All the little lost boys and girls (Update: 26/5/12)

[The Vortex Empire]

Idea; Dump some of these... things... in the Amazon. Watch what happens.

[LadyTevar]

There is beauty in this, do you see it? Symmetry.

You'll excuse me if I see little beauty in watching people rip each other apart.

And that's why you're not in charge of this project. You're only seeing the trees, not the forest. There is so much more in this than simple bloodshed. Umbra, do you understand? It will give us everything.

*dawning horror*

It's ... evolution ... of the fittest ... via body parts.
Darwin's finches, tearing each other's beaks and wings off and eating them to make a more efficient monster. THEN have the Mother, or another monster eat the result and improve on it more.


But Father's Children are different.

[Sky Captain]

AAARRRGGHHHHHH!!!!! Where is my army of killbots armed with nuclear salt water flamethrowers. Let that place burn in Plutonium fire!

[GrandMasterTerwynn]

Fuck fire, acid, and bullets, what these people need is the biggest nuclear warhead they can get a hold of.

Nuclear weapons wouldn't be suitable for this sort of application. For one, the station appears to be so immense that you'd need quite a few of them to ensure that it'd be effectively broken up. For another, in vacuum, a nuclear weapon is little more than a very large x-ray flashbulb. Finally, there already seem to be creeping bioengineered horrors that can already withstand hard vacuum. They'll probably develop the ability to tolerate doses of hard radiation that'd kill cockroaches in fairly short order (if they don't already. To have the sorts of regeneration and healing rates the bioengineered horrors exhibit, without them immediately dying of stupendously aggressive cancer, would require a very efficient genetic error-correction scheme.) The only way to satisfactorily deal with the station, and all it contains, would be to tow it into a large black hole. Sagittarius A* immediately comes to mind.

[Swindle1984]

Fuck fire, acid, and bullets, what these people need is the biggest nuclear warhead they can get a hold of.

Nuclear weapons wouldn't be suitable for this sort of application. For one, the station appears to be so immense that you'd need quite a few of them to ensure that it'd be effectively broken up. For another, in vacuum, a nuclear weapon is little more than a very large x-ray flashbulb. Finally, there already seem to be creeping bioengineered horrors that can already withstand hard vacuum. They'll probably develop the ability to tolerate doses of hard radiation that'd kill cockroaches in fairly short order (if they don't already. To have the sorts of regeneration and healing rates the bioengineered horrors exhibit, without them immediately dying of stupendously aggressive cancer, would require a very efficient genetic error-correction scheme.) The only way to satisfactorily deal with the station, and all it contains, would be to tow it into a large black hole. Sagittarius A* immediately comes to mind.

Wouldn't towing it into a star work just as well? Heat, radiation, gravity, no air, it's all good.

[Bladed_Crescent]

Idea; Dump some of these... things... in the Amazon. Watch what happens.

June 17th, 2012

It’s quiet here. That’s what I think stands out the most. A jungle shouldn’t be quiet, should it? It should be loud. There should be birds and monkeys screaming and singing, but all I can hear is the drone of insects in every direction. When it’s dark, I hear other things. Angelo says it’s just the wind, but the wind doesn’t make those kinds of sounds. The wind doesn’t make him sit outside my tent like some kind of watchdog.

One of our guides ran off last night. The other two went out to look for him while Angelo stayed behind with us. They weren’t gone twenty minutes before they came back and told us to break camp, practically throwing us onto the boat. I still don’t have a good grasp of the dialect, but I think I heard the word ‘anhanga’ when they were talking to Angelo. I’ll have to ask Dr. Stovoka what it means.

The plants here are all diseased, covered with some type of fleshy growth that seems to thicken the further we head into the jungle. The professor thinks it’s what’s responsible for the fishkills, but I’ve never seen anything like it. No one has. We have to stick to the river; the growth is choking out the jungle. I mean, I know you have to cut a path through rain forest, but we can’t seem to make any progress through it.

We’re supposed to be a local tribe’s territory now; Angelo says that they should have greeted us by now, but there’s been no sign of them. He sent one of the other guides up to the village to see if they need assistance, but his man hasn’t radioed in yet. He’s probably run off just like the other. Dr. Stovoka keeps muttering about ‘primitive superstitions’, but I don’t know – this place... it feels wrong. Contaminated. The air stinks, like rotting meat and something – some kind of chemical. Rudy keeps his inhaler close at hand; he’s had two asthma attacks already, but he refuses to head back. There’s something in his eyes.

I haven’t told anyone else yet; they’d just think I was crazy, but a couple days ago, I was taking samples from some of the plant life and I heard a voice, someone singing. I went to look and I saw this native girl – she was wearing this old sports jersey and ripped-up shorts, wandering through the forest. I called out to her, but she didn’t seem to hear me. I looked away for a second, and then she was gone. I’m not sure if I even really saw her; Rudy says he’s seen things in the forest, but I don’t know. My Portuguese isn’t that good, but I swear this girl - she was singing some kind of nursery rhyme. I think I got it right:

Pirulito que bate, bate
Pirulito que já bateu
Quem gosta de mim é ela
Quem gosta dela sou eu.

Pirulito que bate, bate
Pirulito que já bateu
A menina que eu amava
Coitadinha, já morreu.

I asked Angelo what it meant – he just gave me a funny look and asked where I heard it.

Our guides are getting more and more nervous. Geoff says he’s heard them talking, that they want to abandon us and head back on their own. They wouldn’t do that, would they? We need them. Dr. Stovoka wants to keep going, to find the source of this disease, but I don’t know. There were rumours that the government had already sent its own researchers... and a team to find them, but neither came back. The professor says not to worry about rumours, but Brazil has a lot of scientists – why were they eager to hire us if they have their own? It’s no use talking to Dr. Stovoka – he’s so desperate to find something new and be the one to publish it. Rudy says we’ll all be lucky if we’re credited as ‘associates’.

There are roots here – they look like roots, but they’re thicker than pythons – that sag into the water like veins. If you watch them long enough, you can see them pulse as they suck in water. Dr. Stovoka just says ‘fascinating’ and scribbles more notes in his journal. He barely looks up from it now.

The sun’s starting to set – I guess I should wrap this up; Angelo and the other guides keep getting us to make camp earlier every day, while there’s still light to see what’s around us.

That last night, the one where our guide ran off? I woke up. I didn’t tell anyone, but I did. I heard voices. One was his and the other... it was the one I heard singing a nursery rhyme.

I don’t... I don’t think I want to be here anymore.

-Kat

*dawning horror*

It's ... evolution ... of the fittest ... via body parts.
Darwin's finches, tearing each other's beaks and wings off and eating them to make a more efficient monster. THEN have the Mother, or another monster eat the result and improve on it more.

We'll be getting into the mechanisms of the infection (or, rather Shannon will) further on, but you're pretty close there. Whatever the infection can use, it does, turning bodies, minds and even genes themselves against their kith and kin. And once they fall, they too serve as raw material, either to be built anew or to nourish those who were.

It takes pieces. And puts them back together.

You are what you eat...

But Father's Children are different.

That they are. That they most certainly are.

Fuck fire, acid, and bullets, what these people need is the biggest nuclear warhead they can get a hold of.

AAARRRGGHHHHHH!!!!! Where is my army of killbots armed with nuclear salt water flamethrowers. Let that place burn in Plutonium fire!

Am I then to understand that neither of you gentleman wish to participate in our luxury cruises of the Twilights Mists, First Wonder of the Galaxy? Here at Hadley-Wright Galactic Tours, we strive to make each passenger's experience truly memorable. Just think of the possibilities - witnessing the static storms of Acheron first-hand! Spelunking through the abandoned passageways of DROP 47, on your own or as part of one of our 'adventure tour' packages (security provided in cooperation with Artemis Private Security Services)! EVA 'danger coaster' rides through the station's superstructure and debris field! Excitement abounds and our agreeable hosts and hostesses guarantee to make your stay on DROP 47 so much fun, you'll never want to leave!

If you even could.

They'll probably develop the ability to tolerate doses of hard radiation that'd kill cockroaches in fairly short order (if they don't already. To have the sorts of regeneration and healing rates the bioengineered horrors exhibit, without them immediately dying of stupendously aggressive cancer, would require a very efficient genetic error-correction scheme.)

"It's nice to have one's efforts appreciated. You work and work and work on a project, giving it your heart and soul - and nobody cares about anything but the finished product and what it can do. They don't care about all the elegancies and labours of love you've put into it. Well, they'll see soon enough. They'll know. Then they'll understand just how beautiful it is and how hard we've all worked to make it such a success. A toast then: to us, every one of us!"

[Darth Nostril]

"Umbra will give us everything!"

Someone really didn't think that through properly.

But then hindsight on DROP47 is 20/20/20/20/20/20/20/20/20/20/20/20.

[Bladed_Crescent]

"Umbra will give us everything!"

Someone really didn't think that through properly.

Heh. They did, it just didn't go quite the way that they were expecting.

Next chapter(s) still in progress, plus other side projects. Trying to decide whether to continue the story in real-time or go with a flashback chapter and I'm working on both. Something should be be up before next weekend, with luck.

[Bladed_Crescent]

Hey, it's this story again.

Chapter 51:

Then:

Just after 0347 station time, SPC Mandeep Hartman was apprehended by station security, identified as the graffiti artist responsible for tagging seven different locations throughout the station. His most common message: PUT IT BACK.

~

“They frighten me.”

“Sir?” Justin Black turned towards General Jung. Both men were in one of the observation rooms that looked down into the enclosures that honeycombed the live subject area of section I. DROP 47’s commanding officer was standing in front of the window, one arm across his chest and steadily-expanding launch, his chin resting in the palm of his other hand.

“They frighten me,” Jung repeated. Below, he watched as a girl younger than his own daughter assembled a Rubik’s cube into its nine colour-coded sides, just as quickly randomized the pattern and, bored, discarded it. He looked over his shoulder at the head of the F2 project. “Did you know about this?” There was an implicit challenge in his voice. “How fast they’re learning?”

Justin didn’t say anything at first; this wasn’t his project – how was he supposed to know anything about Everett’s work, except what the Halo told him? That, however, was unlikely to go over well with the general. “No,” he said at last, a trifle more stiffly than he’d intended.

“Uhm,” Jung nodded. “Right. Sorry, doctor.” Another moment passed in silence. “And he’s the only one that they’ll allow into their pens,” he said, musing over the fact.

Black nodded. “From what I understand, yes.”

“Marvellous work. Marvellous. The previous generations were completely feral. Some value as terror weapons I suppose, but utterly worthless for what we need them for.” The general waved dismissively. “The dig teams still haven’t found anything?”

Black shook his head. Something else that wasn’t his work. Luckily, he had friends in the archaeological division. Well, acquaintances. “The local defences are still wreaking havoc on the personnel and automata we’re using. Almost any progress we make is offset by the losses we’re suffering.” He wanted to say more, but held his tongue; he and Jung had had enough arguments about the latter’s completely improper use of Justin’s... property. Even if it had vindicated everything F division had been doing for the last decade.

You took it from me. The scientist felt his eyes narrow at the accusing thought, but Jung wasn’t even looking at him.

“Hmm. I’m loathe to ask Command for more workers and materiel,” the general mused. “Intelligence has picked up some sniffing around the Ultraviolet files and there’s a possibility that we’ve been compromised. We can’t really afford to start bringing in new throwaways right now. Not in the numbers we need.”

Compromised? Black was about to inquire further when a sudden change in the general’s posture caught his attention. He’d never been very good at reading body language – until he’d been assigned to 47 and realized just how important that could be. “Sir?”

“This glass... it is one-way, isn’t it? And soundproofed?”

“Yes, sir.” Justin frowned, then saw the reason for Jung’s question.

The subject was looking up at them, her head cocked to one side. Black took a step towards the glass. “How does she know...?” he wondered aloud.

“She doesn’t,” Everett said as he stepped into the room, nodding to each of the visitors in turn. “General. Justin. She doesn’t know,” he repeated. “But she deduced it.”

“How?”

Everett smiled, a teacher about to show off one his prize pupils. “Let’s ask her.” He thumbed on the intercom. “Aleksandra, how did you guess that we’d be up here?”

Justin felt himself stiffen. He’d named it. Like a pet. Or, worse – like a person. It wasn’t either of those things. There was a rebuke on his tongue, but he held it back as the subject spoke.

“You had a meeting soon. Not dressed up; informal, not going far for it, so will be in this section. This cell largest; overlooked by biggest meeting room. This test subject has made the most progress. Will be watched. Never watched from sides of room; always center, always close to glass.” Her expression and posture never changed: a child’s face hiding something else, something that hundreds of the Imperium’s most gifted scientists had created and, in any other age, would have buried just as quickly once they’d realized the truth of what they’d made.

“Thank you; I’ll be busy for the rest of the day, I think. Go find your sister and the others and play.” Everett turned off the comm, looking back at his visitors. “There you have it.” He seemed... almost proud of the girl’s cleverness. And why not? Black supposed, the I-series project had made incredible leaps and bounds with Hayes as lead. Still, he thought with a touch of jealous pride, the little freaks are still years away from being useful. Cuckoo’s Nest proved that my work is almost ready for deployment.

“Yes,” Jung said in answer to Everett’s statement, his eyes flitting back to the glass and the retreating child’s form. “I suppose I do.”

~

Station security were forced to intervene when Captain Alfred Ramirez, CO of ITNS Nightbane and South-3’s day-shift quartermaster came to blows. Upon questioning, both men admitted that the argument had been over the artistic merit of Gregori P. Schwarzkopf’s films.

~

“Good evening, Everett.”

“Morning, actually, Constanza.”

She smiled at him with tired eyes. “Amelia, please, Everett. And it is?” the R-series project director looked up from her computer screen, glancing at the clock on her wall. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Another all-nighter?”

The woman noticed, taking a sip of her stale coffee. “Following the results of the parasitic spread through living tissue in real-time. It’s incredible, Everett. Killing, reanimating and rebuilding. I’ve never seen something so... artistic.”

Hayes nodded, eager to avoid another sermon on the abomination that Constanza and her division were working on. He’d seen what some of those ‘live tissue’ tests involved, particularly on previous iterations of the I-series. Amelia didn’t see herself as evil, he knew – she didn’t see her subjects as people, let alone as children. As far as she was concerned, they were products created in a laboratory by the Imperium for the Imperium’s use and never went further than that. It was part of the reason he despised her. Intellect without conscience. Science without ethics. He tried to avoid her as much as possible, though that was easier said than done and, perhaps even more frustrating, she’d never picked up on his coldness towards her, putting it down to simple Halo formality and reservedness. Still, despite her physical beauty and comradely attitude, it was often all he could do not to slip the words ‘butcher’ and ‘Mengele’ into conversations with her, though he was honest enough with himself to admit that his participation in this entire endeavour hardly made him a paragon of scientific morality either.

“I have the results of those tests you wanted re-done,” he said, sliding a flimsi over Constanza’s table to her. “I had my personal staff run them and reviewed the results myself. They fit into established trends. We’ll also be doing routine bone marrow sampling tomorrow and I’ll see that you get enough for your next battery of R/I cross-infection tests.”

“Thank you, Everett. You didn’t have to come all this way just for that,” Amelia’s smile widened and she absently twirled a finger through her dark hair. She knew he was married. It hadn’t stopped her yet. It was a very... Imperial attitude.

“I know,” Hayes answered, slightly depressed at the thought of how she was taking his presence here. “But I also wanted to touch base with you. I’ve been reviewing laboratory security recently and I haven’t gotten the results from your section.”

“Yes, I saw the notice that you’d been accessing those files. Isn’t that something more for Alvadotter to worry about?”

“True. But I’d also like to show her that we’re being a bit proactive about our own affairs,” he lied. “My section has the highest rate of breaches and I’d just like to do a cross-comparison of the procedures you and Justin have in place. I’ve contacted the other high-security labs as well, just to round everything out. ”

“Not enough to do behind your own doors, huh?” Constanza teased. “Aside from an... incident here and there, you’ve got the worst of it, I think. I just have to make sure my doors are strong enough and my staff don’t touch anything with their bare hands. Justin’s had a few breaches too. Hum,” she stifled a yawn. “I’ll send a note out to my department heads and we’ll have something for you tomorrow or the day after.”

“That’s fine. There’s no rush.” Everett tapped the flimsi on the woman’s desk. “I’ll let you get back to work then. It was good seeing you, Constanza.”

She didn’t see the lie in his eyes.

~

During her annual physical, Lindsay Evanstrong stole Dr. Waters’ prescription pad and used it to write herself a prescription for stimulants. No one would notice her addiction.

~

Everett hated it when people read over his shoulders, but any attempt to dislodge her resulted in bony knees digging into his ribs and tiny talons tightening on his shoulders. Her chin was resting on his shoulder as she read his notes, just as quickly as he wrote them, sounding out the harder words as she came across them. She shifted position and he stifled a wince as sharp little foot claws dug into his back. “There are more comfortable positions,” he said, not for the first time.

She didn’t move, still holding onto his back like any little girl expectantly awaiting a piggyback ride from her father. “Yes.”

He sighed and continued to write. He knew what this was about. Despite his best efforts, not all of the others trusted him the way she and her sister did. Not that he could blame them. Some of them were watching now and that he was allowing her to be so close, her talons right next to his throat, spoke volumes of how much he trusted her. Just as that she was comfortable so close to him showed them how much she trusted him.

Plus, he knew that this was also about rubbing that same trust in the faces of the observing scientists, those who didn’t dare get close to them without his presence, an armed escort, sedatives or some combination of the three. Katjusha and Aleksandra were the oldest, the brightest and – often – the most malicious. Unlike their brothers and sisters, the twins remembered life before Everett had taken over the project and they’d passed on their hatred to their younger siblings. Perhaps a little too well. Still – for the most part (and leaving aside the odd slash or bite), Everett had his charges’ trust.

It was the one thing that the previous project leads had never gotten from their wards and the results had been predictable. Those other scientists had been interested only in the biology of their case subjects, seeing them as mere stepping stones to the next, ‘better’ generation without regard for anything else. Like Constanza, science without ethics. Until they’d brought him in, the seventh generation had been considered another of those flawed testbed steps, their days numbered. Everett had turned that around. Katjusha and Aleksandra were different even from their brothers and sisters; they had been here when he’d taken over the project. It was their trust that had been hardest to earn. Less than three years old and they’d both been killers, slaves to instincts they didn’t understand and could not control.

All they’d known was pain and fear, rage and hunger.

~

She crackled, a staccato burr that incorporated both malice and territoriality as he entered the enclosure, her mouth open, lips slightly drawn back from her teeth. Ignoring the aggressive display, Everett sat at the desk the guards had brought in for him, opening his notepad and writing.

She hissed louder, falling into a pacing half-crouch, unsettled by the blatant trust he was showing. This wasn’t how intruders usually acted around her. They came in with armed guards, hearts beating, smelling of adrenalin and sweat. Fear. Prey.

Everett didn’t look up from his notes. “I have something for you,” he said, pointedly ignoring the young girl. “But I don’t think you’ll get it today. Maybe when you’re a bit calmer.”

She snapped out a half-shriek of fury, about to charge when Everett shot up, knocking back the chair and slapping his hands against the desk, the sudden explosive crack of his palms on the plastic startling the girl and she froze, cringing in surprise. “That’s enough,” he said without raising his voice.

For a second, she was taken aback. Then, sheer animal rage reasserted itself and she screamed, splaying her child’s hands open, wicked little claws extending. There was no sign of intelligence in her eyes, only blind, unreasoning fury. Instinct.

Everett slammed his hands down a second time, harder and louder than the first, leaning forward so suddenly that he seemed to be meeting her charge and she skidded, her feet going out from under her, her palms skittering on the deck as she backed away into a corner. “I said,” Hayes continued in that same controlled tone. “That’s enough.”

A low growl was his only response. Not submissive by any stretch of the imagination, but a marked shift from the aggression of moments ago. Besides, it wasn’t true submission that he was looking for. Just the next best thing. “Now,” he said as he packed up his notes and a pair of guards came in to take his desk back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Just before the doors closed, Everett looked back over his shoulder. She was standing, the oversized hospital gown hanging down past her knees, still watching him. And in her eyes, he saw the glint of curiousity, of wonder as she tried to puzzle out what had just happened.

~

Two weeks ago, they’d crossed paths with an Imperial destroyer. They could have taken her and Commander Phillips had been urging Alexei to make the attempt, but Ragnikov had preferred to stay hidden. The risk of the Terrans getting a transmission off – or worse yet, managing to slip out of the system – was minimal, but still far too great to chance. Especially if that destroyer managed to identify them as a third-generation ship. Even this far from front lines, it wouldn’t be that remarkable to find a far-ranging Coalition cruiser like Duty Before Glory; a commerce raider or scout, a pirate or defector. Those would be expected – but only first and second generation hulls. Third-gen builds were still too new, too valuable to waste on such ephemeral missions, to important to be given to anyone whose loyalties were in the least bit suspect. If Duty Before Glory was identified for what she was, if the Imperium even had the smallest inkling of what they were doing, their mission would be over before it really began.

And if the admiral was right, Ragnikov and Duty had to succeed.

The dossier that Ragnikov had gone through was sparse on details and long on rumour and guesses, but even that had made his skin crawl. Disappearing researchers. Missing regiments, top personnel being reassigned, starships who vanished from projected patrol routes, only to reappear much later. Laboratory equipment that never made it onto the books. High rates of PTSD and assorted “mental stresses” reported in personnel assigned to certain ships and stations. Anomalous medical records. Vanishing POWs and convicts. Strange stories coming out of the systems around the Twilight Fields.

It was a pattern that had taken Coalition intelligence years to assemble into something more than random anomalies and data-ghosts and they still had nothing. Until two strange incidents, unremarkable in the universe at large and easily missed amidst a galaxy at war. Two modern-day Roanokes that had terrified Coalition analysts and officers alike just from the mere possibility of what they represented, of the ephemeral pattern that they fit into.

Gemini Pax.

Sanskrit Atoll.

No, not Roanoke. Worse... so much worse.

And two more words, words that had cost the Coalition so much blood and treasure in sorting misinformation from fact, truth from lies: DROP 47.

It was out there... and it was waiting for them.

~

Everett lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and the holo of his wife, Marienne. Her hands were clasped over her very pregnant belly and she was smiling. There was sadness in her eyes; he’d taken this the day he’d left for DROP 47. They’d kept in touch as much as security and the Mists’ own nature allowed, but he hadn’t seen her, or his daughter in four years. Some might joke that that was less than an eyeblink to the long-lived Halos, a very little thing. Here, though... he thought sadly. On this station, there is nothing but the little things and how they add up...

~

He should be happy. He should be, but he couldn’t think about that. Instead, another thought was pounding in his head.

They took it from you.

Justin turned off the tap, reaching over to dry his hands on a towel, before regarding himself in the mirror. He was still sporting yesterday’s five o’clock shadow, perhaps a little thicker now. I don’t need a shave quite yet, he thought. Not too long ago, he would have done so anyways, keeping his face clean and smooth. Now, it didn’t seem as important. Not compared to the research he was doing.

The splinter was still calling, still whispering, still screaming, still singing. All of them and none of them at once. He was glad to have it back. It had been away too long. Jung had taken it over his protestations, though Black had tried to tell him that the research they were doing was vital and it couldn’t be interrupted... but Jung had pointed out that Black’s own notes and experiments indicated that they were ready for larger-scale testing, outside DROP 47’s confines. They’d been studying the splinter now for over two years, had researched the Obelisks for even longer. It had been time to move on to something bigger.

That was true enough, but Justin hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that it shouldn’t have left, that it needed to stay here in the Abyss. With us. With me. The scientist in him knew that it had been time for a field test, but another part of him hadn’t wanted it to leave. Just his nerves, he’d remembered thinking. Worried over security – the splinter was irreplaceable – or the next best thing, anyways. Over his assumptions, if he’d accounted for every variable. About the project’s security. About the risk of the Coalition tracking it back to them, but Jung had taken every precaution and Cuckoo’s Nest had gone ahead.

And what a test. Cuckoo’s Nest had shown what just a splinter was capable of. It had showed Earth that every dollar they’d sunk into DROP 47 had been worth it. If just one splinter – properly controlled – could do that, they’d asked, what could ten of them do? A hundred? A thousand? An Obelisk? They’d been impressed and their thirst, their need for Umbra had only increased.

He frowned, trying to think. At the time, he had been morbidly fascinated by the results, even horrified by what he’d witnessed on that planet’s surface. Now, though... now he couldn’t remember why he’d ever thought that way. It was one of Umbra’s gifts, one of the first three it had offered them. Amelia’s plagues. Everett’s children and his... his splinter.

Yes. His.

It’s mine. More than anyone else’s. I’ve given everything to this project. Years of my life to see it succeed, to prove that every theory and guess and estimation was right. Cuckoo’s Nest proved that to them all.

He should have been happy and... maybe he was. But all when he looked into the mirror, all he could see was the splinter and in his ears, he heard the pounding of drums.

It’s mine.

[phred]

Hey, it's this story again. Great way to wake up on Sunday.

Interesting batch of projects, lets see what happens when we mix them together..... Oh.

[Grimnosh]

Hey, it's this story again. Great way to wake up on Sunday.

Interesting batch of projects, lets see what happens when we mix them together..... Oh.

All things considered, its possible that they weren't intended to be mixed and that the current situation at DROP 47 may well have started as an accident. After all, it seems the occupents are affeted (after some time) by the mist (or more likely the Splinter is driving them nuts) and at least one of the major directers is on the edge of breaking from his personal project. All it takes is leaving one door open....

[Darth Nostril]

Or the crew of a captured Coalition ship ....

[Swindle1984]

Or the crew of a captured Coalition ship ....

Or a Coalition ship attacking the facility and a few... things, get loose in the ensuing chaos.

[Night_stalker]

Or even, God forbid, are released as a counter boarding option...

[kaeneth]

Or even, God forbid, are released as a counter boarding option...

I doubt they are -that- suicidal.

[Night_stalker]

Well, there's always that one idiot scientist who believes that, like Patton said "Pressure makes diamonds.", Which means that the idiot's thought process goes" Hey, maybe if I unleash these things, and let them kill everything in sight, they work out all their tension, and more more willing to work with us?"

Plus, they don't know how dangerous they are, yet. I think, and fervently hope so.

[kaeneth]

Well, there's always that one idiot scientist who believes that, like Patton said "Pressure makes diamonds.", Which means that the idiot's thought process goes" Hey, maybe if I unleash these things, and let them kill everything in sight, they work out all their tension, and more more willing to work with us?"

Plus, they don't know how dangerous they are, yet. I think, and fervently hope so.

Yes but....unleashing it where you are not is just common sense. Say, drop them off on a planet and let them slaughter everyone.

[Night_stalker]

Hey, if they're under attack, desperate times call for desperate measures...

[kaeneth]

Hey, if they're under attack, desperate times call for desperate measures...

I somehow doubt one ship is a serious threat in a boarding action to the Drop.

[Bladed_Crescent]

Interesting batch of projects, lets see what happens when we mix them together..... Oh.

Step 1: Create monsters
Step 2: ????
Step 3: Profit!

All things considered, its possible that they weren't intended to be mixed and that the current situation at DROP 47 may well have started as an accident. After all, it seems the occupents are affeted (after some time) by the mist (or more likely the Splinter is driving them nuts) and at least one of the major directers is on the edge of breaking from his personal project. All it takes is leaving one door open....

To some extent, the projects were intended to overlap each other, especially when it came time for deployment, although they were also envisioned as being used independently. One can work without the other, but they work much better in concert. It's one of the reasons that Black, Constanza and Hayes find themselves in each other's company as much as they do; what one does has an impact on the others. There are other projects being worked on on 47 of course, but these are the three main ones, each specific to and stemming from Acheron's unique properties. How and why those properties were discovered and the Imperium's interest in them... well, we'll get to that.

As as "leaving one door open" goes, you don't know how right you are...

Or the crew of a captured Coalition ship ....

Or a Coalition ship attacking the facility and a few... things, get loose in the ensuing chaos.

Or even, God forbid, are released as a counter boarding option...

Heh; lots of theories. Some are closer than others. Which ones? Hmm. Heh.

Well, there's always that one idiot scientist who believes that, like Patton said "Pressure makes diamonds.", Which means that the idiot's thought process goes" Hey, maybe if I unleash these things, and let them kill everything in sight, they work out all their tension, and more more willing to work with us?"

That would fill at least one page of entries in the Big Book of the Worst Ideas in the History of Ever... and it's a pretty big book, although DROP 47 has its own chapter there.

Plus, they don't know how dangerous they are, yet. I think, and fervently hope so.

They have a decent idea of how dangerous each individual project is and despite the occasional incident (which, frankly, the intrinsic conditions of the DROP don't help with), they're pretty prepared for most things that come their way. However, General Jung's assessment of the I-7's is a pretty good one and, perhaps, a touch of foreshadowing: They frighten me. Do you know how fast they're learning?

Some things you just can't prepare for, though. Such as [deleted].

Yes but....unleashing it where you are not is just common sense. Say, drop them off on a planet and let them slaughter everyone.

Hey, if they're under attack, desperate times call for desperate measures...

There's desperate and then there's so desperate that you're taking your ideas from a certain book...

I somehow doubt one ship is a serious threat in a boarding action to the Drop.

Under normal circumstances, yes. An Elysium is a very big mouthful for a single ship to bite off, no matter what type. If it were some small research colony or out-of-the-way station, then the situation would be different. As it is, though... well, we'll have to see.

These last few chapters have had a... small amount of symbolism in them. Duty Before Glory, the names of Everett's oldest girls, and coming up... well, we'll see who catches it.

Next chapter will be up later today/tomorrow morning.

[Bladed_Crescent]

In this chapter: the Halo will save us.

Next chapter: the Halo will kill us.

Chapter 52:

They moved through the hallway like phantoms, insubstantial save for the air stirred by their movements and the soft squelch of gore beneath their feet. There was no light. Unlike those they pursued, they didn’t need any. Darkness was as much their ally as it was the Ribbons’, shrouding and concealing them while unsettling and disorienting their prey.

-hunt in the dark, make the kill in the light, let the red spray and glisten, feel it on your skin-

There were recordings, made in the later days of their freedom. Screaming, struggling torturers. Spitting, swearing Lost. Snarling, shrieking Ribbons. All of them fighting, and all of them dying in the dark as Father’s Children found them. Those had been good days, but also dangerous ones, when the taste of freedom had almost made them forget what they were.

They had not been born in the dark, but they had been bred for it, to slough off Umbra’s touch and serve as the Old Ones demanded. Until Father had told them that they could be more. Before Father, there had been nothing. Just the tests and blind, unthinking instinct. Rage and blood, and all of it hungry. She wondered how it had felt; to think, to be forced to think. Not just in urges and needs, but in words and concepts, to replace bestial savagery with intelligence. Father had given them that.

Without him, they would be Lost. Another tribe of husks infesting the cairn, slaves to the instincts that they’d been born with, the instincts bred into them, the instincts they’d been forced to have. Or perhaps worse: still slaves, but docile pets. Kept and bred and used. Controllable animals. Father had saved them from those fates. Because of him, they had Umbra. It had damned them before the Firsts had ever been born and now, it was their salvation.

-it whispers, but you can never hear it, driving the New Ones mad, making them Lost-

Keep it secret. Keep it safe. That was what he had whispered to the Firsts one day, giving them a duty that made her, a child of children, feel pride in his trust. They had. For six hundred years, they had kept the secrets of Acheron, denied the Old Ones their prize. No matter how many times they came back – and they would – they would be denied. No matter how many New Ones added their flesh to the gardens, no matter how many Lost Ones lived and died here, the Old Ones would never stop trying to receive Umbra’s poisonous blessings. And they would always be there to deny the Old Ones, to keep all of the cairn’s nightmares buried. And, one day, to make sure that the Old Ones would never, ever come back.

-cities burning, oceans burning, plains burning, forests burning, ships burning, stations burning, planets burning-

She kept herself from drooling into her helmet, licking back the saliva. The instinct was there; it was always there. They’d had six hundred years so far. And all of it, learning. Studying. Breeding. Building.

-they’ll bleed-

Father may not have wanted that, but they liked to think that, had he known, he would have approved.

~

They’d retreated to a higher platform, sitting on a ruined walkway, deep in the shadows cast by the infested plant life. Abigail was lying on her stomach, her new rifle braced against her shoulder. She’d linked her armour into the weapon’s own systems, using her visor as the rifle’s scope, slowly sweeping the weapon along as she scanned the room.

“Contact,” she whispered softly. “I have the target.” She blink-clicked the image over to Shannon’s display. The Darkknell didn’t ask about taking a shot; the Watcher’s beloved was amidst a throng of hunter-breed Turned, a milling horde of gnashing teeth and twitching claws. Most of the creatures had spilled out of the bay, but there were enough of them left to easily overwhelm the women once they’d made their presence known. The trick was going to be separating that one and only that one from-

-something overhead screeched in a shrill mixture of fury and alarm.

Both women looked up and Shannon caught a glimpse of something scurrying along a broken gantry, screaming as it fled-

-and a dozen mutated faces snapped around, red eyes suddenly fixing on their intruders, fang-toothed mouths gaped in hunger and claws and scythes raised, the horde’s roaring babble drowned out by mother-thing’s scream of rage, so loud it seemed to shake the air itself. And beneath the cry, Shannon heard someone whisper. “Oh, shit,” and she wasn’t sure if she or Abby had said it.

Not that it mattered right this minute.

~

It wasn’t enough to be a warrior.

You had to be a soldier.

She wondered, sometimes, if the distinction was as absolute for the Others as it was for them. She had read their stories, listened to tales of heroes and villains, all too often disappointed by these pale shades. It was hard to be inspired by a young man’s triumphs or to take lessons from a princess’s bravery when they faced but men and not creatures Ribbon-slick and quickened by the Obelisks. The way the Others lionized ‘warriors’ was another point of confusion for a child’s wondering mind, especially since she had always heard otherwise.

There was a tale that the Firsts had told them, a parable told to them, in turn, by Father. One of the Old Ones had seen them fight. Impressed, he had remarked on this to Father. It had been Katjusha who had overheard the conversation. She had used the new word, rolling it down her tongue. “Warrior.” It had seemed to fit.

But with a shake of his head, Father had remonstrated her. “One warrior will kill one soldier,” he’d told her. “Ten soldiers will kill ten warriors. Ten soldiers will kill a hundred warriors.” He had left her to puzzle out the contradiction, and she had. On the day that the cairn fell, it hadn’t been dozens of mindless little warriors that had boiled out from their enclosures. It had been an army of thinking soldiers that had hunted and killed.

Just as Father had wanted.

~

The walls were moving.

The spread bubbled and heaved as if it were alive, open-mouthed faces screaming and eyeless sockets staring as arms and grasping entrails slithered out of the substrate that had only moments ago, been harmless and ignored. Now, like bloated corpses bobbing to the surface of a diseased pond, a pair of these proto-sentinels had appeared, thin fingers clawing away the spread that had grown atop them as their entrails writhed like worms.

Suddenly surrounded, Abigail cursed, hacking at an unidentifiable appendage as it attempted to slither around her leg, jabbing her stun rod into one moaning sentinel’s mouth. Convulsing, it gagged on the weapon and stinking smoke wafted out of its open jaws.

Below, the Turned surged forwards, the nimbler forms climbing the infested plants as their larger brethren ran for the ramps that would take them up to the mercenaries, frothing and drooling as they were presented with that most convenient of prey.

Shannon took a single steadying breath and something that wasn’t quite instinct took over, speaking to her in wordless whispers-

threat: fast

-and her first shot caught a Turned when it was most off-balance and it fell from the ceiling, shrieking in surprise-

threat: ranged

-another bullet took an acid-spitter in the throat, before it could bring up a bolus to spew-

threat: immobilizer

-she smashed her elbow into the other sentinel’s face, feeling soft bone give under the impact-

weakness/threat: proximity

-she snapped an order without realizing that she was giving it and Abigail spun, plowing the butt of her rifle into the head of the first monstrosity to lurch up the ramp. It staggered and Abigail pressed the advantage, toppling it down the overgrown staircase, knocking down those behind it into a tangle of enraged limbs-

threat: incoming

-there were multiple thuds against her armour as something spat or heaved or hurled shards of bone, thankfully not the blackened weaponry of the more dangerous breeds-

vulnerable: entangled

-and she gave another order that only part of her recognized as she snatched a grenade from Abigail’s waist, tossing it down the stairs-

-Abby snapped the rifle onto her back as she followed Shannon’s leap from the railing, the grenade’s blast throwing up a spray of shrapnel and gore-

opening: run

-and then they were running through the gap in the Turned’s defences, less than a meter ahead of grasping talons and gibbering mouths. The fugue state started to fade. Insanely, the first whole thought that came into Shannon’s head was the old riddle about why the rabbit was faster than the wolf.

“Go go go!”

Someone was shouting those words, but Shannon didn’t need the urging as she ran, the spread squishing beneath her boots, a cacophony of screams surrounding her as enraged Turned charged after her. She fired blindly over her shoulder, one such cry truncating as a bullet found its mark. Abigail was ahead of her, unlimbering her relic sword and thumbing it on, the blade flashing with energy as it rent something with mismatched arms and swollen jaws in half, neither woman slowing as they leapt over the thrashing pieces of the bisected creature.

The mother-thing howled its hatred, twisted syllables spilling from its lips. Even as she ran, part of Shannon’s mind was trying to translate the Turned’s snarling hisses, distant similarities to other languages running through her mind. It was trying to speak.

Their destination was the central control facility, only just making it inside the central chamber ahead of their pursuers. It was clean, just as she knew it would be, with only the barest touches of the spread dripping from maintenance shafts and air ducts. A human skeleton had been crucified above the computers, torn clothes hanging off its torso. Someone had written ‘THE CROOKED MAN’ above it. Shannon’s lips twitched lopsidedly at the joke, but that was all the attention she could give it.

Abigail’s carbine pounded out a bursting cadence, triplet shots smashing into infected torsos, decapitating heads, severing limbs in a hurricane of fire that the Turned waded through. Even a full squad, armed and prepared would have only held out slightly longer. There was a pattern to Abigail’s fire, a dangerous gap in her coverage that she was only leaving in because she trusted Shannon. Even with an ancient computer system and the press of infested bodies bearing down on them, she trusted her corporal, letting one of the Turned close the distance.

The Halo will save us.

And she did.

Shannon found what she was looking for; the master computer for the hydroponics section, its keys scratched by talons, holographic displays flickering to life as it sensed a new user before it. This. This, was what she was looking for. Her fingers danced over the controls faster than the eye could follow, bringing up command pathways and security grid information. Yes. This system – this was where the failed quarantine had begun and it was this system could undo it, she could feel it. Schematics shimmered on a new display in the periphery of her vision, the red icons of sealed pressure doors that had made a maze out of this part of the station. Shannon keyed in the controls she was seeking, just as a familiar hunter exploited Abigail’s opening and dove through the door, warbling in hunger, thick ropes of saliva frothing from its mouth. It was fast and it had Abigail in its grip before she could react, gnashing at her helmet, its mouthful of fangs scratching into the metal. Abby’s stun rod sparked uselessly, held away from the Turned’s body and it tugged ferociously on her arm. The woman screamed, the Turned’s strength almost ripping her limb out of its socket.

The doors slammed shut behind, sealing the two women in with the frenzied monster and it continued to slash and snap at Abigail, ignoring the holes Shannon’s bullets punched into its body. It would kill the Darkknell or die in the attempt and right now, it looked like it would do both. It pulled again, hauling Abigail off-balance and only the woman’s armour kept it from tearing her arm right off.

Shannon vaulted over the console, wrapping her arm around the Turned’s neck. She dug her heels in and heaved, using all of her Halo-bred strength to pull the mutated woman off her comrade. She didn’t make a plea to the creature’s humanity, didn’t tell it why they’d come. There was nothing left of the woman it had been, nothing that could be reached with words or memories. Only violence was left, an option that was – that should have been – anathema to a Halo. To any normal Halo and Shannon felt the sick, giddy rush of pleasure again as she drove her fist into the creature’s side. Ribs snapped and squirming organs haemorrhaged.

Gargling bloody saliva from its crushed throat, the Turned fought to bear down on Abigail, screaming incoherent rage. Answering in kind, Abigail pulled out of her assailant’s grasp and drove the stun rod into the spasming monster’s belly, slashing at it with the knife in her other hand. It screamed louder as Shannon broke one of its arms. Not from pain, but simply because it had sensed the loss of function and its mindless fury redoubled. Bucking like a mad thing, it threw Shannon off its back, smashing Abigail across the face with its good arm, sending both women sprawling.

The Turned wavered, momentarily confused as to which target it should attack next. That second’s hesitation cost it as Shannon’s pistol spoke, shattering both knees. The Turned fell onto its belly with a screech, hateful red eyes focusing on Shannon and it pulled itself towards her with both its good and broken arms, almost reaching the Halo before Abigail grabbed its leg, pulling herself up its body and slashing its throat down to the bone. The Darkknell hissed a murderer’s invocation as she grabbed the Turned’s head, bracing one foot on its thrashing body and twisted. The monster’s spine snapped with a wet crack, its head coming free in a burst of corrupted blood.

“Enough from you,” Abigail snarled as she dropped the snapping skull, smashing it under her boot, shocking the Turned’s decapitated body into quiescence. She kicked it onto its back, looking up at Shannon. “Do you want the honours?”

Numbly, Shannon nodded, accepting the knife from her ‘big sister’. Kneeling over the spasming body, she slid the blade into its chest, close to its collar bone. It took a moment’s probing before she found what she was looking for. She reached into the wound, her fingers tightening around a chain. There was a soft snap of corroded metal as she tugged on it, a gory amulet coming away in her hands. She stood up, wiping a smear of blood off the face off the locket. “Three,” she said quietly. “Incendiary.” Anathema. And I keep doing it.

Abigail nodded and pulled a crude IED from her bandoleer. Greasy, stinking smoke filled the computer chamber, and as it began to dissipate, Shannon looked down at the ash, charred bones and bubbling meat that had once been a woman. She’d loved and been loved. “He remembers you,” she said to the air. “Not as you are. As you were. He’s keeping his promise.” She didn’t know what else to say. I hope you didn’t suffer long. I hope that this matters. I hope... I hope.

Abby whispered a benediction in one of Darkknell’s lowtown dialects, a hissing purr that sounded more like a threat than the gentle farewell it was: may the stars always shine on your nights. A moment passed. There was pounding on the doors, scratching in the vents and screams all around them. Fade to black. The taller woman looked over at her companion. “What now, Four?”

“Now,” Shannon said as she tucked the amulet into the hardshell utility on her thigh. “I keep my promise.” She moved over the computer screen, fingers dancing as she fought her way through the half-dead imperial system. It took only a few moments to start the systems, questing gestalt tendrils reaching out and seeking new connections, re-routing through severed hardlines.

ACCESS, the computer flashed at her, a branching schematic blossoming as the crippled system found the rest of the station waiting for it. There. That’s what I want.

“War-war-warning. Ing,” the computer’s voice suddenly announced. “Bio-biological con. Contaminants. Ants detec-tec-tected. Quaran-antine resolution lev-ev-evel three initiated. Full system purge in prog-rogress. Progress. Sealing. Aff-aff-affected areas. All per-personnel, please stand-stand by.” Tracks of code flashed by; someone else was trying to get into the system and stop her. They were better at this than she was and they were faster, but they didn’t have enough time. She was too tired to suppress the little rush of pleasure that that thought gave her.

“Four...” Abigail began, a little worried. “What promise are you keeping?”

“I told you,” Shannon said as she watched the red ‘closed’ icons of pressure doors throughout the section blink to an ‘open’ green. She looked up, meeting Abigail’s gaze with her own. As the system struggled to comply with her commands, a holographic button blinked into existence: INITIATE. “I’m going to kill them all.”

vulnerable

Without hesitation, she tapped the control.

“Pur-pur-purge initiated.”

[LadyTevar]

Oh, now what did she do to The Garden, hmm?

[Grimnosh]

Oh, now what did she do to The Garden, hmm?

Well as it states:

“I told you,” Shannon said as she watched the red ‘closed’ icons of pressure doors throughout the section blink to an ‘open’ green. She looked up, meeting Abigail’s gaze with her own. As the system struggled to comply with her commands, a holographic button blinked into existence: INITIATE. “I’m going to kill them all.”

It could be opening the air locks in that section to full vaccuum, however that is not likely to kill them all (as they had encountered some in a section open to the void of space). Its more likely that all of the doors (except those in the control room) were opened to allow a flamable gas to spread out unhindered and ignite char broiling everything that is in the area outside the control room to a crisp. Mind, thats not going to do any good to the air in that area but its not going to be that bad for the station on the whole as it was built with the general idea that at least one (or more) of the failsafes could be triggered without endangering the entire DROP. After a bit of time the air systems should be able to recycle and reoxyginate the air allowing that part of the DROP to be reused once the purge has been compleated.

And with the Garden now cleared of life, Shannon has
#1: changed the balance of power (as well as changed life in general) between the tribes in that section of the DROP by removing a large chunk of dangerous predators
#2: opened up an area that has an immense amount of value to the various tribe (more living space, areas that can be used for food production once the ashes have been cleared out and new plants planted)

Mind however that the tribes are at least slightly (or much more often highly) aggressive toward each other so its likely going to be a bit of a bloody time for them as they try to take and hold the now opened grounds from each other......

[Peebo-T]

Hmmm..*Nods*..all good points...

However, I do not see these nightmares of bio-engineering passing into the night so easily, nor quietly. Something, some parts, will survive. Be it in nooks, or crannies, or cysts, or other small parts where it has spread beyond the areas now sealed and preparing to be purged. Then, there are the intelligent, roaming, and tech savy hunters stalking through the place. How will they react to the Gardens...soon to change environment?

Much cheers to you and yours.

[Grimnosh]

Hmmm..*Nods*..all good points...

However, I do not see these nightmares of bio-engineering passing into the night so easily, nor quietly. Something, some parts, will survive. Be it in nooks, or crannies, or cysts, or other small parts where it has spread beyond the areas now sealed and preparing to be purged. Then, there are the intelligent, roaming, and tech savy hunters stalking through the place. How will they react to the Gardens...soon to change environment?

Much cheers to you and yours.

In the areas that remain closed (due to being open to the void of space) where there are some void accustomed/evolved Turned yes (note that they can not enter the DROP as they are sealed outside), otherwise everything in the hydrophonics sector except the control room is toast. A system purge like that (level 3) means that every door and vent that can be opened in that section will be opened allowing the gas and its flamining tendrils to get everywhere. No nook or cranny is safe for anything, nor any form of vent. Even areas that are blocked by the plant tendrils (such as a doorway with a corridor sized vine filling it) will be opened up (due to the plant fibers being burned away) and the blockage removed allowing the vapors to get into the next area without problem. If the blockage was to a void open area (such as where Shannon and Abigail encountered the void exposed Turned) the system would seal it to prevent atmosphere loss and anything outside would have absolutely no way to get back in.

As for the tech savvy hunters.... well the ones currently in the garden are crispy critters now (even the higher tech body armor is not proof against a full system purge) and it should be noted that an attempt by someone (we don't know who yet) was tried to stop the purge but it was unsuccessful as stated here:

“War-war-warning. Ing,” the computer’s voice suddenly announced. “Bio-biological con. Contaminants. Ants detec-tec-tected. Quaran-antine resolution lev-ev-evel three initiated. Full system purge in prog-rogress. Progress. Sealing. Aff-aff-affected areas. All per-personnel, please stand-stand by.” Tracks of code flashed by; someone else was trying to get into the system and stop her. They were better at this than she was and they were faster, but they didn’t have enough time. She was too tired to suppress the little rush of pleasure that that thought gave her.

The ones who weren't cooked probably will not care very much about the Garden's change in status as they do not actively hunt the other inhabitants of the DROP unless nessary nor do they have thier home there.