It is in the theater of the mind that the cruelest tricks are played. Memories running rough-shod across the folding plains of the brain, the rawest nerve and sharpest emotions cutting clean through the skull and all therein. Such was the newfound cacophony devouring the mind of one wolven warrior.
General Adam Knox.
They were not memories of his own, nor were they thoughts of his own. Across the expanse of time came hellish visions that neither saints nor devils could destroy nor forge. They were electric, they were alive. Chock full of unvarnished horror, wrapped in code and sealed with a poisoned digital kiss.
The dark gray sat alone in his office, polishing his cybernetic arm for the umpteenth time, and treating his prized revolver to its trillionth cleaning. His arm glistened in the warm glow of the desk lamp, the cool blue of his built-in wrist watch lighting up his sullen face. His Smith & Wesson gleamed with all the radiance of a dawning sun cast wide above the placid desert floor.
Yet nothing brought forth that much sought after balm, that soothing remedy. Even with the progress made on the Bomber project, all the skills of his Force sharp as their claws, nothing could bring the General peace.
The announcement of the General’s leave of absence was met with tight-lipped composure from the captains and commanders, all units carrying on with routine as usual. To all, it was as if he had simply come down with the flu, and he preferred keeping it that way.
Knox sat shirtless, only his jeans and work boots on him, running his metallic digits through the scruff of his fur. The temperature control at his fingertips cooled his weary body. The long nights brought mats and a slight mange to his otherwise healthy complexion. He had conferred privately with Sickbay personnel, only for them to come up empty-handed. Not a trace of parasites, mites, or even nanobytes that could be causing him such an ailment.
Just as the General felt fit to try his hand at sleep once more, a sheepish knock rapped at the office door.
“It’s after hours for all personnel,” he said firmly, his sense of command unwavering.
“Room for an exception?”
It was Gibson.
“Door’s unlocked,” came the gentle rasp.
The tan soldier walked in, a trudge to his step. His white shirt was stained, the black denim and harness boots carrying him to the chair across the desk. Were it not for the color of his fur, Knox would’ve mistaken the young man for himself.
“What’d ya do to get sent to the Principal’s this late?”
Gibson stared at first, silent as the stars. Then he spoke.
“It don’t stop.”
Knox looked at him with a foreign gaze.
“What doesn’t, Son?”
The words lodged in Gibson’s throat. It was worse than a stutter; it was ensnarement, the gelatinous mound of verbiage crawling up his vocal chords at glacial pace.
Knox reached out his hand, the real one, to Gibson and held the soldier’s firmly.
“Steady on Boy,” he said, “Don’t let it take over. Just tell me. What don’t stop?”
Gibson relaxed, looking into the elder gray’s eyes.
“It’s Her, dear God, I know it is Her. It calls. It don’t stop calling.”
“What she saying Boy?” Knox ventured.
“Says its urgent,” he chuckled, his wryness giving way to psychosis.
Knox fought for strength in the soldier, his eyes withered but spirited as he held his tan hand, their pads clasped tight against one another.
“Keep it together Man,” came the stern reply, “I know it hurts a whole helluva lot.”
Gibson’s eyes widened.
“Whaddya mean by that?”
Knox didn’t even bother to feign, he simply let out a defeated sigh.
“I know It hurts because I know SHE hurts, dammit. Shit’d be easier if she just send a barrage of fucking Howitzers our way. But no, she had to go shooting shit into our brains of all fucking things. It can’t be from any other place, could it?”
“Why didn’t you tell—”
“—The HELL YOU THINK I KNOW ABOUT THIS? Been the sanest bastard for all my life, now I’m goddamned raging bull up here, not a goddamn reason why.”
The General’s terse intonations spelled it all out for Gibson, though Knox was quick to soften his expression.
“That right there’s why I kept this under wraps with the top brass.”
For a moment, the two sat in silence, unsure of what to make of it all. But then came that ever-sage moment of clarity.
“Why don’t we answer Her?”
Perplexion washed over Gibson’s face.
“This ain’t voodoo Gibson. If she’s calling, we should answer her. I don’t pretend I even know a quarter of what’s going on, this has got to be a...a signal. Her signal. And maybe she can’t reach us from all the way across the desert, but maybe...just maybe, something amplifies it. Kicks the waves our way, right?”
Slowly, it all began to dawn on the young soldier.
“And if there is something sending these out...”
“There is something we can reverse engineer,” Knox finished with a smile.
Gibson felt some modicum of peace as he looked to his superior.
“Make it through the night Son,” the General reaffirmed, “Tomorrow’s gonna be the first step on a long road to recovery.”
Gibson stood up and shook his hand.
“Hold tight to that cross now. We’ll need every bit of His help we can get.”
The dark green ‘Cuda and the Black Shadow sat next to each other, the metallic mares polished to a sheen, liveries resplendent in the early light.
Affixed to Exciter was an unusual addition; a sidecar, modified and fit to kill. A tip of single barrel sat at the nose, ready and waiting for the next menace to step into its sights.
Knox stepped forward before his soldiers for the day.
Gibson was suited up as usual, leather jacket zipped up and ready for action, both Colts hung on his hips. Standing alongside him was Danny Lyman, a light gray Moto Corp member. Just your average fellow really; a Mannlicher rifle slung over his back, a deep red leather jacket, faded black jeans, a pair of dusty snakeskins on his feet.
On Gibson’s other side was none other than Auto Corp sniper Johnathan Metcalfe. The white-furred soldier stood tall above the other two, his two-toned leather jacket unzipped, his suede cowboy boots just as weathered as Lyman’s jeans, and his Dragunov slung over his shoulder. The bullet belt wrapped his waist, loaded with laser cartridges. He meant business, and every deal was fit to be sealed with a quick pull of the trigger.
Then there was Knox himself.
He stood a monolith. Black boots, black jeans, black leather, black shades. In a way, he was almost funereal. But even the sleepless nights couldn’t eradicate his stoic composure, the somber character eschewed with a bark of his voice.
“Soldiers: ATTENTION!”
All three locked into place, the dawning sun bequeathing each statuesque wolf a warm glow.
“We are going on a voyage, but not of sea nor air. We’re going on a voyage of the mind. Our navigator is the vision, and the compass our senses. If all goes as expected, myself and Gibson may very well be in a fight for our lives without a shot to be fired. But if all goes as anticipated, there will be a target you cannot miss. Privates Metcalfe and Lyman, you will take over the mission in the event of incapacitation on either of our parts. Arrangements have been made here at Base in the event we do not return.”
The wind whistled in the distance as the General let every letter of his word sink into the soldiers before him.
“And to you Gibson...expect temptation to your last breath. Company, mount.”
With that, the General slid behind the wheel of the ‘Cuda, and Gibson onto Exciter. He kicked at her hard to bring the engine round, but once it arrived, he felt at ease.
“She’s a real fighter, ain’t she,” Lyman asked with his whisky-soaked Southern drawl.
“We go back a long, long way her and I,” Gibson grinned, “Shoulda knew her old pal. Toughest cat I ever met...I think I was the last he ever knew.”
As the conversation carried on, Metcalfe was getting accustomed to riding with the General.
“I ain’t sure I follow what’s happening.”
“Private,” Knox said softly, “You don’t have to follow shit, just what we sense.”
That was enough to bring Metcalfe to heel.
“Give me strength Angel,” came the General’s hushed prayer, “Give me strength.”
In an instant, both he and Gibson whipped their rides into gear and the duo tore off into the ether, Metcalfe idle at the General’s side and Lyman electrified by the acceleration.
“Where to,” the soldier shouted over the raucous motor.
“Well Danny-O,” came the playful reply, “General and I figure it a safe bet to head Her way first. We’ll tell ya what our noggins say after a beat.”
It was cryptic, but it made as much sense as anything. Fortunately for Gibson, the Private was enjoying the ride.
Inside the ‘Cuda, the General kept rapport up best he could.
“Grim says you’ve been finding some crack shots in Auto.”
“Lotta crazy kids thinkin’ all ya gotta do is pull the trigger,” Metcalfe chuckled, “But by God do some of them know how to pull it. I’d bet ya couple hundred cold-hard credits Mitzi, that chick from the Northern Region, could knock all four engines off a HOV-CRAFT 5K in five flat with those twin Berettas.”
“Must be getting in good with Teddy Blanc if she’s cooking Italian style. But hell, if enough of ‘em survive the A7s and U1s, that’ll give ‘em a good shot at the H.P.D. when we invade.”
“You figure soon,” Metcalfe asked.
“If I knew that Johnny, I’d march our asses right in Sherman-style. All in good time Private, all in good—”
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH
It was a goliath for the ages. A U1 came careening above the group, battered and war-beaten, the beast on a path all its own. Knox didn’t seem phased one bit, Gibson neither. The General brought the ‘Cuda up a gear before crushing the gas. The V8 roared to life, Exciter’s valiant twin-engine keeping pace. The General went to fire up the carguns when the hovering tank vanished into its dust trail.
Knox looked over to the stationary Metcalfe.
“DAMNIT SOLDIER, ARE YOU GONNA FIRE OR NOT?”
“On what Sir?”
Knox froze.
The hazed dust cleared. The U1 was gone.
A terrible creeping sensation rolled up the General’s spine.
Her games had begun.
Knox signaled for Gibson to pull over alongside the ‘Cuda. Both men put the brakes on hard, grinding to a halt.
The General stepped out and bolted right up to Gibson.
“You saw that, right? The U1, battered to hell, rolling right over us.”
First there was silence, then the reply.
“I didn’t.”
Knox went cold.
The three soldiers watched as their leader sauntered away, his black boots dusted by the salt flats he walked upon. What they heard next rocked them to their core.
“WE’RE NOT EVEN ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH YOU BITCH!”
Never in all his years of command had an outburst rung the way Knox’s had. Across the salt, the dried earth, the hard stone of the mountains in furthest reaches of the Wastelands. All caught the wretched cry of the General.
For a moment, Gibson saw a storm whip about overhead, the darksome clouds the shade of his commander’s fur. The clouds fazed in and out, in and out, with the rapidity and repetition of a strobe. Lightning danced in the sky as it cut through the dissipating reanimating static-laden clouds.
For a split second, the General vanished. In his stead
“MAC!”
The second the General turned to face Gibson, the vision ceased. Knox bolted back towards Gibson, both hands firm on the soldier’s shoulders.
“Who’s Mac?”
Gibson sat dazed beyond belief.
“Who’s Mac Son, who is he?”
The soldier came back around. He spoke in staggered cadence.
“An...old friend of mine back in the City.”
“What do you remember of him,” the General probed.
“He was just...just...oh God.”
It was like his brain short-circuited, the wires tangled and sparking as his mind collapsed in wild torment. In a moment, the world went dark for the tan wolf.
But not for Knox.
Before him sat the body of a bloodied officer. A bloodied police officer. The faintest gleam of a badge caked in filth, fur matted in a sanguinary baptism. He hesitated to touch the body, the shades hiding tears of raw pain. Not of sadness nor horror, but of physical pain. The very second the pads of his hand came to rest on the officer’s chest, he was Gibson once more.
The General helped the young man into the sidecar best he could, hands quivering.
“You go easy Private,” the General said, “You go easy.”
Lyman saluted without hesitation and fired Exciter back up.
“You sure you’re good to drive,” Metcalfe asked.
“I...”
The General paused, unsure of what to say.
“I’ll make due...at least we know we’re heading in the right direction.”
When night had made its quiet descent, Gibson came round. Through his misted eyes came a warm glow; the kindly countenance of Knox piercing through flames, though true flames they were not.
“Always pack a heat-circ on journeys Privates,” the General said sagely, “Never know when camp has to be made.”
Lyman had taken to the Old World tradition of marshmallow roasting as the rest of the team looked on amused. The cylindrical form of raw heat made for a most even golden brown in the confection, though neither private nor General knew where he had obtained them to start with.
The secret was easily given up.
“I just carry ‘em on me all the time,” he chuckled, “They’re synth, but they taste ‘bout the same. Hey Gibson, catch!”
He flung one, mercifully unroasted, at the soldier, the dessert flicking him one in the snout. It was a surefire way to wake Gibson up.
“Where we at?”
“Couple more miles than we were,” Metcalfe answered, “General was keen enough about the trajectory. Took us closer to the Northern Region of the Wastelands. I figure we’re 5090...84 Red Sector...shit was it A or B, chief?”
“Sector A Private.”
“Right, thanks.”
“What did ya...did ya see?” Gibson asked, fading a little.
“An old brother-in-arms from my days on the badge. Not much more.”
The General made his way over to Gibson and propped the weakened soldier up against him, his mechanical arm doing the heavy lifting.
“Tell me what you saw.”
Gibson took the deepest breath of his life.
“I saw a storm. Black clouds coming in and out of view. Like the sky could be clear as day, then shrouded in the scattered gray of a dead channel. On and off, on and off, like Mother Nature was flipping a switch. Then, when you turned to me, I saw...gee I saw Mac for the first time in ten, twenty years.”
“Go on,” Knox swayed.
“We worked Storage 555 together. He was a gray. Just a nice regular Joe. It was all busy work really. Mom and Dad didn’t want us all sitting on our asses all day. He wasn’t as I remembered him though.”
“What was he?”
Gibson fell silent for a moment, the thought arresting him.
“Crushed.”
Knox gently rubbed the soldier’s arm.
“Workplace accident?”
“You could call it that,” Gibson started in, “But it was more. More to the visage and more to him. His countenance was warped, like a smile curled up against its will, eyes dragged out of proportion. And as for the real him...the day She took control...he was working Floor, trying to line up crates with the guy working the crane. Only thing was...She took over. Op didn’t know what was happening, and by the time he knew...oh God.”
“Steady on,” Knox soothed.
So it was pain She preyed on, no doubt. The loss of a fellow officer, and the loss of a dear friend. Knox cast his mind back to the day of the officer’s end. He wasn’t sure why She manifested him the way She did. All he remembered was the sight of the body under the HOV-CRAFT. The sleek silver machine bore a crimson two-tone beneath it, the engines having blasted the black wolf into nothing.
"Test drive my ass,” he muttered to himself.
He turned his attention back to Gibson, the soldier having pulled himself together.
“It’ll be a rough few days Son. But we’ll manage. Hold tight to that cross.”
Gibson held the icon by its center, the pads of his digits pressed firm against the pure silver. He looked up to the General. Through the haze of slumber, the horror of torture, there sat the spark of the protégé, that beautiful glint he always hid behind his shades.
“Rest well,” Gibson said bravely.
“You too.”
In time, the camp fell into that cavernous pit of slumber. For Gibson and Knox, it was the first true sleep they had in ages. The heat-circ naturally faded as one by one, the warriors fell to the night.
It was in the eve’s quiet that all hell broke loose.
Lyman was the first to wake up. It must’ve been one or two in the morning. No one’s ideal hour, and yet here he was stirred. It was the sound that stirred him first. The distant wail of digitized whistling and twinkling that crawled across the airwaves. It held all the distant beauty of a diamond waterfall.
“But why me,” Lyman asked himself in the dark, “I ain’t jacked into this shit.”
Slowly he rose, slipping on his boots, and throwing his jacket over his back, bare-chested with his Mannlicher in hand. His move woke no one, much to his relief, and slowly he stepped into the desert, away from the group.
The strange synthetic sounds seemed to drift in all directions. First to his left, then to his right, ricocheting between the two like an automated pan pot. The darting grew not only more erratic, but in time, grew in volume. The wicked negatronic howl grew louder and louder, advancing and growing, a tangible wind bellowing as it worked its way across the land. Lyman could only do one thing.
BANG!
He let It have every ounce he had.
“Company, we got an enemy, 12’O Clock and coming fast!”
The laser fire vanished into the night, the wind engulfing the blows. Knox rose first, followed by Gibson, and Metcalfe last. All three reached for their pieces and were locked and loaded in seconds.
It wasn’t until Gibson looked in the direction of Lyman that he saw what they were up against.
She’s got Mac.
The thought grabbed Gibson’s mind and held it down with all its ephemeral might. He saw the neon-red body float above the sand. Just as mangled as he saw him before, just as horrid in its deranged pinned-up smile and oblong eyes. Eyes locked squarely on Gibson.
The soldier bolted up alongside Lyman, his Colts at the ready.
“I can see it Danny, just follow my lead.”
Gibson drew the twin Peacemakers and worked the triggers like mad. Electric bullet after electric bullet ate away at the vision, the porous shredded wounds profound among the flesh and fur.
He was just about to finish it off when
“GIBSON, CEASE FIRE NOW!”
It was Angel. Dear God, it was his Angel. His Angel was being shredded to ribbons by the fire as it pierced her and dyed the heavenly white fur a dreaded red.
Gibson stopped, Lyman following suit. The General’s command rattled up their spines as the dark gray walked up past Metcalfe. Past Lyman. Past Gibson. He walked towards the visage. But it wasn’t a visage. It spoke.
She spoke.
“I’m giving ‘em Hell, Adam.”
It was just like her. Just as sweet, just as bold. Just as...real. She had to have been. There was no other way. She wouldn’t just
“I’m giving them He-e-e-E-E-E-”
Fur gave way to flesh, gave way to bone, gave way to ash as the body glitched and evaporated before Knox’s eyes, form and figure stretching into a strange melted module of fabrication. The wild wind still howled its strange tones as Knox’s distress grew into a titanium-plated rage.
“You killed her.”
Gibson looked to the General and his heart sank through the desert floor. Knox came walking, slow at first, his walk becoming a full-on sprint towards the tan soldier as he swung his metallic fist hard into Gibson’s chest.
“You dirt-bag sonofabitch. YOU KILLED HER!”
“General”
“I COULD’VE STOPPED IT!”
“General Knox!”
“I COULD’VE YOU RAT BAST—”
“—ADAM!”
The fist dug clean into the side of his neck as Gibson dropped the General. The elder gray fell to the earth, a leviathan groan escaping him.
In an instant, he looked up, clear-headed, as the great blindness of anger vanished from his mind.
He saw the shuddering Gibson as he slowly propped himself up. Gibson stepped back, trembling still, only to be coaxed by the silver hand of the officer.
The moment the soldier reached him, Knox held him tight. The embrace stunned Gibson, but he returned it with all his might.
“Son,” he said, a waver in his voice, “Don’t you ever let me do that again.”
They stayed like that for a moment before Lyman and Metcalfe darted over.
“Leave the driving to Danny and I Sir,” Metcalfe started in, “If THAT is what She has in store for you fellas, I don’t want a lick of it to come down when either of you are behind the wheel.”
Knox went to protest, only for Gibson to look at him with a knowing glance.
“It ain’t safe,” he said.
Knox nodded softly.
“Least we’re getting warmer. Heaven help us when it gets hot.”
The caravan loaded up, Metcalfe turning the ‘Cuda over as Lyman fired up Exciter.
“Show Danny the way Old Girl,” Gibson wearily smiled as he patted the bike’s gas tank.
“She will,” Lyman reassured, “She ain’t let us down yet.”
“Where to next General,” Metcalfe asked.
Knox closed his eyes, descending into thought.
“We’re in the North, right?”
“Yessir,” Metcalfe reaffirmed.
“Stay a course due East, I see...I see a tower. One of them old radio ones. Tall, rusted gray, thin beams stretched to the sky.”
Metcalfe pointed in the direction Knox was after and put the ‘Cuda in gear. He kicked the throttle hard and took off into the plains, Exciter following suit as Lyman revved her up to full roar.
“Say its more tangible than whatever the hell we just went up against,” Metcalfe pressed, “What’s the best way to knock it out?”
Knox sat, eyes held shut.
“You blow its joints out. It’s just like any piece of architecture Private. Weak spots you can pin right down to the rusted rivets.”
The General’s eyes opened, gaze shifting towards the Private.
“Give ‘em Hell,” he spoke softly, “Give Her Hell.”
The eternity of the drive set in as the two machines crossed the desert. The dotted sky proffered only the faintest light, and the thin sliver of the new moon carved its lone niche. The headlights were all the drivers had for visibility. It was just enough to keep their wits about them.
Gibson found the air soothing in its own way, the battering keeping him wired, but cool. He would occasionally pat the tank of Exciter, a gentle smile on his face, one Lyman was quick to acknowledge.
“She's bitching,” the Private grinned, “Ain’t stopped running yet!”
Knox, for his part, kept relaxed. He nodded off, into darkness at first. The black was soothing; to be free of seeing anything at all was a miracle at this point, even if that reprieve was brief. He clung to the dark with all his might, drifting further away into it...and then into light.
Light danced in his mind as they rode on. The canvas of black grew to be something of a black bush. The bush grew drenched in slivers of gold that fluttered about its branches, the sensations of the ‘Cuda’s engine lulling him into the lucid thought.
Two words lingered in his primordial state.
Show me.
The thought echoed across the gray matter, flashes turning neon as they continued to tango in the dark.
Show me.
The lights began to form the tower, the industrial obelisk piercing Heaven itself, and the bush now nowhere to be seen.
Show me.
The lights consuming the tower’s form, a beam of blue slowly materializing up through the center.
Show me.
The beam as it grew, a cool blue mist emergent and...faces. Skulls in the light that twisted and melded and molded. One into the other, silent cries of anguish met only with the static hum of the monolith.
Show me.
The hurricane of horror as it whipped and stirred about the tower. Souls of soldiers he once knew, long since gone to the distant ages. By God, he could even see the visage of Godred himself, the black wolf warped into outrageous expression.
Show me.
Angel.
“SHOW ME!”
The General woke to a start, greeted by Her terrific howl and a light that even the blindest of men could see.
“We’re here General,” Metcalfe barked, “And it ain’t just you seeing it this time!”
Knox went to talk, but nothing came out.
No words, no thoughts, just an overwhelming sensation erupting throughout. He was fit to froth at the mouth with all the rabidity of the most haggard hound, stupefied by harsh blue light. Slowly, he looked over to see Gibson.
The tan wolf was in the worst way. His body convulsing, his eyes blackened past dilation. He vainly turned to look towards Knox, but he could not see him.
All Gibson could see were the visages of three brown wolves, faces as contorted as that of Mac’s. They beckoned him, coaxed him. They were his folks. Mom, Dad, kid sister. All standing, all blood red, all smiles ripped in a wretched direction. Melting, bony fingers drawing him closer and closer as the horrific bit-crushed sound of it all struck his eardrums again and again and again!
COME...HOME COME...HOME
The trinity of malformed electric spirits were pulling him away from Knox. His body sat in the sidecar but that soul was being dragged off and away into the depths of a hell eternal, a prism of digital malignancy.
And all the General could do was watch.
Knox feebly gestured for the soldiers to get their guns, his mechanical hand heavy with paralysis. Metcalfe nodded, who in turn nodded to Lyman. Both wolven warriors, locked and loaded, brought both rides to a halt. They shades flung on to alleviate as much of the light as possible before stepping out into the rapturous winds.
“LOOK FOR THE RUST,” Metcalfe called over the roar.
“I CAN’T SEE SHIT,” Lyman cried.
The General could however.
Blue waves of enraptured souls bore the character of water. Through the water was the structure itself, and by God, what a structure. Intricate beams wove the silver tapestry that anchored the hellish fountain.
Slowly, Knox opened the ‘Cuda’s door. The moment he stepped foot outside
BOOM!
He felt whipped to the ground. Metcalfe rushed over to his aid.
“General, it ain’t safe!”
The General shot the Private a horrid look, his pupils now the slivers of cat’s eyes. The look of “damn safety and damn you” cut clean through Metcalfe as his commander rose. Through the pain, he drew his revolver, the polished piece glowing rich in the cobalt light
As zaps and synthetic fuzz filled the air, he pointed the barrel square at the face of General Godred, hands quivering with all the tension in the world wrapped around his muscles.
Sorry Leo.
The harsh green of his laser fire slammed into the joint behind the black wolf. Sparks flew as a banshee roared over top of all. The Privates covered their ears as Knox kept firing, the groan of the steel and the weight of the tower slowly revealing itself amid the noise.
And in an instant, Knox roared with the might of a lion.
“FIIIIIIIRRRRRRRREEEEEE!”
Metcalfe and Lyman drew and slammed the tornadic column with everything they had, the General’s streaks of green aided by Lyman’s blue, Metcalfe’s yellow, and...red.
Twin streaks of red...and one of white.
From within the sidecar, hands quaking in pain, Gibson fired alongside the soldiers. His eyes were still black but his muscle memory was enough to manage trigger pull after trigger pull after trigger. One boot rested on the foot-switch of the sidecar’s gun, twitching slowly but steadily.
The quartet pressed on as the tower bent with a groan, the bull-roarer of a structure whipping about in the blistering winds. In time, more sparks came flying fast towards the crew, falling beams crushing the digital spirits as they fell to Earth.
“EVERYONE IN,” Metcalfe ordered.
Knox, with a tremendous pain in his step, clambered back to the ‘Cuda. With stress coursing through all limbs, he grabbed the door handle and swung it open. Metcalfe pulled the General in as quickly as he could before whipping the car around.
Lyman kicked Exciter hard as the machine came rumbling to life, the bike roaring alongside her sister-in-arms as both tore away as fast as their wheels could carry them.
In one deafening blow, the tower descended, and in the rearview: the face of the culprit for all to see.
For A.C.E.S, it was the skull of a wolf She bore. A skull of blood-red color as the vortex imploded upon descent, the tower ablaze. In those bit-
crushed tones, the words came fast for all to hear:
RETURN TO PARADISE. BEHOLD
OUR MAJESTY. COME HOME.
The electric text faded into the distance as the troop rode on into the night.
Metcalfe turned to look at the General. For once, he looked alright. His jaw cracked a little as he regained his customary rasp.
“I’ve a feeling we won’t be hearing from her like that for a while.”
Metcalfe chuckled under his breath.
“Was that really all it took?”
The General cracked his neck, shaking off the sensation.
“Johnny...if I even knew the half of it, I’d be out of my mind for good.”
The Private nodded knowingly, turning to look to Exciter, greeted by a horrific sight; the near-lifeless body of Gibson.
“PULSE LOW,” Lyman shouted.
“HURRY,” Metcalfe barked back.
The rides screamed as they hurried towards the Base. Every minute held the weight of an hour for the General, the flood lights fading into view on the horizon. Every second became a day as they rushed Gibson to Sick Bay, every day a week as he stood by the bedside, praying over the withered body of the young wolf held in a morbid stasis, holding vigil between all the orders given and routines maintained.
It had been a full week since the coma set in.
On a uniquely cool morning, Knox had come to sit down beside him once more. He looked upon Gibson, the soldier’s eyes closed and his breath slowed to a crawl. He ordered all staff to leave the room as he pulled up the same old chair.
“Well,” Knox started softly, “Materials came back. The resonator was examined. And there may be hope of using it. The shifting shortwave frequencies don’t exactly make it easy to land a blow, but...it’s something. Just like I told you.”
The silence of the monitors gave no comfort, nor the electrocardiogram’s slow steady march, nor the pure white walls that cooled the Bay.
“They say it was the chip we all had that enabled...the visions. I’m ordering everyone to get theirs surgically removed. Apparently disabling them through micro-EMP wasn’t enough. Sick Bay’s making that happen now. We got yours out the other day Buddy.”
Knox clasped the soldier’s hand in his.
“We ain’t blood, but I ain’t losing you. You hear me? I ain’t letting go. I’ll keep you on ‘til they drop another bomb. I’ll keep you on ‘til the generators fail. I’ll keep you on all the way as we ride out on Her. When we take it all back. I ain’t ever forgiving her for taking Lorraine away, but by God, don’t let her take you.”
He pressed his hand to his forehead, his own breath slowing. Through his stoicism, he felt the tremor of sadness flow through him.
“Don’t leave me Son. Don’t leave.”
The machinery arrayed around the tan soldier marched on as the General fell silent. He stayed like that forever, until
“She wanted...”
That voice. His voice.
Knox drew closer, thumbing the soldier’s forehead gently.
“Wanted what?”
Slowly, his eyelids parted, and the words upon the tan wolf’s lips lingered before joining the room.
“She wanted to see. Just to see. Just to see us again. To see Her children.”
Knox sat perplexed for a moment before realizing.
“Can’t stand seeing ‘em leave the roost, right?”
Gibson feebly halted the thought.
“She...she felt like Mom and Dad to me. I felt that warmth, that...God, that feeling of home. I saw them. I saw them.”
Knox nodded knowingly.
“I saw her too.”
Gibson’s mind darted back to Knox’s question.
“Every. One. If she ever does that again...it’ll be to see more. More of the children.”
Knox soothed Gibson as his pulse grew normal.
“I don’t think she realizes how far them pyramids are gonna fall when she does see us. I want you to raze ‘em with me Kid.”
Gibson smiled.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Restored to his wondrous brown eyes was that glint; the glint of bravery, of vitality, of strength. And restored to the General’s was the warmth of a father reunited.
It was time to rain hell on the Neon Goddess.
Well done.