and a world that was unraveling at a steady pace. The darkness didn’t seem to harm the enemy, but from the terrified looks of the people fleeing toward the palace, I assumed it would harm us.
Lastly: Opfor, or opposing forces. There was an invisible squad of harriers, with an unknown number of additional enemies on the way. It wasn’t a “target-rich environment”, but Zephyro seemed to think it would be, and soon.
I can’t change anything. I can’t help. My life is in the hands of others, and they will betray me—
I clenched my teeth until my head started throbbing. Focus. How can I turn this around?