TY BROWN

INHUMANITY
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CHAPTER 1 – ALMOST INSIGNIFICANT.................................................................................... 4

CHAPTER 2 – CORRUPTION ....................................................................................................... 10

CHAPTER 3 – SCIENCE ................................................................................................................. 15

CHAPTER 4 – TOYS ....................................................................................................................... 19

CHAPTER 5 – FACING THE END ................................................................................................ 24

CHAPTER 6 – SURVIVAL .............................................................................................................. 29

CHAPTER 7 – TIME TO SHINE ................................................................................................... 34

CHAPTER 8 – CHANGE ................................................................................................................. 40

CHAPTER 9 – GOVA....................................................................................................................... 45

CHAPTER 10 – ASYLUM ............................................................................................................... 51

CHAPTER 11 – COMFORT ........................................................................................................... 56

CHAPTER 12 – FURY..................................................................................................................... 62

CHAPTER 13 – LIFE....................................................................................................................... 69

CHAPTER 14 – EPILOGUE ........................................................................................................... 72

CHAPTER 15 - XERIO’S STORY .................................................................................................. 75

CHAPTER 16 - THE BODY OF WILLIAM MORRIS ................................................................ 80

CHAPTER 17 - PROLOGUE .......................................................................................................... 83

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CHAPTER 18 - THE DEATH OF INNOCENCE .......................................................................... 84

CHAPTER 19 - THE WORKINGS OF FATE .............................................................................. 90

CHAPTER 20 - INEVITABILITY OF SOCIETY ......................................................................... 96

CHAPTER 21 - THE HEROISM OF BETRAYAL .................................................................... 106

CHAPTER 22 - REGRETTABLY ............................................................................................... 110

CHAPTER 23 - HELL ON EARTH............................................................................................. 113

CHAPTER 24 - DUTIFUL CONDUCT ...................................................................................... 119

CHAPTER 25 - A HERO’S SACRIFICE ..................................................................................... 123

CHAPTER 26 - DETERMINATION’S CHILD ......................................................................... 129

CHAPTER 27 - THE PRICE OF SECURITY ............................................................................ 134

CHAPTER 28 -REUNION AND BETRAYAL ........................................................................... 138

CHAPTER 29 - THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM .............................................................. 142

CHAPTER 30 - SO THAT OTHERS MAY LIVE ...................................................................... 147

CHAPTER 31 - EPILOGUE ......................................................................................................... 153

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Kyter
Mercenaries and auxiliaries are useless and dangerous… for they are disunited, ambitious and
without discipline, unfaithful, valiant before friends, cowardly before enemies; they have neither
the fear of God nor fidelity to men

~Machiavelli
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Chapter 1 – Almost Insignificant

All men should strive to learn before they die,
What they are running from, and to, and why.
~James Thurber
Kyter’s feet slammed against the cold steel roof and he felt the pain course up his legs, but
he kept running. His lungs gasped for air as his legs spun like windmills across the top of the
skyscraper. The weave of his black form-fitting mesh pants grated across itself and zipped
furiously. The chasm between buildings approached at a maddening rate and braced one foot
against the edge of the building and propelled himself into the air, hundreds of feet above the
street below. With a practiced air, he extended his bent legs toward the opposite edge, never
flailing as any amateur would have done. Beneath him stretched a gaping hole in the city to the
streets below. The buildings were made of steel and glass, beautiful in their own way. He
braced himself for the impact and tucked into a tight roll, coming out with an extra leap
forward. He saw the man ahead of him running toward the far edge of the building he was on,
and then the man stopped. The middle-aged man rested his hands on his knees for a second,
catching his breath. He stood up again to face Kyter. His eyes blazed an impassioned green
against the grey of his hair and stubble. He did not open his mouth, but stood motionless as
Kyter drew his pistol. Kyter slowly walked closer as both men glared deep into each other’s
eyes. Kyter heard the whir of turbines and tried to level his gun at the man, but in the blink of
an eye, the man leaned back and dropped over the edge. Kyter rushed to where the man had
been and looked down. A small transport ship was whisking away his prey into the freight lanes
of Berlin Minor. He stared up into the thick haze that lay around the city and screamed at the
sky in futility.

Kyter slammed the door to his apartment shut and dropped onto a torn-up couch. A cloud
of dust shot out from the cushions as he laid his head on a ripped pillow. He lifted a hand to his
stubbled face and rubbed it gently with his rough palm. His blue eyes sunk in their sockets,
dead from the callousness that shielded them from emotion. He tousled his thick brown hair,
scratching his scalp. Still recovering from an old wound, he slowly guided his strong jaw in a
circular motion, loosening stiff tendons, damaged by impact. Raising his gun above his head, he
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switched the safety on and began to disassemble the firearm. He used the hem of his sleeve to
wipe the chamber clean. This was his life. Assassin, bounty hunter, mercenary, whatever he
needed to be, he was. He wasn’t particularly skilled at anything else. Berlin Minor was as good a
place as any to practice his art. The EU had relaxed their policies on bounty hunting and the
term murder was now resolved for individual’s crimes. Corporations held such sway over the
corrupt government that as long as you were a part of or working for any big business, killing
was fair game for a day’s work. Kyter had grown up the son of a rich couple, owners of a
moderately-sized electronics corporation, but had fallen from their grace.

He was seventeen at the time, enrolled in a private school for the gifted, having shown rare
athletic prowess. One day he had taken it upon himself to bring justice to a particularly
obnoxious campus thief who had, on more than one occasion, stolen Kyter’s personal
possessions. They found him over a week later, stuffed in the back of the school freezer along
with the lunch rations. The school had shut down for what the government called ‘improper
violence resistance education.’ Only Kyter’s parents had really ever known it was him, but soon
afterwards, he was severed from the family inheritance and thrown out on the streets. He had
lived here and there ever since, finding the odd job killing a corporate figure or suppressing
terrorists. He wasn’t satisfied with his life, but it was his life.

He stood up from the couch and stretched his back. He had to get up at midnight for a
contract and so he made dinner, an unappetizing dish of beans and rice and went to bed. One
small man in one small bed in one small apartment in one small building in a huge world.
Almost insignificant. Almost.

The world was by no means what anyone would call ‘in order,’ and it showed no signs of
anything but entropy. Following the short lived conflict that had been prematurely hailed as
World War III, nations had congealed into four major factions, each ruled in a state of
distributed democracy. The United States had absorbed Canada and Mexico, leaving South
America a mess of independent states constantly warring but never overstepping the
boundaries of the continent. The European Union had grown in power and size to encompass
all of Europe and Russia, plus a large portion of the Middle East. Africa and Afghanistan had
allied to form what was regarded as the largest supply of nuclear weapons in the world, as well
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as the largest hive of disease. Asia, with the exception of Russia, had been swallowed in
Indochina, now over a third of Gaia’s population. Scattered among the countries was a
patchwork of countries that had refused to assimilate.

As these countries had grown in size, so had their appetite for material. Factories all over
Gaia ran at full capacity, night and day, and the once-controlled global warming ran rampant.
San Francisco, the American metropolis, was the first to go. The melting icecaps had caused a
huge rise in the sea level, and coast cities had been swallowed by the ocean. Rather than cease
production of materials and work on a solution to the problem, the corporate-run government
opted to produce more and build sea walls around the major coast cities, such as Los Angeles.
Ludicrously tall monuments to humanity’s inability to save itself, they towered almost a
thousand feet above the cities, more than plenty for the current flood predicament. But
European scientists had discovered deposits of water deep below the surface that could be
released at any moment, given the right amount of pressure.

Pressure. European Oil Chairman Bowes reminded himself of the duty he had in his meeting
tomorrow. He loosened his tie, and slid it over his head. He would be meeting with some of the
biggest names in government. Richard Stanclift, Secretary of State. Alma Pitney, Secretary of
the Interior. Many others were all there to listen to his carefully crafted speech on the evils of
drilling restrictions in national parks. Could he successfully convince them of his point,
European Oil would effectively have rights to the resources left behind in Alaska in the Debate
of ’28, as well as any other deposits of oil and natural gas they had found. This was Bowes’ first
real assignment for the company, the first presentation he’d ever given. This was his change to
make his mark in society, to really prove his worth to the company and to the world. Chairman
no longer meant what it used to. He was nothing more than a glorified accountant before this,
creatively sculpting tax records into what the government wanted to see, but even then they
tended to ignore businesses for fear of retribution. He was unnecessary. Until now, his big
make or break moment. He was not going to break. Bowes unbuttoned his custom-tailored suit
carefully and hung it on a laundry deposit hanger. He watched as it was whisked off into a
tunnel leading to the building Laundromat. He switched on the news and sat in his armchair.
The wall flickered to life and a holographic reporter stepped out of the screen. She wore the
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default, a grey business suit. Bowes flipped through outfits until he found something that
caught his eye, then leaned back and allowed the live broadcast to come through. The
background of the reporter flickered to life and she came alive.

“I’m here at the genetic testing lab here on Luna, where I’m speaking with senior researcher
Alvin Lute. They’re working on a new synthetic protein to artificially boost the human potential
for growth. Why don’t you explain what that means, Alvin?”

A shorter man took the screen now, peering through magnification goggles. He removed
them with a chuckle and his eyes returned to their normal size.

“The Aeris research station has discovered a new compound here on Luna that we believe
could revolutionize the human race. Mixed with octopus DNA as well as the recipient’s own
DNA, this compound allows for a radical transformation of the human body. New growths we
could never have imagined can now take place. Depending on the targeted gene, we can affect
nearly any aspect of humanity. And it works with nearly any species of animal, as long as we’ve
figured out the ‘key,’ as it were, to the species’ DNA.”

The camera returned now to the reporter. “Let’s take a look at what some of this means,”
She strolled nonchalantly down a hallway, obviously medical. “Here with me now is test
recipient A7. We’re not releasing his name or face for security reasons.” A man joined her on-
screen, his face covered by a skin-colored blur. He was scrawny, probably just over a hundred
pounds. “So, A7, what modification have you been given?”

He laughed. “I think it’s best if I show you.” He walked over to a giant crate lying on the
ground. With one hand, he grabbed the handle and lifted it above his head, effortlessly.

Bowes widened his eyes slightly in mock surprise, but in all reality he didn’t care all that
much. A new technology on Luna took years before it was ready to even test on Gaia. Besides,
he knew the stories behind what happened on Luna. Civil rights no longer extended to citizens
of Earth’s largest natural satellite. Whenever a technology was announced as ready on Luna, it
meant that it still had a 99 percent failure ratio. This went for the hundreds of types of nuclear
power they were experimenting with as well as the hundreds of types of way they tried to toy
with fate. They sailed through the heavens, so they thought they had the right to be Gods.
 8

Bowes switched the screen off and lay back in his chair, ready for a nap before dinner. One
power-hungry man in one armchair in one penthouse in one large building in a huge world.
Almost insignificant. Insignificant.

Insignificance really was the norm on Gaia now. With twenty billion people inhabiting the
world, statistically your chance to make a difference was necessarily limited. Numbers were not
on your side, and because of the powers that be holding such sway over advancement, hard
work would get you nowhere either. So the only thing anyone could hold hope of was blind luck
propelling them into a position of consequence. Yet some people still worked night and day.

Sarah Philipson worked night and day. Not for the influence, not because she loved the job,
but because she wanted the money. With so many infirm, working in a hospital was a very
lucrative profession and with the addition of commission for patients, the race to be the best
doctor was on. And she was the best doctor. She could perform osteopathic surgery and turn
around to help a patient with alternative medicines while taking a call on a recovering heart
replacement patient. She knew what she was doing. She wasn’t happy doing it, but she told
herself she was. A necessary lie, she thought. Millions of credits a year kept her living in the
middle of the city with a boat in four harbors around the Mediterranean. She wasn’t happy, but
she was rich, and bought pleasure at no end. Which was why she resented her assignment
today. Nurses. She scowled at the though. Fresh out of med school, an optimistic outlook on a
cynical world. They believed they were helping people, making them get better all out of the
kindness of their hearts. Their naiveté sickened Dr. Philipson, but she harbored a secret
jealousy of their bubbling enthusiasm, their happy demeanors. But what really annoyed her
mostly was her assignment to them. She would be forgoing commission on all her patients she
could treat today for a bare minimum to teach these waifs how to ask how high when she said
jump.

Philipson didn’t mess around with asking names. She quickly scanned their lapel badges for
their names, memorizing their name and face for further reference. Jamie, Lily, Lauren, Melody,
Rose, Teresa. Jamie, Lily, Lauren, Melody, Rose, Teresa. Jamie, Lily, Lauren, Melody, Rose,
Teresa. Done.
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“Follow me, ladies,” she beckoned in a shrill voice. They broke off from their conversations
and followed her. She sighed. This would be a long night shift.

Kyter awoke to the sound of a shrill alarm blaring in his ear. Time to act. He reached for his
pistol and strapped it under his arm. He donned his mesh weave field disruption suit and
switched on his night vision goggles. The display read 12:01. He had thirty minutes.
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Chapter 2 – Corruption
Why do you spend your money for that which is not
bread, and your labour for that which does not
satisfy?

~Isaiah 55:2

His feet pounded across the steel plating, but made no noise. The only sound was that of his
breath, muffled by years of practice doing this sort of thing. He shot a coil of cable onto a stray
decorative bar on the building in front of him. It hit and latched less than a second before he
dove from the building, letting him drift through empty air. As he hit the support beam on the
building, the disruption suit muffled the impact into a slight reverberation from the flexing
metal. He let the cable gun pull him up and he hung by his hands for several seconds. He
reached the top and disengaged the device, stowing it away on a hip holster. Out of a pouch on
his suit, he retrieved a glass knife and began to cut into the transparent roof of the building. He
could see the air conditioning ducts below and he planned his route. The knife melted slowly
through the clear compound that carried the name of glass, antiquated silica based material no
longer in use. The glass bent upwards from the heat of the knife and he grabbed and tore,
making no sound. He winced as he dropped through the hole, praying the disruption suit would
mask his every sound from the sonic detectors littering the premises. It did and he landed
catlike on the roof of the building. With a hand-held screwdriver he removed the fasteners of
the duct and laid it ever so gently on the floor. He crawled through the duct at a snail’s pace
until he was sure he was out of reach of the detectors. With reckless abandon, he slid through
the ventilation and hit a ventilation grate with a muffled thump. He stood still for a moment
before unscrewing the grate, holding on above him magnetically. The grate loosened and he
pulled it through the shaft. He gently placed it above him and dropped silently into the room.

It really was a nice room. Corruption bought nice things. Bowes was corrupt. Kyter
approached the sleeping man, reclining peacefully in his leather armchair. He extended the gun
towards the chairman’s head and cocked it with a flick of his thumb. The noise in his ear woke
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Bowes, Kyter’s intended effect. Bowes turned his head slowly to face the masked man standing
in his room.

“You’re not here to kill me,” he said slowly and deliberately.

“No,” Kyter replied. “I’m here to give you a message.”

Bowes’ face remained stoic. “What message is that?”

“The Oil and Gas Consortium understands that you will be giving a presentation tomorrow
in the hopes of opening up drilling restrictions.”

Bowes nodded almost imperceptibly.

“They want exclusive rights to any South American deposits they might have discovered,
regardless of European Oil’s possible discovery or trade sanctions.”

“But that could start a war with South America,” Bowes started.

“Hey,” Kyter interrupted. “I’m just the messenger. Remember, if the meeting doesn’t go as I
said, I know where you live.” He smiled a wry smile beneath his mask. “I’m afraid I must leave
you now.”

It was Bowes’ turn to smile. “I don’t think you’ll be doing that any time soon, my good sir.”
The doors burst open in a cloud of light and smoke. Kyter reeled for a second, but the auto-
dimming goggles had saved him from any disorientation. He fired the pulse gun at the
advancing security troopers, sending the first row flying, creating a temporary distraction. He
sprinted toward the glass wall and let forth a volley of powerful blasts from the gun. The glass
strained, cracked, then finally shattered, shooting out and falling hundreds of feet down. Kyter
whipped his cable gun from its holster and aimed for the support structure of the giant hospital
sign. Without waiting for it to grapple, he leapt from the giant hole in the building and into the
night air.

Sarah Philipson looked out over the city, the nurses behind her taking notes on proper care
of dying patients as she lectured. This had not been her most enjoyable experience. The
students were slow to catch on as always and insisted on calling her Sarah, not Dr. Philipson.
 12

The work a doctorate required should command an air of respect. Dr. Philipson turned around
to face the group. Melody screamed and pointed at the window. She whirled around.

He sailed through the air, deftly releasing his boots’ foot spikes as he prepared to break
through the window. He could see the glistening of doctors’ coats through the glass and
regretted that the guardians of life must perish because of his incompetence, but he closed his
eyes and made no attempt to avoid them. He must be perfect in form.

The black figure broke through the window with tremendous force, impaling Dr. Philipson
with his boot spikes. They retracted and she dropped. He left his cable gun hanging and bolted
through the hospital halls amid the screams of nurses and doctors alike. He blasted aside a door
with his pulse gun and rolled under the flying metal door down a flight of stairs. Regaining his
feet, he dashed down the stairs. As he opened the door at the bottom, he regretted it.
Advancing down the room was a squad of soldiers, rifles leveled at him. He slammed the door
and stretched a piece of wire across the opening, sticking metallic ends on either side. He
armed the tripwire and bolted back up the stairs. Kyter mentally plotted his route of escape.
Hospitals usually had dozens of exits, but he hadn’t planned on escaping through this one. He
didn’t have blueprints this time. Dashing through the opening at the top of the stairs he had
blown open earlier, he grabbed a gurney and sailed over the tile on it. The tripwire at the
bottom of the stairs exploded and he smiled a wry smile of satisfaction. Just before the gurney
hit the opposite wall, he jumped up into the ceiling tile and grabbed an electrical line. Hoisting
himself up, he replaced the tile as best he could and crawled quickly to the elevator shaft. He
looked up and quickly ducked his head back in as the elevator shot down. He shoved off the
edge and caught the elevator cable, sliding down until he landed on the moving cart. He waited
until it stopped, then tore open the access hatch and leapt inside. He tore past two surprised
doctors and headed for the front doors.

Then it hit him. He had nowhere to go. His apartment was over a mile from here and he
couldn’t make it with the police on his tail. Another elevator opened and the group of nurses he
had burst through ran out, screaming hysterically. He pulled back into an indentation in the
wall. The group ran past him and he grabbed the arm of the last in the group, covering her
mouth. Out of sight of the others, he pulled her into a supply closet nearby.
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“Listen,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you unless you scream, then you might have a
problem. So when I take my hand off your mouth, I want you to be as quiet as possible. Do you
understand?” She nodded. He took his gloved hand off her mouth. He glanced down at her
badge. Melody. “Alright, Melody, I need help. I need you to put me on a gurney and wheel me
out of here. Can you drive an ambulance?” He removed his mask, brown hair falling almost over
his eyes. She nodded, eyes filled with terror.

“Yes, I think so,” Her voice matched her name, soft and songlike. “This is my first day here.”

“I think you’ll remember it for a long time to come,” He grabbed a gown from a hanger and
donned it over his mesh suit. “Let’s go.” He led her out and leapt on a gurney, covering himself
with the sheet. The muzzle of his gun protruded just far enough to let Melody know his threats
were not idle words. Nervously, she wheeled him out the front doors as the troopers ran in. She
smiled wanly at them, but they didn’t notice her. Kyter kept his eyes closed as they passed. He
felt the concrete below the wheels of the stretcher and opened his eyes. Melody was doing as
he instructed, leading him toward an ambulance. A soldier broke off from the detachment and
approached her. Kyter’s heart stopped for a moment.

“Where are you taking this man?” he asked.

Without missing a beat she replied, “Hospital transfer. Internal hemorrhaging has elevated
his status to critical.”

The soldier looked suspicious. “What about the ICU?” He looked at her.

Melody’s eyes turned nervous as he called her bluff. “I…I’m just doing what they told me.”

“Let me see your ID,” he said, extending a hand, leaving his gun hanging unsupported at his
side.

“I…” She fumbled in her pockets for it. “I seem to have left it inside.”

“Come with me,” the soldier said, raising his gun. Kyter’s arm whipped around and grabbed
the soldier’s leg, pinching a critical nerve in an iron vice. He heard the gun go off and a spray of
blood covered the sheet. He jumped up and drove a wrist knife into the man’s spine. He
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grabbed Melody, bleeding from the torso, and laid her on the gurney. Sliding it into the
ambulance, he slammed the doors and drove off, switching the sirens on.

He couldn’t go back to his apartment. The entire area would be in a lock down; they might
even have their faces from the soldier’s video feed. He had a dying nurse in the back of
government property. What was he thinking? She could be his downfall if he cared for her in
the least. Why had he kept her, not let her die? He shrugged off his questions and gunned the
gas, the road parting for him as cars swerved to the side of the road. The safe house. He
thought as he drifted around a corner. I can hide in the safe house. Where is it? About three
miles from here. I can make it. He floored the bulky vehicle, every bolt shaking from the
acceleration. By now a police turbine copter, a military class vehicle hovered over the city, its
searchlights beaming down on the city. He was the most conspicuous car there was on the
road. He swore and turned into a tunnel for temporary cover. Two miles until the safe house.
The disruptor field would mask him from the eyes of the police but only for so long. He would
probably have less than two hours if he made it. The turbine copter dropped in front of him as
he exited the tunnel. He swerved and narrowly missed it. Looking in his rearview mirror, he saw
a trail of light shoot forth from the cannon on the right side. The laser missed narrowly and he
sighed, but prepared for the next bolt. It never came. A transport truck tore out of the tunnel
and slammed into the copter, sending it spinning. Kyter uttered a prayer of thanks for the
momentary relief and blazed the rest of the way to the safe house. The disruptor field hid him
from view as he pulled into the garage. He opened the back doors and prepared to pull the
gurney out, but Melody jumped out nimbly, a hole torn in her bloody uniform. He started to
catch her, but she pushed his hand away. “I’m fine,” she said and lifted her shirt just enough to
show the un-marred skin beneath.
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Chapter 3 – Science

Three months ago

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage
~Richard Lovelace

To say that genetic testing was a scientific process would be accurate. To say that the
scientific process was humane would be an outright lie. Test subjects were usually vagrants
from earth who had waived their rights in exchange for money and an education, or at least the
papers to prove they had one. There were the rare exceptions, however, of someone who
wanted to make a difference, who wanted to contribute to science and humanity. These
idealists usually broke in the first week. It was really more like a prison, the ‘residence halls’ on
the lunar facilities. There was no outside, there was a gym for exercise in the reduced gravity to
keep bone density up, and there were rooms. Rooms was really too nice of a word, but they
weren’t quite cells. They had the bare necessities; a sink, mirror, bed and a dresser. And an
alarm clock. Early on in the experimenting the administrators realized their need to embed the
alarm clocks in the walls, as they would get vandalized without exception.

Every morning at eight o’clock the clock would sound its shrill pulse, burrowing its way into
one’s ears, irritating to no end. The alarm clocks started the day out badly, and there was no
improvement as the day went on. After an hour of mandatory exercise, the subjects were
allowed to eat breakfast, usually a mixture of essential proteins. On the rarest of occasions
some evaporated ice cream made the rounds, but there was never enough for everyone to
have some.

After breakfast came the testing. Hours of needles and charts, of doctors and psychiatrists
asking you how you felt, of probing and poking. After testing came dinner. There was no lunch.
Dinner consisted of more of breakfast, but heated. After dinner came the only free time during
the day, when most of the subjects chose to wrote carefully monitored letters to home or
check emails and social networks, as well as catch up the latest news. Some chose to read and
 16

others chose to take classes. After free time came sleep. Sleep came easily to the lunar
prisoners, as it was the only respite from the world they had voluntarily thrown themselves
into.

On this rock lived a group of young women known as ‘the girls’ by the doctors and
psychiatrists who analyzed group behavior in the compound. As was customary, they were
referred to by their tags. H17 was the self-proclaimed leader of the group, F22 and J31 her
closest friends. M13 and B80 tagged along, but it was obvious they were the more intelligent,
yet quieter of the group. Unbeknownst to the administration, the girls were planning an escape
from the facilities.

M13 walked from the shower, wrapping a towel around herself and staring in the mirror.
The months of prison life, as it were, had taken a toll on her face and her once vibrant eyes had
faded to a lackluster steely grey. Her brown hair hung in wet strands around her head, framing
her once-beautiful features. She sighed at the futility. She had another six months to go before
her re-evaluation was due. At the re-evaluation, the doctor would examine the results of the
testing, still unknown to the patient and decide whether or not they were fit to return to
society. Some doctors had been known to exchange a free pass in return for certain favors.
M13 shook at the thought, but relished the notion that she might be able to bypass all that. She
stepped into the white jumpsuit everyone wore. Zipping it up, she walked out, meeting the rest
of the girls in the hallway. They strolled down the hallway towards the testing halls, ready for
their big day. Immediately before the door to the hall, they broke right, checking to make sure
they had not been followed. B80 ran stealthily ahead and peeked through the door labeled
authorized personnel only. She waved a hand and the rest followed warily. The room they were
in they had been in before. It was just like every other room save the narrow door at the back,
nearly invisible. A mechanic had once come through the door and H17 had glimpsed a view of a
hangar beyond. Further analysis of engine noises had confirmed their suspicions. J31 opened
the door and let the others pass. The door into the room creaked open and a doctor walked in.
He immediately noticed her and leapt to catch her leg as she slipped through the door. From
ahead, the rest of the girls heard her scream and whirled around. She disappeared into the
room. Panicked, they stopped for a moment and realized the doctor had only seen her.
 17

“We’ve got to go on,” H17 stated bluntly. “This is our only chance.” The rest of the girls
reluctantly agreed.

The hangar was empty. Ahead of them stood the vastness of space, a force field keeping the
air in. The earth shone like an azure gem among the blackness of space. The girls hung their
heads in desperation.

“Well, I suppose we might as well give ourselves up, then.” F22 said. “Or wait for a ship to
return.”

“Wait,” M13 said, facing the hangar wall. “This says B2. There’s obviously more than one
hanger. Look for a door that could lead elsewhere.” She and B80 left the rest of the group and
crossed the massive hangar floor. She approached a small side door labeled A1. “Over here,”
she opened the door. A long corridor stretched out before them and they ran noiselessly down
it. They heard gunshots behind them. The guards had noticed their absence. They ran faster,
padded feet pounding desperately against the tile. B80 tripped, her slippers tearing on an
imperfection in the floor. M13 stopped and picked her up. As she did so, the door they had
come from opened and a guard stood silhouetted against the bright lights in the hangar. They
bolted for the door to the next hangar, but the guard opened fire. Several bullets shot past
their head, then she heard the sickening squelch of contact with flesh. B80 fell in her arms and
she dragged her furiously out the door. Then came the pain. A volley of bullets filled M13 with
fire and she screamed as she backed through the door, pulling B80 with her. A patrol ship sat in
the hangar near the door and she pulled B80’s limp body up the ramp, blood pouring from her
own torso. Igniting the engine, she strapped herself in and pulled the throttle forward. She had
grown up flying planes on her father’s farm in California, before commercial and industrial
expansion paved over the area. The rocket engines ignited and dozens of Gs pulled back on her,
nearly tearing her clothes from her body. They broke free of the force field and shot through
space, heading for Europe. M13 removed her seatbelt and dropped to the floor, weeping. In
her arms she held her sister’s body and cried. Her wounds had disappeared, but her heart was
scarred.
 18

The ship tore through the atmosphere hours later, shaking and glowing from the entrance.
Melody kept a steady hand on the controls; tear-stained eyes staring dead ahead. Once slowed
to atmospheric speeds, she released the heat shield and soared down, looking for a landing
space. She found none. They were directly above Berlin; a metropolis occupying most of was
once Germany. She gritted her teeth and grabbed her med school graduation papers, stuffing
them in her pocket. She buckled a pack onto her back and lowered the ramp. The sudden
depressurization sucked her out of the vehicle and she shot through the air, leaving the ship to
glide to whatever fate it chose. Several hundred feet above the buildings, she pulled her
parachute and drifted slowly to the ground. As her feet hit the roof of a building, she let her
knees crumble and the parachute covered her. She fell asleep, drained.
 19

Chapter 4 – Toys
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
~Robert Frost

Melody finished her story as Kyter listened with rapt attention. He pondered what he had
heard for a moment before speaking.

“So,” he asked, “getting back to my original question, how come you don’t have any
wounds?”

She smiled at herself for forgetting to explain. “From what I can learn from the documents I
found,” she started, “I seem to have been part of an army experiment involving cellular
regeneration. Based on a number of natural compounds, including those found in starfish, the
injections they gave me boost and in fact amplify my immune system to the capacity of nearly
instantly regenerating any lost tissue.” She gestured here to her unscarred skin that had been
bleeding an hour before. “Of course, after any significant accident, I’ll need nutrients to
replenish the lost matter. My sister was a part of the same program, but apparently her sample
was not the right one. I want a run-in with the government as little as you do. As far as they’re
concerned, I’m their property.”Kyter nodded slowly, taking it all in. Today had not gone the way
he had expected it to.

An alarm blazed and he glanced at his watch. His two hours was far past up. “Follow me,”
he said, running toward a tunnel. She followed wordlessly. Kyter hopped into a boat and
beckoned that she do the same. The hydrofoil’s engine roared to life and he gunned the engine,
 20

tearing down the long watery passageway in the dark at precarious speeds. A mile or so later it
shot into the dim light of morning. They were in a boat harbor, lost to the police among the
hundreds of other boats. Kyter killed the engine and stepped onto the deck. He took Melody’s
hand and helped her onto the dock. They strolled casually towards the shore.

They reached the port authority and Kyter stepped to the desk. “Excuse me, sir,”

The old man lifted his head from his arms and stared sleepily at Kyter and Melody.

“I’d like to find a cross-Atlantic vessel that I could possibly buy a ticket on.”

The man continued his blank stare. “Passenger tickets are the next building down on your
left.”

Kyter thanked the man and they left the building. The ticket office was closed until 8 in the
morning. Kyter looked at his watch again. It was 4. Melody sat down on the stairs of the office
and tugged Kyter’s hand. His soldier instinct bid him stand and watch, but he gave in and sat
down on the plastic steps. He gazed into Melody’s eyes. A vibrant blue, they danced and
shimmered with an inner light. Her hair fell in russet locks around her head. He couldn’t help
but stare. It had been years since he had ever really talked to a woman outside of business and
he savored the moment for all it was. Centuries passed as she stared back at his cold steel eyes,
deadened by years of callous acts. But deep inside they blazed with a yearning to break through
the shield they had erected against the atrocities they witnessed. His week-old stubble outlined
his face in a dark circle, framing his stoic visage.

The four hours passed in a moment as they shared stories, laughing and crying together
over the past. The Ticketmaster finally arrived. Kyter stood up reluctantly and greeted the man
once he had unlocked the building and assumed his official post.

Buying a ticket was fairly simple, and by ten they were both comfortably sleeping in a coach
cabin aboard the luxury liner Kismet.

Kyter woke from the nap hours later and stretched his arms, yawning. He stood and cracked
his back, letting the pressure release. He flipped on the TV and sat back down. The reporter was
in a panic, shuffling through notes.
 21

“We’ve received reports of terrorist activity in a nuclear research facility on Luna. Details
are sketchy at the moment, but the group known as the Golden Chrysanthemums is believed to
be behind the rumors. So far, they have taken three hostages, all maintenance workers at the
facility.”

Kyter shook Melody. “Hey, take a look at this.” She groaned sleepily and stared at the
screen.

“It is unknown at this point what their demands are, but they have been known for being
vehement proponents of the anarchist movement.” The reporter moved off screen and
whispering was heard. She came back in frame and regained an obviously shaken composure.
“We have just learned that they have no demands and will not negotiate at this point. We are
splicing in video feed from their leader.” The screen flickered and a heavily bearded man
appeared.

“Hello. By now you know that the Golden Chrysanthemums have taken control of CSC
Nuclear Research Facility. We have no demands; we are not making an ultimatum. All that I can
ask you to do is say goodbye to anyone you know on Luna. The Golden Chrysanthemums are
dead. Long live the Golden Chrysanthemums.” The broadcast of the reporter re-appeared and
she stared for a second and then started speaking, starting to choke up. “We’re switching now
to footage of the facility itself. Please bear with us as we try to find out what is happening
here.” Kyter glanced back at Melody in consternation. The screen changed to a view of the
facility from an orbital camera. A fire raged in a window and Kyter could see flashes of light as
the terrorists clashed with military. He could see the entire screen begin to shake, then the
facility began to crumble in on itself. He rushed outside to look at Luna, now high even in the
midday sky. The sphere moved almost imperceptibly. He heard a burst of static from inside,
Melody’s shocked gasp, then the white circle broke apart into a thousand fragments. Kyter
ducked as Luna illuminated the sky even brighter than Sol. Passengers on the deck screamed
and ran inside as the fragments grew larger. Kyter watched in shocked awe. Melody joined him
on the deck, white hands gripping the railing in terror. They stared at the sky, giant chunks of
the lunar surface tumbling towards the earth. Sense finally grasping Kyter’s mind, he ran inside,
 22

grabbing Melody on the way. He slammed the door and donned a life jacket, handing another
to her. He held onto the bolted bedpost and stared outside.

The first fiery masses hit, tearing trails of steam through the atmosphere, hitting the water.
The ship shook, tossed like a matchstick in a tsunami. A thousand foot tall wave rose over the
side of the ship and they rolled upside down underwater, the ship’s airlocks engaging on every
door. The ship was prepared for the worst, and it had come.

The shock snapped bones on the other side of the world. Gaia shook as the thousand foot
thick chunks tore into the ocean. A tidal wave surged across the eastern seaboard and Europe.
In an instant, what was left of New York was destroyed, completely annihilated by the wall of
water. The deposits of water discovered earlier burst open and poured forth billions of gallons
into the ocean. In minutes, the sea level rose hundreds of feet even as huge portions of the
ocean vaporized from the heat of the fragments. Less than a tenth the mass of Luna hit Gaia,
the rest becoming satellites, but the damage was catastrophic. In seconds, every improperly
made earthquake-proof building tumbled to the ground in a cloud of dust. The Kismet was
thrown across the Atlantic like a toy as Melody and Kyter held each other. Like a grain of sand,
they sank beneath the waves, their rooms sealed and dry…for the moment.

Never had the human race in all their glory felt so small, so insignificant. They were toys in
the hands of gods. Toys in the hands of vengeful gods.
 23

Rillian
Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of
philosophy. All the rest — whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has
nine or twelve categories — comes afterward. These are games; one must first answer.

~Albert Camus
 24

Chapter 5 – Facing the End

The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words
left unsaid and deeds left undone.

~Harriet Beecher Stowe

Rillian Montgomery stood on the top of a building, looking down at the ground far beneath
him, the New York cityscape. In front of him a seawall rose far above the city and beyond that
lay the vast expanse of the Atlantic. He contemplated his life and its rapidly approaching end.
His toes hung over the edge of the roof but his stomach remained calm and placid. It had come
to this. He stood there, riddled with regret. Regret for his past life, regret for the decisions that
had led him to this, his final decision.

His depression stemmed partly from the death of his wife and child nearly three years ago
in a car crash, partly from post traumatic stress syndrome from his experience as a soldier.
Mostly though it came from his experience as a genetic testing subject that had ended just days
ago. He had never been told what had been done to him, only that he should attempt to live as
normally as possible. He was told that the particular experiment was disbanded and never
completed and that all the injections were harmless preparation for the final product, but
Rillian could not believe that. His body felt…different. Energy coursed through him, his gloved
fingers tingled. The palms of his hands were charred and the scientists had suggested he wear
the gloves to help the healing process. He raised the gloves to his eyes and pulled them off,
letting them drift downwards on the path he would soon follow.

He felt a hand on his back. He whipped around to see a man standing there, dressed in a
civil authority uniform.

“Sir, I’m placing you under arrest for attempted suicide. You have the right to remain silent.
Anything you say can be used against you…” Rillian placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, barely
brushing his neck. The man’s head twitched and spasmed and he fell to the ground, twitching.
Rillian stared at his hand. There was a flash of light. He looked into the sky and saw Luna,
separated into fragments. He felt terror, then he reminded himself what he had come here to
do and he sat down, legs hanging over the edge of the building.
 25

He continued to look at his hand, the charred skin covering the once soft palm. He touched
his face, but felt nothing. Out of a morbid curiosity, he touched the neck of the fallen police
officer. The man’s body twitched uncontrollably and his arms and legs moved in strange
contortions. Rillian looked confused. Maybe the experiment had worked. Maybe he was
destined to meet this man here and these circumstances were meant to come to pass. But his
optimism faded as he looked at the sky, chunks falling into the atmosphere even now. The
Firestorm had come.

The dust hit first. Particles that had broken off from the main pieces showered down upon
the screaming city. Irradiated flecks drifted down burning holes in clothing and flesh. Then
came the larger chunks. Several feet wide, the lunar asteroids tore through buildings like
butter, collapsing structures meant to last thousands of years. Rillian closed his eyes as a
hundred foot asteroid hurtled toward him. His life flashed before his eyes. He saw his parents
hovering over him as a baby, standing next to him at graduation. He saw Amanda, his first and
only true love as she stood there on their wedding day. He saw his son, Samuel, playing in the
yard. He saw the policeman approaching him with his hat over his heart. He saw the facility
where he had been caged for three years and anger burned within him. He heard the crackling,
popping of electricity and he closed his eyes and raised his hands to the sky, accepting all that
was to come.

He flew through the air, the shockwave propelling his limp body. How far he did not know,
but he landed in warm water almost a minute later, the ocean caressing him like a ragdoll in its
might grasp. A stone hit his head and he knew no more.

Kyter woke from a dreamless sleep. His head ached and he couldn’t feel most of his body.
He opened his eyes. The bed lay above him, bolted to the ceiling, once the floor. Blood covered
the walls, smacks and streaks where a body had hit it. He sat up suddenly, looking for Melody.
The blood drained from his head and he had to lie back down. His head rolled to one side and
he saw her sitting in a corner, curled with her head between her knees. He rolled onto his
stomach and crawled toward her.
 26

“Melody,” he said, in a soft voice. She looked up and her eyes were wet from weeping but
full of surprise. She gasped for air against the shock. Falling forward, she held him in her arms
and breathlessly cried tears of joy. As she held him, Kyter looked around the room at the trails
of blood. There was more than enough here to fill a body.

“You were dead...” she said.

“Well,” he started. “I don’t think I am.” Her touch eased his headache and restored feeling
to his limbs. With a dawning understanding, he lifted his head to look at her. “You saved my
life, Melody.”

She stared at him blankly.

“You healed me. Somehow you allowed me to regenerate cells as well. I’d be well past dead
were it not for you.” She dried her tears and looked at him. “Thank you,” he said.

She smiled. “My pleasure,” she sniffled. He stood and looked around the room.

“I’m really hungry. I don’t think my body likes losing copious amounts of blood.”

The window behind him looked out only on water, pieces of seaweed and lunar dust drifting
by. “I’ll head to the galley and see what I can find.”

“I’m coming,” she said, “I can help.”

“Melody,” he started, “there’s going to be a lot of things you probably don’t want to see out
there.”

She smiled a dry smile. “There are a lot of things I don’t want to see in here.” He conceded
her the point and opened the door hanging upside down. The hallway was empty and the lights
still shone upwards from the floor. Trying to remember the layout of the ship, they made their
way up towards the bottom of the ship where the galley was likely to be. Passengers were
strewn about, killed by blunt force trauma or internal bleeding. Kyter did his best to avert his
eyes and ignore the smell of flesh, but the carnage was everywhere. They finally reached the
galley and Kyter opened the cupboard and hundreds of prepackaged hamburgers fell out. He
offered one to Melody with a sardonic smile on his face. “Want one?” She shook her head and
he opened the next cupboard. Quarter pound bags of vegetables tumbled out. He tossed one to
 27

her and ripped open one himself. The processed carrots had never tasted so good in his life and
he relished every bite of the first, second, and third packages. He willed himself to eat some
protein and swallowed a hamburger. He stared at Melody, impressed by her resolve, her lack of
fear of the death that lay so wantonly around.

The ship jolted and lurched. They braced themselves against the ship as it tossed and rolled
again. After a few minutes, it settled to a stop and Kyter walked out of the galley to look out the
massive ballroom windows.

The sight was breathtaking. They had landed in New York, but the water rose more than
halfway up the buildings and they sat on the top of one themselves. Stuck through the ballroom
roof was a very familiar green torch from a certain repositioned statue. Kyter ran to the torch
and entered through the door, torn off its hinges. Melody followed him down the darkened
stairwell. At points down the statue, Kyter rapped on the metal, listening for the water level. He
hit water and backed up a few feet. “Stand back.” He pulled out his pulse rifle and put it directly
against the metal. A circle of metal blasted out of the statue and he looked out of the hole.
About fifty feet in front of him stood the building the ship had come to rest on, still upside-
down. “Can you swim?” he asked Melody.

She smiled and nodded. “Most of the time I find the water soothing, even therapeutic. Not
so much at the moment.” He smiled at her good humor and dove out the hole. Dripping, they
pulled themselves up onto the building’s roof.

“What now?” Melody asked.

“Now,” Kyter sighed. “We wait.”

Rillian awoke lying on a hard surface. He sat up slowly, covered with cuts stinging from the
saltwater, but still very much alive. He stood on the top of a huge metal structure overlooking
what remained of New York. He had lived in the city all his life and he tried to glimpse a
recognizable landmark, but they had all been obscured by water that stretched to the
mountains. Finally he saw a building he recognized and tried to calculate his location. What was
he standing on? About a hundred feet from him on the surface he saw a smattering of white
specks. He ran to inspect them. Barnacles. He was on a capsized boat, the highest point in all of
 28

New York. He lay back down on the hull and took in the sky, now filled with rain clouds
threatening a fresh deluge of water. The immensity of what had happened hit him like a
thunderclap and he stared blankly in shock at nothing. He realized just how powerless he was.
He was powerless. That reminded him. He touched a palm to the hull. Sparks shot away, arcs
curving from his fingers to the metal. He tried to focus energy into his fingers and the arc grew
bigger and bigger. The metal began to glow red-hot and fall away under his touch. He tried to
touch a finger to the metal and found that it did not feel hot, as all the nerves in his fingers had
been burned away. He pulled at the glowing metal, huge ribbons tearing off the ship. He could
see a room below him, apparently an engine room. He dropped into it and the ship shook with
the impact. Making his way down toward the top, he burst into the ballroom through a door in
the floor. He hung on by an arm as he dangled from the floor of the ballroom. He looked down.
The floor was another forty feet below him, but it was padded and he felt confident today. He
let go and rolled as he landed. The torch of the Statue of Liberty protruded through the roof
and he entered it. He found a hole just above the waterline and looked out. There was a
building not far from him whose roof stood only a dozen or so feet above the water. He swam
for it and pulled himself onto the top of it. There lay a man and a woman, sleeping in the shade
of the Kismet.
 29

Chapter 6 – Survival
Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us, and the
prophet who wishes to write a new apocalypse will
have to invent entirely new beasts, and beasts so
terrible that the ancient animal symbols of St. John
will seem like cooing doves and cupids in
comparison.

~Heinrich Heine

Los Angeles was affected by the wave much less significantly than any of the Atlantic cities.
The earth shook, but the water level rose less sharply. It still rose to the same level as
everywhere else, but not with such rapidity. The fallout from the nuclear devices, however, hit
LA worse than anywhere else. As the debris and radiation traveled on the ocean currents, they
settled in any depression. And the seawall of Los Angeles provided the perfect hole. The trade
winds carried the fallout to the city, now completely surrounded by water, and dropped down
into the hole created by the seawall. The potency of the radiation killed almost all twelve
million of the inhabitants overnight from radiation poisoning. The several thousand that
survived were tortured in agony and there was no way to get help to the city, as the harbors
now all lay hundreds of feet underwater. Los Diablos was born in the aftermath of what would
come to be known as the Firestorm. A day after the event, a woman previously of nobility and
riches sat in a rocking chair, holding her young son. Her eyes were wild, the disease later named
the Kismet taking grasp over her mind. Her hair fluttered in the irradiated breeze. Her son Tyler,
now two years old, sat in her lap. The grey particles drifted through the porch as she stared
blankly ahead. Her son awoke and got off her lap, looking out over the wasteland. He flickered.
The woman stared at Tyler. He flickered again, and then finally disappeared. She looked
frantically for him, but he was nowhere to be found. She slumped back in her chair and stared
blankly into space.

Kyter awoke to the hum of a boat engine. He opened his eyes and sat up slowly.
 30

“Hey,” he heard a voice to his right. He whipped around to see another man standing there,
calmly watching the ocean.

Kyter stood. “Were you on the Kismet?” He asked.

Rillian smiled. “In a manner of speaking, yes; but no, I lived in New York City.”

Kyter’s jaw open, amazed. “And survived?”

Rillian shrugged. “I don’t know how or why, but yes, I did.” He looked up at the boat that
towered over them and smiled at the irony. “I suppose it was just…destiny.”

The boat grew louder and approached. Kyter waved his hands to hail it. It slowed as it
approached the building. Melody woke from her sleep and sat up, pushing her hair off her eyes.

“How many of you are there?” The pilot of the boat asked.

“Three,” Kyter replied, “as far as we know, everyone else on the boat is dead. We’ve been
here for a number of hours.”

“Hop in,” the man said. “We’ve got room for three.” There were already two other
passengers in the boat and Melody smiled wanly at them as she entered. One was a middle-
aged man still wearing the tattered remains of a suit over his haunted frame. The other was a
young woman, about Melody and Kyter’s age, whose red hair glowed, a welcome light in this
wasteland. She groaned and Melody stepped over to her, sitting next to her.

“What’s wrong?” She asked softly. The woman opened the blanket she was wrapped in to
reveal a long gash across her stomach. Melody looked with pity upon the poor girl and laid her
hand on her abdomen. The woman looked at Melody with a strange expression, then gasped as
she saw the wound begin to close, sealing itself and the skin stitching itself back together. She
mouthed silent thanks and stared in wonder. The entire group of survivors in the small craft
gazed in wonder upon the small miracle fate had brought them here tonight.

In Chicago the streets ran wild. The radiation had traveled a distance inland and a fairly
large chunk of material from the labs had landed in the center of the city. People died in the
 31

streets from the poisoning. Here and there, a chance denizen of the fallen city would come into
contact with hazardous waste from the genetic testing facility. The government had never
meant for the tests to be this widespread and now a number of people with super-human
strength ran rampant through the metropolis. Others were affected in different ways from
different compounds. Infrared vision, invisibility, a deadly touch, electric conductivity, they all
manifested themselves in Chicago, as well as a number of other cities across the world. A
plague had come; a plague that would become known as the Kismet.

But with every plague comes a cure. Within hours of being notified of the development, the
United States government created a plan, intent not on destruction, but on saving the lives of
those being attacked by the mutants reveling in their newfound power. The disinfectors were
born. Created from the best of the government’s men, they infiltrated disaster zones to help
the needy and kill the plague that ran rampant. Clothed in white, they became the sight to live
for in the affected zones. The disinfectors cleansed the land of its disease. Nothing could be
done about the coastal cities, it was decided. The mountains would hold back the water and the
cities were all to be abandoned.

And abandoned they were. The six survivors drifted down the Atlantic seaboard, their
engine out of gas, the heavy humid air too restricting to swim any distance. They were in a
desert. A desert of water. The survivors all coexisted amiably with the exception of the young
woman and the pilot. Kyter could sense that they had known each other before the incident but
were not on friendly terms. The pilot continually tried to care for the young woman, but she
withdrew, hiding near Kyter for reasons he could not fathom. A former lover perhaps, he
speculated. He decided not to pry any deeper into the matter.

Melody woke early the second day and looked over the edge of the boat. The mountains
were closer than the day before, but still far out of reach of a swimmer, even a competent one
such as her. She heard a whir, the distant whine of turbines and stared out to meet the sound.
A copter skimmed over the surface of the water. She shook Kyter and he bolted awake to see
the oncoming copter. The others awoke, one by one, as the noise grew louder. Rillian waved his
hands.
 32

“We’re going to get rescued!” The young woman, Marci, exclaimed. Her eyes burned with a
passionate fire and she smiled at Kyter, almost seductively, yet helpless. Kyter noticed, but his
face remained stoic. Marci turned to Melody and they exchanged happy embraces. The copter
neared and slowed to a stop. A ramp extended and a white-suited man stepped down it onto
the boat. He wordlessly took a look around and walked back up the ramp. The castaways took
glances at each other, wondering what was happening. The disinfector stopped at the top of
the ramp and beckoned that they come. Abandoning the small dinghy, they ascended into the
copter. Salvation had come.

The small company woke several hours later to find themselves sitting in a military
compound, with the exception of Ralph, the middle aged man. Kyter stopped a passing guard.

“Excuse me, but do you know what happened to the sixth man who was with us?”

The guard looked down at Kyter. “He was taken by order of the disinfectors.”

“Why?” Kyter asked, quizzical.

“I don’t know that you’ve heard, but a rash of outbreaks from the lunar fallout have caused
a number of people to…” he paused. “become modified genetically and take violent action.
Your fellow was one of the genetically modified and he is currently undergoing processing for
your safety.” The guard finished curtly and continued down the hallway at a rapid pace.

Kyter looked at Melody. “Processing?”

The scream cut the air like a knife. Rillian jumped to his feet. “I’m not staying here, I can’t.”

Melody nodded. “I agree, we have to go, those of us who have been modified aren’t safe
here.” She looked at Kyter. “It’s your choice,” she said, “you’re safe here, I can’t ask you to
come with us.”

Kyter looked deep into her beautiful eyes and studied her features intently. “And I can’t
stay.” She smiled wordlessly. Marci rose.

“I’m coming with you. I won’t take my chances on my own again. I feel safe with you.” She
smiled the same seductive yet helpless smile at Kyter. Kyter looked at the pilot of the boat. His
grizzled face was wrought with confusion.
 33

“Go on,” he said. “I’d slow you down and I’m safe here as far as I know. I’d come with you
but me foot aches terribly.” The small company walked down the corridor. “Oh and lass,” he
reached a hand toward Melody, “I’ll never forget your kindness toward Marci. Keep her safe,
you hear?” Melody nodded.

Marci turned and walked backwards watching the old man. “Goodbye daddy,” she
whispered.
 34

Chapter 7 – Time to Shine

True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic.
It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever
cost, but the urge to serve others, at whatever cost.

~Arthur Ashe

The small company marched rapidly down the corridor towards what they could remember
as being the exit. A pair of guards stood near the door at the end and one held up a hand
beckoning them to stop. Kyter approached the man.

“We’d like to go. We’ve been tested and checked out,” he lied. “my friends and I have
business to attend to.”

The guard smirked. “Well, sir, whatever business you have can wait. I strongly doubt your
‘business’ even exists, but guidelines mandate that we don’t let any refugees out without
proper authorization.”

Kyter grimaced. This would be harder than he thought. “Look,” he said. “It doesn’t really
matter just this once. I have a wife in Michigan who needs to know I’m alright. She’s pregnant
and due any day.”

The guard shrugged. “I’m sorry you won’t be there. Rules are rules.”

Kyter returned to the other three survivors to ask their opinions.

“Well…” Rillian started, “regardless of what the man says, we’re getting out.”

The others nodded their agreement. They stood together in silence, thinking of a plan.

Click. The sharp sound pierced the stillness. Kyter glanced up at the sound. A squad of
white-clothed men walked slowly down the hallway. Panic clutched the hearts of the survivors.
Their blood had been drawn, tests had no doubt been made and now…

The disinfectors came. There was nowhere to run; the steel corridor offered no shelter from
the oncoming tide of white. Wordlessly, the disinfectors took the arms of Melody, Marci and
 35

Rillian. A bolt of electricity shot from Rillian’s skin as the gloved hand touched it, but it
dissipated harmlessly on the suit.

Realizing their peril, they began to wrestle free, but iron grips kept them firmly under
control. Kyter stood motionless in the hallway, shocked and unsure. The group turned into a
side room and the slam of the door reverberated through the hallway, chilling Kyter to the soul,
its finality shaking his heart. Emotion raged through him, a disease of its own. He walked slowly
back down the hallway, each step agitating his core, moving him toward what he knew he must
do. He would not lose the only thing besides money he had ever really fought for. He broke into
a sprint and rounded a corner in the hallway. No guards stood in his path and he leapt into the
vents above him, muscular arms rippling with fresh exercise. This was his time to shine. He
snapped a bar from the vent grate and twisted it until it formed a point. This he slipped
underneath his sleeve and continued his crawl through the air passageways. He heard a scream
from a room beneath him and prayed that he was not too late. The next vent he came to he
dropped through and into an empty room. The walls were white, but marked with terrible red
stains, splashes of blood strewn across once-pristine walls. His own blood boiled inside him at
the thought of the atrocities committed here. Spinning around, he saw a door barely outlined in
the wall. He slammed it with his body and it burst open.

Melody was strapped to a chair, convulsing furiously. Blood dripped from a gaping hole in
her head, but she lived still. The disinfectors stood shocked staring at Kyter.

“What the hell…?” one started, but never finished. Kyter’s arm reached up and the
improvised blade slid out and into the disinfector’s throat. The second man lifted his gun, but
Kyter ducked and flipped the dead body over himself into the surprised soldier. Kyter lifted the
man’s rifle from the floor and leveled it at the trembling white-suited man.

“Where are the others?” Kyter asked, his voice low.

“N-Next door,” the man whispered, his voice wavering. Kyter whipped the butt of the rifle
into the man’s head and he slumped to the floor. He turned around to face Melody. She lay still,
but her chest still rose and fell slowly, life imperceptibly coursing through her veins. Kyter undid
the straps that held her in the chair and hoisted her onto his shoulders. He kicked the next door
 36

open and opened fire with his one free hand on the men within. They had not yet ‘processed’
neither Rillian nor Marci but they still lay strapped to chairs. The white-suited men fell like
bricks and Kyter rushed to the chairs, unfastening both of his comrades. Rillian rubbed his
wrists briefly and looked at Kyter, determination in his eyes.

“Let’s go.” He sprinted to the outer door and slammed it open, a gust of wind blowing the
heavy metal plate away. Rillian grabbed a table from inside as he held himself against the strain
of the wind rushing past, sucking him out. Kyter grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. He
looked out to see where they were. The ground rushed under them, thousands of feet below,
blackened impact craters smoking. Pillars of black reached sky high, the entire countryside
littered with them. To the right lay a giant wing. They stood inside a massive flying fortress,
headed to an unknown destination.

An alarm sounded and the lights dimmed.

“They’re coming,” Marci said softly. Her eyes glowed red in the darkness, a light danced
behind them, almost illuminating her surroundings. Kyter set Melody down in a chair and
readied his gun for the imminent breach of the room.

Click. Click.

Boom. The door flew inwards in a haze of smoke and dust and bright flashes lit up the dimly
illuminated interior. Kyter returned fire and a wall of disinfectors dropped to the floor, but
more approached from behind. They seemed never to end. Kyter’s gun clicked several times
and quit firing, the magazine expended. Rillian bowed his head, concentrating. He lifted his
hand to the wall of soldiers and a bright bolt of lightning shot forth, millions upon millions of
volts charging through every metallic surface the disinfectors wore. But it was not enough. He
dropped to the ground, his body drained of energy and yet more came. Kyter whipped the butt
of his rifle around and connected with the helmet of a disinfector. He grasped for his weapon,
but as it flew through the air, it was caught in the rushing wind and sucked to the ground
below. A disinfector kneed Kyter in the gut and he clutched his abdomen in pain, collapsing. The
men advanced on Marci, curled on a counter, shivering, but not with fear. Her eyes were closed
and a disinfector reached out a hand to lay on her shoulder.
 37

Her eyes opened. A light blazed within, even brighter than before. They raged, hellfire
churning from behind glassy windows. A flame burst forth from her now-outstretched hand. It
shot through the room, the disinfectors loose white clothing catching and spreading to the
tightly packed group. Sprinklers engaged, but they were no match for the unstoppable force of
the blaze raging in the room. The men jumped out the door in a vain attempt to ease their
suffering. The plane shook. Several disinfectors had been sucked into the massive turbines and
the blaze ignited the fuel, burning giant holes in the wings of the plane. Kyter and Rillian madly
searched the now-empty room for parachutes. Rillian found a half-dozen in a closet to the side.
He tossed them to Kyter and Marci, taking one for himself. Melody still did not stir. Kyter held
her again in an arm and leapt from the plane, plunging into what had to be what had become
the Pacific Ocean.

He pulled the ripcord too early and realized he would now have to wait the entire trip down
into the water. But below him he saw a strange sight. What was this? A depression in the
ocean, a circle of land encompassed by the vast expanse of water. This, he realized, was Los
Angeles, the city of the seawall. It had neither been destroyed by meteors nor crushed by a
tidal wave, but he could see the fires that burned within even from this altitude.

They landed in the city on top of what had been a skyscraper, a crude monument to man’s
delusion of greatness, now dwarfed by the ocean. Kyter, the only parachutist of the lot, landed
gently even with the extra weight. He laid her gently to rest on the concrete surface and she
coughed, spurting blood. He wiped it from her face as she opened her eyes and stared into his.
Kyter broke the gaze after a moment and looked around. Trails of smoke rose all around him
and he looked down into the streets. Bodies lay strewn and no movement stirred in the stygian
underworld. Then he saw a flash of light and a body bolted forth from under a parked car. It
scampered down the road and leapt onto a figure running across. The first creature tore into
the second with an animal furiosity. He heard the screams and looked away. The sun set over
the seawall and a shroud of darkness fell. Howls erupted from all around the small party,
screams of agony and the ecstasy of the hunt. Los Diablos were on the prowl.

Melody agonizingly sat up and looked around her. Kyter and the others were looking over
the edge and she twisted her head around to see what they were looking at. Beneath them, a
 38

city burned and flashes of light shone like dying stars amongst the rubble. Loud retorts pierced
the evening air and the acrid smell of smoke filled her nostrils. Kyter turned to face her.

“Stay low,” he whispered. “They haven’t spotted us yet.”

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Los Angeles,” he replied. “Something happened here.”

“This I can see,” she remarked, crawling backwards on the roof. She rose to a crouched walk
and approached an access hatch in the roof of the building. The rusty hinges resisted her
efforts, but she managed to pry it open and stared inside. A ladder dropped away below her
into blackness, but far beneath the roof she could see a patch of light. “Hey,” she rasped to the
others in what could barely be considered a whisper, “over here.”

They turned and stared at her. Rillian approached on hands and knees and stared into the
abyss. The group looked at each other. “Better than nothing,” he said and swung himself into
the hole, descending quickly. Melody followed, then Marci. Kyter took one last look around
before lowering himself into the hole. The others had already reached the bottom. With the
closing of the hatch, the room was now completely shrouded in darkness and he carefully
placed one foot below the other, slowly and deliberately. The ladder was rusty and cold.

His hand grasped something unfamiliar. It was warm. It moved. He stared above him and
saw the cold sparkle of a red eye. He heard gums part and teeth appeared in the black. The
floor was still far below him; he couldn’t let go. The creature let forth a blood-curdling scream
and dozens more eyes appeared in the shadows, all paired with white, shining teeth. The
creature lunged for his neck and Kyter instinctively let go, his body plummeting down stories.
He could feel his back wrench and heard the snap as he hit the metal floor. The others had
scattered and a fireball lit the darkness as Marci let forth a plume of flame upon the dark
monstrosities. In the fleeting light, he could see them, clinging to the walls. Their pale skin
reflected and shone in the flame. They scattered, some dropping to the floor. Lightning rent the
air and thunder pealed as Rillian let forth an electrical storm. Even Melody did her best,
dispatching them with an iron pipe. Kyter couldn’t move. He groaned. A creature passed him
and as it heard him, spun around to face him. It walked tall now, on two legs and he could see it
 39

was a human, well dressed even in fine clothes, its hair slicked back, its teeth bared. Fangs
shone and the vampiric fiend dove for Kyter’s neck. Kyter summoned all his will and barely was
able to place his arm over his neck as the creature dove. He screamed as the teeth sunk into his
flesh, tearing away a chunk. The creature swallowed it and howled as it dove again, shoving
Kyter’s arm out of the way. Suddenly, the creature was tossed away as a bolt of energy plowed
through it, sending it into spasms even in death. Melody rushed to Kyter’s side and laid her
hand on his arm, blood freely flowing onto the floor, pooling around him. The flow ceased and
Kyter could feel excruciating pain even as the nerves rebuilt themselves, the jagged hole filling
in. He could feel his energy being drained as the strange effect worked its magic and he lay
there, exhausted yet whole again.

Rillian slumped to the floor, drained and muttered a word. “Vampires.”

Marci nodded. “What happened here?”

Rillian shook his head slowly, bewildered. “It’s like…It’s like Luna,” he said, “On Luna they
had been doing genetic testing,” at this Melody looked up at him. “And it’s like all the
experiments are happening unchecked now.”

Melody nodded. “The depression the seawall made must have been a sinkhole for
everything that happened on Luna. The radiation, the chemicals. God only knows what would
be happening to us if we weren’t already changed.” The entire party simultaneously turned
their heads to Kyter, stretched out on the floor. He opened his eyes and realized what his body
had been bathing in ever since they landed. Even his blood had been exposed to whatever had
turned his companions into what they were now, even turned humans into these vampires.

He realized he didn’t know how Marci had come to have such power. “Marci,” he started,
“what’s your story?”
 40

Chapter 8 – Change
Change is not merely necessary to life — it is life.

~Alvin Toffler

She turned to Kyter as he lay on the floor. Her fiery eyes grew cold as she gazed into the
past. “I was one of the first,” she started. “and when I say first, I mean first.”

Kyter looked at her blankly.

She pursed her lips. “I was born three hundred and seventy years ago,” she said frankly.
“Born into poverty in this very city. My parents died several years later and left me for dead on
the streets. I was picked up by theoretical biologists sweeping the streets for subjects like me.
No ties to anyone, no possible way the human rights activists would ever find out the atrocities
they committed. I grew up a tortured young girl. Nights were the only respite I found from the
constant testing, and this continued well into my teen years. I never really found out exactly
what they had done, but as you can see, they had found a way to negate the effects of aging. I
hit eighteen and stopped growing.”

“As for the fire?” Rillian asked.

She glared at him. “I’m not done yet. By the time I reached eighteen they considered me
ready for the real experimentation. The life-prolonging was purely a precursor to what they had
wanted to do all along. A subject that never aged, never changed their genetic makeup, what
perfect way to perform a neatly controlled experiment? There were about forty of us. As far as I
know, we all made it in some way or another. Anyway, when the testing moved to Luna, nearly
a hundred years later, our station was abandoned and we were released under careful
surveillance. We were given drugs to keep our ‘powers’ at bay, but as generations passed, even
this was forgotten. Many of us had forgotten by then and nothing ever came of us. Others
became arsonists or mercenaries. I can’t say I’m proud of what I did for all that time, but I can’t
escape it.”

“What about the pilot?” Rillian asked. “explain that, if you don’t mind.”
 41

She smirked sorrowfully. “I mind, but you really should know if I’m to stay with you. His
name is…or was…Rodger Clements. About twenty years ago, I ran into him after a bout in
prison. I needed somewhere to stay, and he took me in. I told him my story and he took pity on
me, adopting me as the daughter he never had. We lived together for several years, but I began
to resent his fatherly tone towards some of my decisions. He…” tears began to fall from her
eyes and her throat locked up. “He loved me as a father, and I was just a misbehaving young
girl. I never really grew up, body or mind. I moved out after ten years and he stayed, falling into
depression, but I never looked back. Several months ago, I moved to New York and found
myself homeless once again. I ran into him one day while trying to find employment and I’m
ashamed to say I took advantage of him, using his house as shelter once again. I was blind to
see how much he cared for me.” She burst into uncontrolled sobbing and wrapped her arms
around Kyter. He looked nervously at Melody. “and now he’s dead.”

The small group sat in silence. Marci raised her head and dried her tears, sitting back on the
floor. “What about you, Rillian?” Melody asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Rillian smiled, then explained how he had come to be in New York, from his enlistment in
the army to his subsequent return to Gaia and his near-suicide just days before. The others
listened in rapt attention to his tragedy, Marci’s eyes moistening in sympathy for his struggles.

Melody and Kyter in turn described their lives to this point and several hours later the small
party sat with a better understanding of themselves. Gunshots and screams still rent the night
air, but with the vampires dead, they felt almost safe. Sleep did not come to them that night.

It was nearly four in the morning when it began. Kyter’s stomach churned uncontrollably
and he began to groan in the middle of a conversation.

“What’s wrong?” Melody and Marci asked simultaneously.

He winced and replied. “My stomach…just really hurts.”

Melody laid a hand on it, but the pain continued. Suddenly he screamed in agony and fell
backwards on the floor convulsing. His back arched and his face contorted with the searing
pain. The group could only watch as he rolled on the floor, pounding it with his fists. His
 42

pounding grew louder and louder and the floor began to shake with the impact of his blows.
Dents appeared in the sheet metal and he began to tear through the inch thick steel. The other
backed away as he rolled on the floor in pain. His fists were bloody and his eyes blazed red,
bloodshot.

Eventually he ceased, and lay on the floor, now riddled with holes from his fists. His chest
heaved and his eyes closed, the fire gone. His breath slowed to an imperceptible rise and fall
and he lay completely still. The rest of the group looked at each other and approached him
slowly, cautiously. Melody laid a hand on his chest, feeling for a heartbeat. His arm whipped out
immediately and tossed her back. She hit 20 feet up on the wall, left a dent, and fell to the floor
with a loud crack. She laid still for a second, then stood up and looked bewildered at Kyter, still
apparently unconscious. They decided to leave him until he woke up of his own accord.

Several hours passed, his motionless body lying in the middle of the floor. Morning came,
rays of light shining through slits in the thin walls. The light hit Kyter’s eyes and he jolted awake,
shuddering powerfully. He leapt to his feet and stared around him. His friends sat on the other
side of the room staring at him. He felt strange. He lifted an arm to his face and stared at it. He
looked down at the holes he had punched in the floor the previous night.

“What happened?” he said, his voice low.

The group shook their heads. “We don’t know,” Rillian said.

Melody smirked. “Well to be honest you threw me across the room,” she pointed to the
indentation in the wall.

Kyter looked unsure of himself, “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I wasn’t myself, I suppose.”

She smiled. “No harm, no foul.”

His stomach churned, a painful reminder that they had eaten nothing since their
imprisonment. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” he said, walking to the ladder down, “but I
have to get something to eat.” The others rose in agreement and followed him down the
ladder. A door blocked their exit, securely barred. Rillian pushed against it with all his might,
but it would not budge. It had obviously been a security entrance. Kyter gave it a tap with his
 43

fist and it shot open, nearly popping off its hinges. Rillian stared at the door, then at Kyter.
Kyter looked at his own fist in amazement. The women reached the bottom of the ladder to see
Kyter looking at them with a look of consternation on his face.

“What’s the matter?” Marci asked, running to his side.

“I,” he started, then paused. “I don’t know.”

The four continued down the stairs through the once office building, finally arriving at a
break room. The refrigerator still ran, amazingly. They dined magnificently on croissant
sandwiches and leftover pizza.

Rillian leaned back in his chair and sighed. He had never felt more comfortable in his life,
though he knew the world had gone to hell around him. For once, he was full, surrounded by
people he knew he could trust and he no longer worried about the future. A smile broadened
on his stubbled face and his hazel eyes twinkled with energy. He rolled his head in a circle,
releasing excess pressure, and closed his eyes, satisfied. Peace through chaos. He was happy for
once in his tragedy of a life.

Marci as well was happy. She leaned her head against Kyter’s shoulder and thought. She
thought back years to her past before all this, before she had become a calloused arson, intent
only on destruction. She felt helpless once again and she liked it. Kyter’s shoulder was soft
beneath her crimson hair. It was so long since she had ever felt so alive around a man. Fate had
seemingly delivered him into her hands.

Kyter felt the uncomfortable weight of Marci’s head pressing against his shoulder as well as
the uncomfortable weight of her affection pressing on his conscience. He had to entertain her,
keep her in good spirits. He was the de facto leader of this small group and he felt it his
responsibility to be civil, but her flirting was something he could not afford to be bothered with
at this current juncture. The relationship was made more awkward especially in light of his
affections toward Melody, but he did his best to act cool and professional.

In doing so, however, his stiffness had put Melody off. She knew she felt…something…for
Kyter. She couldn’t explain it, but a part of her wanted to give in to feelings she had repressed
 44

for years, but he made it so hard. His formality had surprised her. Even in these days she had
known him, he had changed from the man spilling his life before her on the steps of a ticket
booth to this leader he had become. And it was not all his fault that she held back whatever she
felt. The impending threat of death still hung over whatever relationship there was, a cruel
reality that could not be ignored. She couldn’t afford to be emotionally involved in anything at
the moment save the task at hand. Or so she told herself. The reality, she knew within herself,
was that no matter the circumstances, she would regret doing nothing. But fear and
uncertainty kept her tongue from saying anything. She gave in to a brief spell of emotion and
laid her head on Kyter’s other shoulder, closing her eyes. She would choose to be satisfied for
the moment. Had anyone observed the small room, it would have been a strange sight. Rillian
napped peacefully in his chair, as did Melody and Marci, heads resting on Kyter’s shoulders.
Kyter, however, sat wide awake, eyes lost in the infinite void of thought.
 45

Chapter 9 – Gova
The great problem is not to serve ones duties. The
great problem is to understand what is my duty.

~Helmut Schmidt

First lieutenant Mitch Gova sat facing the small detachment of soldiers he commanded.
They sat in their hurriedly stitched white uniforms that covered their bodies in a shroud, barely
moving. Firmly clutched in their hands were compression rifles, non-lethal guns that knocked
back and out those who resisted arrest. It had only been two days since the firestorm and
already the men had seen more than they had ever wanted to see in years of military service.
Total destruction, ruined cities, ruined men and women. Images had been burned into their
minds that they could never forget. Grown men, battle-hardened soldiers, had broken down in
tears at the sight of the total devastation they had witnessed. Gova was one of the few who
had not, hence his recently elevated status to first lieutenant. His men were the calloused of
the callous, those who sergeants had feared in boot camp, social rejects. They felt no pity, no
sorrow for those they detained. They could not afford the luxury of pity or sorrow. Fate had
taken men and women who had a future, a bright and glorious one at that and pulled them
down. It had taken their fragile lives in its hands and twisted them, leaving them for dead,
freaks not of nature but of science. They had committed no crime, but safety for the human
race demanded that they be destroyed. The disinfectors did not see them as humans. They
were animals, their rage having got the better of them, submitting to primitive instincts.

But in a way, the disinfectors were animals as well. Like animals they felt no remorse for
what they did. It could be even doubted that the disinfectors had lost their soul, or at least
sequestered it into the confines of an unreachable cavity deep within them. They killed brutally
and efficiently, hunting as lions for gazelles. It could not be contested, however, that they were
good at what they did. The spread of the Kismet had slowed and even now Los Diablos
remained the last stronghold of the disease. But the massive seawall prevented any escape
from the cursed city. The disinfectors avoided it, knowing that there was nothing they could do
in that hellhole.
 46

The white craft skimmed low over the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, turbines leaving a wake
that stretched for miles. Gova studied the video feed from the cockpit of the Arcane, sharp eyes
scanning for survivors. They had found none since the firestorm, and Gova had grown to
despise the duty, but Washington demanded it and he obeyed without question. A small speck
appeared on the horizon and he dragged the area larger on the screen. He could make out a
small craft heading towards them, towards land. He couldn’t make out how many were on
board, but tapped the spot and the craft readjusted its trajectory to bear towards the boat. As
they approached, he could make out six small figures, huddling together on the dinghy. The
copter stopped and hovered.

Gova opened the back hatch and walked down the descending ramp. He studied the
passengers for any malformations that could signal the Kismet. He saw none and walked back
up the ramp. “Prepare the hold,” he ordered a soldier, the turned around and beckoned the
survivors in. They walked slowly up the ramp under the eyes of the disinfectors. The hatch
closed and the Arcane shot off towards the Endeavor, the battleship that waited above Atlanta.
The passengers fell asleep and Gova stared at them, wondering how many he would have to
kill.

Less than an hour later, the Arcane arrived at the Endeavor. As the docking procedure
began, Gova ordered his men to carry the survivors in, slung over their shoulders. A crew of
medical officers greeted them as they entered the battleship, ready to attend to the
passengers’ wounds. The doctor examined each of the sleeping bodies in turn, but found no
marks, not even a scar. Somehow, they had survived the Firestorm unscathed.

“Some people’s luck,” he mumbled as he led the soldiers down the hallway to the testing
facility.

The doctor stared into the microscope at the blood sample he had collected from the first
man. His blood cells were dry and shriveled, in a state he had never seen. He took a photograph
and ran it through the computer, having it check for similarities in any other Kismet victims. It
processed the massive database for a moment, then printed hundreds of pages of results onto
the screen, all of patients infected with the terrible disease.
 47

The doctor sighed and pressed the intercom. “Bring patient number one in,” A few
moments later, a soldier opened the door carrying the sleeping man. His skin had paled even
since the doctor had seen him and as he pried open his eyelids he noticed they had turned red.
On a hunch, he parted his lips. The man had grown fangs, perfectly white. Fascinated, the
doctor ordered the soldier to lay the man on the table and strap him down. The doctor put an
ether mask on the patient and waited for a few moments. He began a careful incision into the
man’s arm, but without warning the man opened his eyes and screamed in pain. The soldier
instinctively clubbed the man with the butt of his rifle and he lay back unconscious. The doctor
checked the ether. It was functioning properly, but the mutation must have rendered it useless.
The doctor continued his investigation, the soldier remaining at his side. Finishing, he decided
he was satisfied with the samples he had gathered and injected a lethal dose of barbiturates
into the man’s blood stream. His breathing stopped completely. “Take him away,” the doctor
ordered, “but be available. The others may be infected as well.” He turned again to the
microscope to study the young woman’s blood. It too, bore signs of infection. It boiled at
hundreds of degrees and the cells shook violently from the heat yet retained their structure. He
signaled the soldier to bring her in.

Mitch Gova was brought swiftly awake by the blaring of sirens. He rose quickly, donned his
helmet and rushed out the door, clutching his rifle tightly. A light on the inside of his mask
signaled the direction of the emergency and he dashed toward it. A stream of disinfectors
poured into a room, tongues of flame licking out of the doorway. He readied his rifle and
steeled himself for entry. The battleship shook with the explosion of the engine and he fell to
the floor. The doorway sealed and he pounded it in futility. He could feel the Endeavor descend
quickly, losing altitude by the second. He ran back the docking bay and boarded the Arcane as
dozens of other disinfectors crammed into the small vehicle. The copters shot out from the side
of the sinking battleship, flames shooting forth.

There were thirty copters in all jettisoned from the Endeavor. Gova calculated the distance
to the nearest city and realized there was no possible way their fuel would hold until any city
but Los Diablos. He checked the status of the others ships. About half could make it to Reno;
the other half would have to land in Los Diablos. Gova was emotionless, but revenge was not an
 48

emotion. They would find and destroy those who had brought down the battleship. He picked
up the intercom and signaled the small fleet.

“Those of you with enough fuel, break off and fly to Reno. The rest of us will land in Los
Diablos until you can bring help.” A chorus of rodgers was heard and he clicked off the mic.
“Bring us down,” he ordered the computer. “and ready up,” he told his men.

The Arcane landed with a jolt on the scorched earth. The disinfectors piled out of it, rifles
ready, aiming at any sign of movement. Gova walked down the ramp, eyes searching for any
sight of the survivors who had caused him so much trouble. High in the sky, he saw three
parachutes, drifting on ocean breezes. He pulled a pair of binoculars out of a satchel and looked
at the bodies hanging beneath the chutes. Under one parachute hung two people, one carrying
the other. Four people. He knew one had been processed, leaving five. Perhaps this was not
them. He upped the magnification and stared at the faces. He recognized the blazing red hair of
the young girl and put the binoculars away. It was them. He ordered the eight men in his squad
toward the building where they would land in a few minutes time. They approached slowly,
looking carefully in the shadows of the growing twilight. They were almost a mile away from
the building when the fugitives landed. They disappeared behind the edge of the building. The
sun reached the edge of the seawall and darkness spread over the cursed city. A creature
scampered forth from behind a low wall and the squad opened fire on it. They were too slow. It
ran off with superhuman speed. It looked like a human ran on two legs, but it acted like an
animal, ferocious, rabid. It turned at the sound of gunfire and ran toward the disinfectors. It
shot through the group like lightning. Only seven of Gova’s men remained. The creature had
grabbed one and ran into the darkness. The men sprinted toward it, but it had vanished, almost
a mile away by now.

Set on edge by the disappearance, the squad looked at Gova for guidance. He glared at the
building, thinking.

“They won’t go anywhere,” he said, and returned to the Arcane.

The night passed sleeplessly. Howls pierced the night and Gova could hear the devils as they
passed the Arcane. Once or twice they clawed at the door, but the thick steel held fast. Finally
 49

morning came and Gova opened the door. Before him stood the same desolate city, bathing in
sunlight, filtered through the smoke and clouds. The remaining seven cautiously followed Gova
into the light.

They reached the building without incident a half-hour later. Steel and brick, it stood twenty
stories tall, windows covered with sheets of metal. Gova signaled for his men to stack up
around the door. On his word, they burst in and tossed a flashbang. It detonated in the hallway
but no one responded. Gova proceeded down the corridor, sweeping from left to right in each
doorway. He heard something, felt the building vibrate. He held up a hand and his men
stopped, barely breathing. Footsteps pounded down stairs to their left. Gova ran to the last
door and spun left into the next hallway. The fiery-haired girl stood at the end and stared him in
the eyes, shocked. He raised his rifle but she was faster. A wall of fire filled the hall and blew
the squad back. He rolled on the floor, putting out the flames and stood up. They were gone.
 50

Melody
Love feels no burden, regards not labors, strives toward more than it attains, argues not of
impossibility, since it believes that it may and can do all things. Therefore it avails for all things,
and fulfils and accomplishes much where one not a lover falls and lies helpless.

~Thomas á Kempis
 51

Chapter 10 – Asylum
There is no safety in numbers, or in anything else.

~James Thurber

Kyter held the door open for the other three and let them pass. With superhuman strength,
he tore the door from its hinges and pressed his back against the wall adjacent the opening.
The disinfectors burst through the door and he swung the steel door like a massive baseball
bat. They flew back, toppling like dominoes. He dropped the door and sprinted towards the
others, already more than a hundred feet away. He cleared the distance in seconds and slowed
to a light jog as they panted for breath. The radiation had given him muscles beyond that of any
Olympian and he wondered at his newfound strength. Wheezing heavily, they reached the
shuttle the disinfectors had arrived in. The ramp had been left open. Kyter turned to face the
disinfectors as the others boarded the craft. He smiled and waved to the squad as the ramp
pulled back into the ship and it soared into the air, far out of the reach of Gova’s futile bullets.

The ship jolted with Melody’s unsteady piloting and the group heard the cry of a small child.
The ship was empty except for the four fugitives. Marci felt something brush against her leg and
she reached down to grab it. An young child flickered and materialized in her grasp, crying. She
carefully picked him up and the group stared in wonder. The two year old’s blue eyes gazed up
at Marci from beneath already-profuse brown hair. His crying subsided and their eyes met,
neither vocalizing. Kyter stood up and inspected the baby.

“He must have come on board invisible. I don’t think he knows how to control himself yet.”

“I can tell,” Marci replied, wrinkling her nose. “I wonder where he came from, who his
parents are…were.” The crew gazed dumbstruck at the mysterious castaway.

Rillian pointed at the baby’s nose and spoke to him. “You’re a bit of an enigma, aren’t you?”

Kyter walked to the pilot’s seat and lay a hand on Melody’s shoulder. “So, captain, where
are we going?”

“Alaska,” she replied, “when I came back to Gaia I was told by an anonymous call that
anyone who had taken part in the Luna experiments could come to a compound that had been
 52

started in Alaska for the purpose of sheltering those in the project. I didn’t think much of it, as
my ‘disease’ was barely noticeable, but it seemed like a good idea for those whose effects were
more…visible.”

Kyter nodded his approval. “Where in Alaska was it?””

She checked a reading. This says a hundred miles south of Barrow. It doesn’t look like the
flood will have affected it. I just hope they’re still there…” she trailed off and returned to
piloting the craft. Kyter returned to his seat. He sat slumped, pondering what had become of
him. He had never intended for this to happen. He had wanted to return to a peaceful life after
all of this, not be chased for the rest of his existence. Fate had toyed with him and he knew he
was completely at its mercy. The copter could crash, the facility could be gone, any number of
factors could throw his life into complete turmoil. As bad as his life had become, it could
certainly take a turn for the worse at any second. He feared death, he feared uncertainty. He
had a reason to live now. He had found love for the first time in his life and he could not bear to
lose it now. He wanted no pain for Melody, but as much as he convinced himself that his will to
live was for her alone, his sensical side reminded him of his own need for self-preservation. He
feared death, and the thought of it kept his eyes wide open as he stared worried, blankly.

Rillian, however, believed differently. A matter of days before, he would have gladly taken
his own life. His life had meant nothing, he had been no one. Now, in this short time, he had
found real meaning. He could save lives, he could protect countless innocents if he was in the
right place. He could finally do what he had joined the military all those years again to do. He
could fight injustice. He could rid the world of its cruel opressors, banish hate, destroy infidelity.
And even the destruction of the Firestorm brought him comfort. No amount of weeping could
ever bring his family back, but he no longer felt any measure of responsibility for their deaths.
Had he done his best to prevent the tragedy, they would have met their fate no doubt in the
Firestorm. He had been released of that burden. He knew that he would, no, could never find
love again like Amanda’s, but he knew now that he didn’t have to. He had been given a purpose
and he would see it through till death was ready to take him in its loving embrace. He no longer
feared what was to come, and he fell asleep now with the comfort of tranquility.
 53

Marci stared into Kyter’s unseeing eyes, her heart giddy like a schoolgirl’s with her first
crush. She smiled dreamily as she searched his soul through the narrow openings set just above
his nose. Love had struck her, she thought, and was completely enraptured by Kyter. For a
moment though, her fleeting infatuation had distracted her from the reality of the present. She
could forget her regrettable and shameful betrayal of the man she had once called father. She
could forget her regrettable and shameful acts of vandalism, arson, wonton destruction. And
finally she could forget the inhumanities performed hundreds of years ago by those she hated
with a vengeful wrath. She thought that maybe this time she could make a relationship work for
once and Kyter and her could settle down after all this had passed. After all, he was single, he
was brave, strong, capable of providing and oh, ever so handsome. She stared fresh into his
blue eyes and studied them anew.

Melody sat in the driver’s seat, holding the bridge of her nose in thought, head bowed.

The stark atmosphere of the Alaskan wilderness glistened beneath the Arcane as it shot
over the ground, snow flying up from the down force of the copter’s thrusters. The land was
barren save a small number of dead trees whose branches stuck feebly into the air, long since
dead of the bitter cold. Nothing had changed here for years, the tundra’s permafrost the only
growth for miles. In the distance a low black construction protruded from the white, craggy
spires perforating the chill air. Melody tilted the wheel ever so gently and the craft softly
pointed towards the facility. The radio crackled to life and a woman’s voice came over the
airwaves.

“Approaching military craft Arcane, this is the Asylum hailing you. Identify your business in
the area or be destroyed. Disinfector ships are not welcome here.”

Melody pushed the comlink and replied, “We’re not military. We stole this ship from a
Disinfector squad in California. We sunk the Endeavor. My name is Melody Enna. With me are
Rillian Montgomery and Marci Mondary. We are refugees from Luna testing facilities, you
should have us in your records. Also with us is private contractor Kyter Rentin of Germany who
has accompanied us. We will continue our approach.”
 54

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then the woman’s voice returned,
flustered, “yes, your records check out. Please land in bay four. Do you require any medical
attention?”

Melody smiled as she pushed the button to talk again, “That’s a negative, M-Series
classification.” She referred to the particular designation for those subjects who had been
changed to heal, not destroy.

“Very good, we’ll be waiting for you. Please approach with care.” The radio went silent and
the hijacked ship skimmed low over the snow straight for the asylum. Minutes later, the sleek
vehicle glided to a smooth stop in the docking bay and the huge hangar bay doors dropped
close with a reverberating thud. Kyter led the group down the ramp into the massive room
within the Asylum. A man in a blue jumpsuit ran to greet him, his arm extended, a friendly grin
upon his beaming visage. Kyter gripped his hand and was barely able to steel himself against
the abnormally frosty grip. He smiled through his teeth as the man released his hand. Kyter’s
had turned blue and he shook it to restore blood flow. The man laughed heartily, the sound
echoing off the walls.

“Good to see you. My name’s Dominic. I’m a mechanic here.” He ran his eyes in awe over
the four of them and inhaled slowly through his teeth. “Damn it’s good to see new people.” He
shook his head slowly with a sort of happiness. “We haven’t had very many people in the last
several months, none in the last couple days. We were worried the disinfectors had found
everyone.” His grin was gone now, a frown upon his face. “But where are my manners?” he
corrected himself, beaming yet again. “You must be hungry after making it all the way from
California. Come inside and we’ll find you something to eat. I’m sure William will be happy to
see you.” He led the small group through a side door of the hangar. The air warmed once inside
the facility proper and Melody’s teeth stopped chattering uncontrollably. A small, frail young
man walked into the room, dressed impeccably in a premium suit, glasses perched in front of
his dead grey eyes. His black hair was slicked back perfectly. He did not smile, but yet he
radiated warmth and compassion in an unperceivable way.
 55

“Sit down,” he implored, “and help yourself to anything you desire.” His voice was regal and
low. The group noticed the table in the middle of the room had been set with a plethora of
comestibles, all freshly steaming. Kyter hungrily bit into a cinnamon roll and savored the hasty
bite longer than he had expected food. Real cinnamon burned into his nasal passages and
cleared them out for the smells and tastes that followed. The raisins were curiously sweet and
the bread perfectly moist. Frosting glistened in a thin sheen over the roll, exhilarating the
senses, sending him into an ecstasy of the senses.

William’s low voice eased its way into the perfection of the cinnamon roll, “I am William
Bullicci, head researcher here at the Asylum. Be not afraid, I’m not here to perform
experiments,” he halfway smiled and continued, “I simply want to ask each of you a few
questions as I build a database of conditions.”

Kyter looked at him through faraway eyes as he chewed slowly. He swallowed and opened
his mouth.

“Shoot.”
 56

Chapter 11 – Comfort
She walks in beauty,
Like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes.
~Lord Byron

Kyter opened the door to the room he had been showed to and stared inside. The beige
walls, the soft lighting, everything emanated tranquility and he collapsed on the soft bed.
Beneath him the down comforter gave way and the mattress softly supported his aching body.
The strains of the past several days drained downward into the mattress and left his body. He
let out a satisfied sigh and let his muscles relax. He fell asleep fully clothed in his mesh suit, but
he slept better than he ever had.

Peaceful sleep, however, gave way to tortured dreaming. Before him lay the Alaskan
wilderness, but it burned, every tree a pillar of flame reaching to the sky. The ground cracked
and shook beneath his feet and he could hear the roar of engines above his head. Tanks rolled
around him, and their cannons fired in a deafening volley. He looked to their target and saw the
Asylum, flames shooting from its spires. The shells hit the black building and he ducked as the
shockwave reached him. He heard screaming and turned around. He was in the Asylum now,
men and women running past him in terror. The structure shook, pieces of the building littering
the floor where they had fallen. Now he stood alone in his room. It was quiet, the explosions
had ceased and the floor stood still. Marci stood before him, her fiery eyes blazing. They lacked
the warmth, however, that had filled them before. Within them burned an inferno of hate and
vengeance. He saw the proverbial fury of a woman scorned deep within them and he feared for
his life. He was mute and his arms hung powerless at his side. As he stared, the fire within grew
in size and he could see buildings burning. Here he saw the Asylum, there Los Diablos. He was in
Los Diablos now, buildings toppling around him. Crackling filled the air as the flames popped
and sizzled. Suddenly the acrid smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils. He turned to face it
and there lay Rillian, convulsing in agony as arcs of energy ran up and down his body. He
 57

reached a burnt hand out towards Kyter not for help, but in a plea. His mouth opened and he
whispered something softly, then his body fell limply and the pulsing bolts ceased their
crackling.

Kyter sat upright in a cold sweat, spine chilled and body shivering. He breathed heavy
breaths and gasped for air. The tranquil room lay around him once more as his heartbeat
slowed. He put a hand to his chest to steady his heart and lay back down, staring upwards at
the light in the ceiling. He knew it had been a dream, but it felt so real, so vivid. He had rarely
dreamed in the past few years and never had it been of this magnitude. His heart still raced
faster than normal and he stood up. Walking had always soothed his nerves and he decided to
explore the Asylum. It was, after all, to become his home. He glanced at his watch. It was half
past seven in the morning. He had slept for twelve hours, but had gotten next to no rest.

He strolled slowly down the corridors and into the main dining hall. A boy, around eight
years old, played some sort of game with their invisible castaway. Kyter approached the pair
and squatted down to reach eye level with the boy. The boy wore gloves and long sleeves, none
of his skin showing. Kyter presumed this was cautionary and kept a moderate distance from the
boy.

“Hey there,” he said, “What’s your name?”

“Xerio,” the boy replied.

Kyter smiled and stood back up.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

The boy looked at the castaway then up at Kyter. “I don’t know. Didn’t he come with you?”

Kyter nodded. “Yep, he’s our enigma,” he recalled Rillian’s line.

Xerio furrowed his brow in confusion. “What’s enigma mean?”

Kyter smiled. “It means…something that can’t be explained, or a mysterious person.” The
boy flickered invisible for a moment and caught the view of the two standing there.
 58

Xerio nodded in understanding. “It’s a good name. Come on, Enigma.” The pair ran off
towards a woman standing in the hallway who held another young boy’s hand in hers. Kyter
met her gaze and moved towards her.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Kyter Rentin,” he introduced himself, “I arrived last night.”

“I heard,” she said. “First good news in weeks. I’m Emma Heathcliffe, by the way. This is
Kevin, my son. Say hello, Kevin.”

The boy frowned and kept his mouth shut. His mother looked at Kyter and shrugged her
shoulders. “You look tired,” she said, “did you sleep poorly?”

Kyter nodded and blinked slowly. “No fault of the bed, just…” he trailed off, “dreams.”

She nodded, not wanting to delve any further. “Well, if you need to wake up, we have
excellent coffee in a few minutes, at eight.”

“Thanks,” he said, “I’ll try some of that. It’s good to meet you.” The two of them walked to a
table in the spacious hall and sat down. Kevin and Xerio sat down as well, but Enigma had
disappeared again. “Is Xerio your son?” he asked.

She thought of an answer for a moment, “Yes, but adopted. He came with a group like you a
few months back. He was the son of two Lunar test subjects. His mother died during birth and
his father died tragically days afterwards.”

“What’s…different…about him?” Kyter asked.

Emma was silent for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “He…degenerates cellular
material upon contact.” Kyter thought for a moment and nodded in understanding. That was
why the boy wore gloves. He was a danger to those he touched and presumably had been the
cause of his parents’ death.

A number of other people began to filter into the hall, taking their places at tables around
the room, but no one sat next to Xerio and the little group around him. Finally, Marci, Melody
and Rillian took seats around Kyter. He introduced the group to Emma and her sons.
 59

“Where’s our little stowaway?” Rillian asked, cheery. He had obviously slept more
peacefully than Kyter had.

“Enigma,” Kyter said, “and I don’t know.”

Rillian smiled. “Figures. So, Kyter, you look terrible. Did you sleep?”

Kyter shook his head. “Barely.”

Marci looked at him with concern, “Was the bed uncomfortable? Mine was really
comfortable. I’m sure you could use it if you wanted to.”

Kyter inwardly rolled his eyes. “No, the bed was fine, just…bad dreams. I’m sure tonight will
be better.”

“I’m sure it will,” she whispered under her breath. The room was abuzz with conversation
now and well over a hundred people filled the room. Waiters moved nimbly around the tables,
placing steaming cups of coffee at the hands of gracious men and women. Kyter sipped his
slowly, the scalding beverage heating his chill insides. Coffee had never tasted so good in his
life. After the coffee came sausage and eggs, after that toast with butter or jam. A glass of
orange juice was served to wash down the savory meal and Kyter slumped forward on the
bench satisfied.

“What’s the plan now?” Rillian asked.

Emma smiled. “There is no plan, contrary to what testing facilities may have taught you.
You’re free to do as you wish. For lunch, feel free to help yourself to anything in the cupboards
or refrigerators.”

“Where do you get your supplies?” Melody asked.

“We have our connections,” Emma replied mysteriously.

Kyter collapsed on his bed again, ready for a nap. It was barely two in the afternoon, but he
was already exhausted. Melody had orchestrated an impromptu soccer game and he had been
kept on his feet by that. It truly was a strange sight to see soccer played with telekinesis,
 60

invisibility and super-strength, and it had drained him of any energy he had left. Just as he
closed his eyes, he heard a sharp knock on the door. He opened his eyes and sat up. “Come in.”

Marci opened the door and walked in, gently closing it behind her. He had never really
noticed how attractive she was. Perhaps it was because she had always been grimy and clothed
in military fatigues, but now she wore a knee-length skirt and white blouse. Her hair had been
expertly done by one of the refugees skilled in hairdressing and she wore just enough makeup
to intrigue him. She sat down next to him on the bed and he ran his eyes over her perfect
curves. He found himself drawn to look at her, regardless of whatever he knew she was here to
say. Finally she spoke and it was in a warm, sultry voice, yet still unsure of what she really
wanted to say.

“Kyter,” she began. “Ever since I was freed from Luna, I…” she paused. “I’ve been looking
for someone that really excited me, that I knew I could be myself around. It’s strange…in these
hundreds of years, I’ve been looking everywhere, never finding and here fate drops someone in
front of me. It’s ironic, I suppose, that you weren’t even born all during my search.” She
stopped and Kyter felt it was his turn to respond to her. He really did not want to say anything,
but opened his mouth and spoke anyway.

“Marci,” he started, breaking his gaze with her in favor of something less animate. “I
understand you’ve been lonely all these years and that you’ve looked for someone, but…”he bit
his lip and glanced up at her face. “I just don’t think I’m that man. I…” she cut him off with a kiss
planted firmly on his lips. It was almost forceful and Kyter barely restrained himself from giving
way to her passionate demands. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her
back. “I...You’re a great girl, I know you can find someone better for you. I’m a transient; I move
from place to place, I have no past, no future.”

“But we could have a future,” she replied, “together, here in the Asylum.”

He met her eyes again. “My life is ruled by change, Marci. I’ll get tired of the Asylum, I’ll
move somewhere else, I’ll live with the danger of being discovered. And once that gets boring,
I’ll move somewhere else. I couldn’t ask anyone else to share that life, especially someone…” he
 61

trailed off, his sentence incomplete. His eyes moved over Marci, but he avoided her eyes,
staring firmly at him.

“Someone who what?” She asked.

“Someone I couldn’t love.” He responded, resolutely meeting her eyes.

She stared blankly, their eyes locked together. Within his eyes she could see the shield
reappearing that had sheltered him from so much emotion and pain in his previous life.

And in her eyes he saw the hellfire of his dreams. In them burned the Asylum and Los
Diablos. She broke their gaze and stood up again. “Fine,” she said, holding back tears. “if that’s
what you feel, I understand. Just know I don’t have any reason to stay with you or protect you
anymore.” He nodded but said nothing. She shut the door and he could hear her begin to cry in
the hallway. Kyter closed his eyes. He had said what he believed, he had not lied, he had tried
not to be too cruel. But now, what? He had irrevocably shunned her. He tried to put the
thought out of his mind, but it slipped back in. As he contemplated her words, his thoughts
slowly shifted to Melody. He had never in any formality expressed his affections for her and in a
way Marci was better than him in that regard. He stood from the bed and smoothed out his
shirt. His stomach churned as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
 62

Chapter 12 – Fury
The charm of history and its enigmatic lesson
consist in the fact that, from age to age,

nothing changes and yet everything is completely

different.

~Aldous Huxley

Waterford Mullen leaned back in his chair and contemplated his life. It really was good.
Here at the Asylum, his position of radio operator was an easy one and he was able to be
around people he knew and enjoyed. He had been here for almost five years following his
voluntary incarceration and subsequent release from Luna. He had changed in those five years.
He had arrived at the Asylum a bitter outcast from society, paranoid and scared of the world.
But through the love and care of all at the Asylum, he had grown into a real human being,
regardless of what he was on the outside. His skin was scarred and his limbs distorted but he
and the others had learned to ignore that and know him for who he was. And he was a good
person now. He sighed and continued to watch a movie on the small screen sitting on his desk.

He heard footsteps coming down the hallway, paused the movie and turned to face his
visitor. Before he could meet the door with his eyes, a tongue of flame licked out and seized
him. The incinerating blaze destroyed him before he could say a word.

Kyter knocked nervously on Melody’s door. He heard her quickly arrange something then
the door opened and she brushed back her hair, hanging softly over her azure eyes. They
brightened as she saw him standing there, but she didn’t say a word, waiting for him to speak.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, stepping out of the way and he walked in. He took a seat in a large
recliner in the corner of the room and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin
resting on the palms of his hands. She sat on the bed and leaned forward to meet his gaze.

“Melody, there’s something I feel you should know,” he began. He stared at the floor for a
few moments, thinking of the words to say. She looked at him curiously but he had a feeling she
 63

knew this was coming. “We may not have met in the most formal way,” they both laughed,
“but all during this past week or so, I’ve felt…more alive around you. Your strength never
continues to amaze me, as well as your ability to keep a calm and cool resolve at all times,” He
smiled at his own formality. “your beauty.” She blushed and stared abashed at the ground. “I’m
sorry if I’ve been cold and unfeeling for the last couple days, but my instinct won’t allow me to
let my guard down, I couldn’t have dealt with anything peripheral. And now that we’re safe for
now, I can finally let my guard down, and…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. “Well, I
suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’ve fallen in love with you. Just thought you should
know.” He tried to put on an air of seriousness in order to hide his emotion.

The room was silent as both pondered his words. Melody had been waiting for this moment
almost since they had met, certainly since their conversation in the wee hours of the morning
on the port steps. But as much as she had known it was coming, the shock of his words still hit
her with a profound impact and she was speechless for a time. In all her 25 years, she had
never really found someone who had expressed the same love toward her that she had to
them. Her family had been there of course, but all through her schooling she had never found a
person she considered ‘right.’ That had even been one of the factors in her decision to go to
Luna, that she had no attachment to Gaia.

It was ironic, she supposed, that had she not gone to Luna, this entire chain of events would
not have conspired in the way it had. She might even be dead; for that matter, Kyter might
even be dead. She put such thought out of her mind and prepared the words that could
possibly explain all this to him. Somehow though, she found no syllables that would accurately
portray the depth of emotion she felt. He rose, ready to leave the awkward silence. She stood
as well to stop him from leaving the room and put her arms around him. He stood there stiffly
for a moment before he understood the reality of her actions. He relaxed and held her as well.
They stood in silence for a moment. Kyter had found peace, Melody stability.

Both were shattered in an instant, however, as a klaxon blared and the lights turned red.
The pair released and stared at each other. Wordlessly, they dashed into the hallway and joined
the flow of people into the main hall. Kyter found Rillian and rushed to him.
 64

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Rillian shook his head briefly before responding. “I’m not sure exactly, but I think that
means disinfectors are coming,” in response to his question, the speakers hissed to life and a
voice filled the room.

“Please remain calm. We have received advance warning that a number of disinfector ships
are heading this way. We have no reports on the size of the fleet, nor if they are surely heading
for the Asylum, but we have enacted cautio…” he was cut off and another voice, a woman’s,
came over the speakers.

“They’re heading here, all of them,” she said “save yourselves. This is no time for heroics,
they will kill all of you. Right now would be a very good time to…panic.” The transmission cut
off and Kyter turned to face Melody.

He uttered a single word, “Marci.” He and Rillian bolted off towards the radio center,
sprinting through the fleeing crowd. Screams echoed through the corridors as they plunged
deeper into the building. They reached the room and the door stood ajar, hanging loosely from
a hinge. The electronics were burnt and they sparked feebly. Kyter looked down the hallway to
his right. A door swung shut with a click. The pair bolted for it, Kyter reaching it in a second. He
slammed into it with his arm, knocking it down. He stared up the ladder inside and saw a streak
of red exit the top and saw the grey sky above. He ascended the ladder, Rillian just behind him.
They reached the roof and saw Marci standing there, her red hair standing against the bleak
Alaskan wilderness, snow falling.

“Why, Marci?” Rillian asked, slowly approaching her, “why give up peace and comfort for
anarchy, chaos, destruction?”

She suddenly let forth a blast of flame from her hand, setting him afire. He writhed in agony
and rolled on the concrete to put it out. Kyter lunged at her but he sent another wave of fire at
him, knocking her back. His mesh suit he still wore under his clothes protected him from the
flames, but his outer clothes had burned off and he stood up, his black garment in sharp
contrast to her red one. They stood there on the roof facing each other.
 65

“Hell hath no fury,” she said and took a step backwards off the roof.

He rushed to the edge and looked down. A turbine copter whisked her off into the distance.
He followed its trajectory and saw the fleet approaching, hundreds of black dots approaching
from the grey. He returned to Rillian and patted out a few remaining flames on his now
completely blackened flesh. Electricity coursed through him still, but weakly. Rillian reached a
weak hand towards Kyter. Kyter held it firmly.

“Live well and mourn me not,” he said softly, his voice cracking, “this is my time. Live well,
Kyter.” His head dropped to the concrete and the arcs of lightning ceased.

Kyter’s heart burned within, a venomous flame. He released Rillian’s hand and faced the
oncoming fleet without fear, resolute. Beneath him surged a wave of vehicles, the Asylum’s last
stand against the forces of hate that descended upon them. He turned around as Melody
appeared out of the hatch. She saw Rillian and rushed to him, but all her powers were to no
avail. She stood up and looked at Kyter.

“We can’t run,” he said.

She nodded. “I know.”

The battleship was hidden beneath the earth. It had not been used for years. Originally a
military ship, it had been decommissioned and picked up by Bullicci. It was the original Asylum
before any permanent base could be established. Kyter and Melody looked up in awe at the
massive ship. “Think you can fly it?” Kyter asked.

Melody smiled. “I can try.” They boarded the ship ahead of the hundreds of families hoping
it would offer them some refuge from the bombings that had started. Even now, the building
shook with the impact of the explosions. But suddenly they ceased and Kyter heard soft thuds
on the ground above.

“Beam troopers,” he breathed softly, then yelled, “run!” to the crowd. The troopers broke
through the roof, opening fire on the innocents below. The crowd panicked and ran into the
ship. Each trooper grabbed a child, presumably for testing and strapped them to their back.
 66

Kyter saw Kevin Heathcliffe taken by a trooper. Emma ran to the man, but he cut her down with
a blast from his rifle. Kyter winced at the brutality but continued up the ramp. He picked a
trooper off with his pistol before the door closed. He felt the ship begin to ascend and
wondered at Melody’s piloting skill. The ship shook as it broke through the layer of earth above
it, but the gargantuan battleship took no damage from the impact.

“Anyone who knows how to operate a turret, to positions!” he yelled and dashed towards
the front gun. He strapped himself into the cockpit and charged the beam cannon. He let forth
a volley of bolts upon a troop transport advancing on the Asylum. They were hundreds of feet
above the ground already, at the level of the disinfector ships. He shifted his aim to them and
noted with pleasure the targeting guides already painted on a number of ships. White fire burst
forth from the battleship and tore through the advancing enemy. They returned fire with a
torrent of red bolts, shaking the ship. Below them a battle raged, small craft and tanks engaging
in a bloody conflict. Kyter tore his eyes away as the meter again read full. He let forth a barrage
of fire again, destroying a handful of small craft. Visibly, the disinfector’s numbers began to
diminish as the Asylum forces tore into the enemy. Perhaps Marci had exaggerated their
numbers.

Then he saw it. Out of the fog loomed the Nemesis, pride of the fleet. A newer classification
of the ship they now sat in, it dwarfed them, a malevolent behemoth. A shower of missiles
broke forth from it and white trails traced themselves directly at the battleship. Kyter felt the
ship roll as Melody tried to avoid them. Her expert skill prevailed, but a single missile struck the
vessel, shaking it mightily. Kyter recalibrated his turret and locked on to a missile port. Another
missile headed for them and he shot it down in a volley of light. He realized they had no one
manning the missile bays and unlocked himself from the turret and dashed downstairs. The
massive projectiles stood ready to fire and he powered on the targeting computer. To his left, a
door opened and through it he could see the Nemesis, white and red beams illuminating its
surface. The computer booted and he locked on to the heat signatures of the engines of the
massive ship. A missile shot out of the bay and wound its way into the distance. He saw it hit
the engine and the Nemesis shook with the impact. He zoomed in on the command center and
noticed a flaw in the design of the ship. He targeted the small imperfection in its armor and let
 67

forth another rocket. He prayed as it shot toward the miniscule point on the ship’s surface. He
saw it explode in a show of fireworks, but the Nemesis did not shake. He zoomed in again on
the massive vehicle and saw with glee the command center fill with fire. He pointed at a
smattering of targets around the ship and ran back up to the turret. The ship shook violently
and he was thrown to the floor. When he rose again, the air was filled with a pungent smoke.
He traced its path and realized the reactor must have been grazed. He ran to the door and
locked it, sealing the leaking radiation inside. He sprinted again through the mess of screaming
refugees to his turret and locked in the seat. Through the reticule he could see the Nemesis
begin to sway, driverless. He targeted the turrets and sent one after another into oblivion. The
side of the ship filled with fire and he realized now how big the vessel was. It loomed ominously
close as the smaller ship turned sharply to avoid a collision. They were passing around the back
now and Kyter realized that if they made it all the way around, the Nemesis would have a clear
shot at their engines…if the Asylum ship failed to destroy it. Through the radio, he signaled the
other gunners.

“Target my mark on the engine and fire when ready,” he said. The newer ships had an
imperfection in their engine which allowed a competent gunner to hit the reactor core through
the turbine. Kyter carefully located the flaw and locked on. Simultaneously, the other gunners
targeted the spot and let forth a volley. Hundreds of bolts of white pierced the air and they
reached the Nemesis at the same time. The massive ship shook once from the impact, then
stood still. Completely still.

“Full throttle!” he yelled to Melody, hoping her headset was on. The craft bolted forward in
a lurch and he looked back at the disinfector battleship. The reactor went critical and he could
see the flash of light start at the back and move its way to the front, tearing the ship in half like
a gutted fish. It sunk slowly to the tundra below, flaming as it went. Kyter heard cheers in his
headset and the civilians erupted in applause for the gunners. He released himself from the
seat and joined the celebration. The disinfectors were routed and fled from the battle.

“Fury indeed,” he heard a man say.

Kyter grabbed his shoulder, “what did you say?”

 68

The man looked at him strangely and pointed to the ship’s name, painted over a door
frame, paint fading.

Fury.
 69

Chapter 13 – Life
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,
and I will give you rest.

~Matthew 11:28

Their celebration, however, was short-lived. Everyone knew the disinfectors would not be
so easily defeated and when they came again, it would be in stronger force, not this shoddily-
assembled fleet of whatever ships were available. The group, huddled in the main hall, talked
among themselves when Bullicci ascended the podium. He cleared his throat and peered out
over high cheekbones at the crowd.

“Men, women, all of you gathered here today, may I have your attention for a brief
moment?” The crowd hushed and turned to look at him. “First, congratulations are in order to
our newcomers Melody and Kyter. Without their valiant efforts and expert piloting, this day
would not have been won.” The group applauded them for a moment and Bullicci resumed his
speech. “However, the frank fact of the matter is that we are not longer safe here. The
disinfectors know where we are, they know we’re weaker now. The Asylum must be
abandoned. I know many of you know this place as home, as a place that took you in when you
were hungry and alone, but we have no time for nostalgia. We are engaged in war. We are at
war with an enemy that will not stop to hear our pleas, an enemy that will not hold a truce, an
enemy that does not truly understand who we are. We are a small group of people, not quite
human, who holds every right to human mercy as do those unaffected. Our enemy will not yield
and the only thing we can do is evade their sight. We do not have the force to take them on,
nor will we any time soon. I therefore suggest that you all go your separate ways. If you take a
ship I urge you to take others with you, as many as will fit. I am happy to have known all of you
and call you my friends, but now is a time of action. I urge you from the bottom of my heart to
go, find somewhere to live peacefully, raise families, become one with the society. But never
forget this day, never forget the day when you raised your voice and shouted to those who
would take your life; and most importantly never forget those who died in sacrifice for all. I
leave you now, not as your leader, but as your friend.”
 70

He stepped down from the podium and disappeared into a back room. The crowd hushed.
Leaderless, they had no direction, no idea where to go or what to do. Kyter spoke up.

“We will be taking the Fury to Los Diablos. There are many like us there. It may be hard, but
it is free of the disinfector stain. All who would join us meet in the docking bay.”

Inspired by his initiative, captains of several other ships raised their voices with destinations
in mind. The group congealed into groups, each heading their separate ways. Xerio and Enigma
appeared in the crowd.

“Kyter?” Xerio said.

“Yes?”

“Can we go with you?”

Kyter nodded, feeling pity for the orphans. “Come along. Let’s find a safe place for you.”

The Fury lifted gently out of its docking bay this time, slowly and surely rising to a cruising
altitude. Melody sat in the pilot’s seat, programming waypoints in for their journey and Kyter
leaned back in the copilot’s chair, gazing out over the ocean.

“It’s funny,” Melody said. “I never pictured myself the hero. All I wanted to do was settle
into a nice nursing profession, maybe find a husband somewhere along the way, and raise
kids.”

Kyter smiled and turned to look at her. “It’s not too late, you know.”

She laughed melodically. “No I suppose not.” She stood from the seat and walked to the
window. “Thank you, Kyter.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For everything,” she replied, “for rescuing me from what would no doubt become a dead-
end life, for showing me something new, for…”she smiled, “for gunning down a battleship.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said, “and thank you for showing me there’s more to living life
than walking a slow road towards death.”
 71

She smiled in response and shut the door to the cabin, locking it securely.

It was a long journey to Los Diablos and when they arrived, the ship’s inhabitants stepped
gratefully onto the firm ground. Kyter and Melody looked out over the bleak landscape.
Buildings towered before them in ruin, but smoke no longer rose. The last of the crazed
inhabitants had finally died out and a man dressed in priest’s robes came to meet the refugees.
His beard had grown long, but he retained a spark of dignity in the way he carried himself, his
poise. He extended a scarred hand to Kyter and shook it firmly.

“Welcome, my son,” he said.

 72

Chapter 14 – Epilogue
There was much work to be done in Los Diablos. Buildings to be rebuilt, public utilities to fix,
numerous other projects, but the resolve of the refugees surprised even themselves. Within
months, the city thrived once again. Crops grew in once-barren soil and water refineries had
been constructed. As the months grew on, the city thrived, free from the watchful of the
disinfectors. Still, though, for over a year Kyter watched the sky for the battleship that could
bring them all down. In time however, he grew to trust fate and rely on whatever benevolent
power had granted them this time on Gaia.

Melody and he married soon after landing and lived in a house on the edge of town on a
farm. She had always wanted to return to the days of her youth, raising crops and animals and
Kyter longed for a place of peace in which to spend the rest of his days. Melody gave birth a
year later to twins, which they named Rillian and Waterford, in honor of those Marci had killed.
They adopted Xerio and Enigma, but the latter refused to live with them after he turned ten. He
was an independent spirit, spending his time repairing old computers and creating new
electronics. Xerio stayed his friend however and was often the only one who could find him.

The air grew humid and now the need for water was scarce. A cup or two a day would
satisfy. The oceans stayed at the level they had hit after the Firestorm. All over Gaia, however,
the Kismet began to spread. There was no telling when or where it would strike, and the
disinfectors were kept busy with the task of eradicating it. Bullicci took up residence in
Germany and devoted his life to finding the cure, or at least the final outcome of the disease.

Kevin Heathcliffe, who had been taken by the disinfectors, was put into a testing facility
dedicated to researching the Kismet. It was soon discovered, however, that he did not have the
disease and was put into the adoptive care of a wealthy American couple. Shortly after his
sixteenth birthday he joined the military, but not as a disinfector, but part of the experimental
vehicle regiment. He grew in rank quickly, a military genius earning the respect of his peers.

Marci gained immunity from the disinfectors and moved to California. She found a husband,
but even so she never grew to really love him as she knew she could. He never discovered her
 73

secret and for all intents and purposes, they lived a normal life. She had two children, Daniel
and Jasmine. Neither of them were noticeably infected with the Kismet.

Fifteen years had passed and now Kyter walked along the seawall with Melody, thinking.
They both stared wordlessly out at the foggy ocean. The waves lapped against the seawall and
seagulls cried all around them. They had been through hell and high water together. Nothing
could tear them apart now. But nothing threatened to. They had finally found what they had
looked for all this time: peace. Kyter leaned his head against Melody’s and stared into the fog.
 74

Tales of Los Diablos

 75

Chapter 15 - Xerio’s Story

Low over the rooftops he skimmed, padded feet thumping softly with every leap. The wind
rushed past his face, tossing his loose brown hair out of his eyes. His pupils dilated in the
darkness, seeing every imperfection in the crumbling rooftops, his sharp senses deftly avoiding
the cracks and unstable bricks. The stars twinkled dimly in the sky far above, framed by the
circle of the seawall, reaching for hundreds of feet upwards. The air he passed through hung
still and heavy in the depression, stagnant from years of stillness. Sweat glistened on his
sculpted body, blown back by the wind. His black eyes shone as well, not reflecting but glowing
from within. The dark fire burned inside him, he was the dark fire.

His name was Xerio.

Born in Michigan, he was eight when the Kismet struck. Emma Heathcliffe had taken him in
at the Asylum, a refuge for those struck with the disease. Shortly before his arrival in Los
Diablos, the effects had begun to manifest themselves. He could touch no one now. The disease
had altered his body in such a way that he rapidly degenerated any cellular material he came in
contact with. He had grown into an athletic young man, now almost eighteen. He still lived with
Melody and Kyter, his adoptive parents, but was wont to sneak out at nights for adventure in
the underbelly of the city. There still lurked feral remnants of the disease, victims of an
incomplete experimental substance. He liked the challenge, the thrill of being close to death. It
exhilarated him to feel the clutch of fear, of dying. He felt alive through death. The dark fire
burned inside him, he was the dark fire.

He leaped down from the building, feeling the shock and pain course from his ankles
upward. He breathed in sharply, both in pain and pleasure. His loose black clothing swirled
around him, fluttering softly. He sprinted down the alleyway into the utter blackness of an
abandoned building. He flicked a switch on his sleeve and his jacket began to glow with
ultraviolet light, similar to a blacklight. In the pale illumination he could see the creatures,
hugging the walls. They turned to look at him. He readied himself as the sleeping horde slowly
awoke. They came at him, a flurry of bodies, of fangs and teeth, of arms and legs, of fury and
motion. His arms whipped around, meeting faces, hands, bodies. They flung back and howled
 76

as their skin peeled back and organs burst. There were dozens in all, piling higher and higher on
the ground. The room glowed purple in the dim light, but his eyes of midnight saw everything.
The dark fire burned inside him, he was the dark fire.

Harmony sat up in bed as the screams pierced the night. It was Xerio, she knew. The
reckless renegade crusading against the devils of the city. She lived close to the edge of the
south side where the demons dwelled. Pushing her white hair out of her eyes, she stood and
walked to the window. She stared out into the night. Only starlight illuminated the buildings.
Electricity was far too valuable a resource to waste at night.

She thought of Xerio now, of his vain quest against whatever powers lurked in the shadows
of the south side. He was a proud man, even arrogant. He knew, as did all, that his forays would
serve no real purpose. The devils grew back as quickly as they were destroyed. He did it for
himself and himself alone, sometimes treasure hunting in the abandoned depths of what was
once Los Angeles. She knew he would inevitably leave some sort of gift on her doorstep after
his nocturnal adventure, as he always did. She never spoke of these gifts to him. She felt no
need to encourage his behavior or give even a sign of recognition for his acts. But more and
more now, she felt herself strangely attracted to the dark flame, her polar opposite. She shut
her glowing white eyes and lay back on the bed, bolts of electricity running up and down her
arms as she slept.

Morning came as rays of light reflected off the clouds and hit the ground far below in the
walled city. Harmony was already awake, staring upwards at the wood ceiling, studying the
intricate patterns. She waited as she traced out swirls and lines. There it was. The thump that
told her he had come and gone. She rushed downstairs, past her parents’ bedroom, to the front
door. She paused for a moment, wondering why she was in a hurry. Did she even care about
what was waiting there? Her hand rested on the doorknob as she thought. Perhaps she wished
Xerio would be standing there. But even then, why would she be anxious? She wanted nothing
less than to speak with him but still the mere chance excited her. She shrugged her shoulders,
failing to understand even herself. She twisted the doorknob.
 77

He had found it deep in the south side of the city, nestled between a rotting teddy bear and
a wine bottle. It had hung from the ear of the plush animal, sparkling in the darkness. This was
to be his final gift, he thought, his final gesture towards her. It would be the magnum opus of
his affection. And, he reminded himself solemnly, if she ignored it as she had the others, he
would cease. The early morning visits would cease, he would regard her as his fellow mutant,
nothing more. But he refused to believe that could happen.

It was not gaudy, not showy or ostentatious. Refined, but simple. Beautiful, but silent,
strong. The silver heart hung from a fragile chain that caught light and tossed it about, not
violently, but affectionately. Even as it sat there, covered in dust and grime, he knew it would
be his gift tonight. Nothing he had ever given could rival this. Not the ancient books he knew
she loved so much, nor the captivating gadgets he had found and repaired with care. This was
different in a way, symbolic of something more than itself. It could be broken so easily, torn to
pieces, but it had not been. It still shone bright among the darkness of the alley.

He picked it up and watched as the dust tumbled down in a cascade from the necklace. It
hung now before his eyes, waving back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. It
mesmerized him as he studied the light shimmering about the dead street. He was fascinated
by its vibrancy, its liveliness. For once, he had met that which lived but could not die, that he
could not bring death do. It was for this reason that it took him in. He laid it gently in the palm
of his hand and brushed a thumb over the surface of the heart. The grime cleared and he could
see miniscule diamonds embedded in the surface. It glowed even brighter. He finished wiping it
and placed it carefully in a shirt pocket.

It hung on the outside handle, shining in the dim morning light. She lifted it off and studied
it with a wondrous eye. Atachi and Genea. She had only heard of them through old magazine
clippings and what she could remember from before the firestorm. They were Belgian jewelers,
the best in the world. Pieces hand crafted by them cost thousands upon thousands of dollars
and were rarely, if ever, worn in public occasions by those rich enough to afford them.
Countless imitators had sprung up, but none had been able to replicate the level of
craftsmanship the caring hands of the young Belgians had put into the necklaces. And they had
only made a score of each piece. There was no way, she knew, that Xerio could have known
 78

this, but she pretended he did as she slipped the smooth chain around her neck. She stared out
at the city, wondering where he was now.

He was, in fact, sleeping soundly in his bed at home. Soundly because of the feeling he had
of completion, of the end of one journey. Whether or not this would bring another, he did not
know, but that was hardly his concern at the moment. He slept and dreamt of light.

It was the afternoon now. The sun had passed its zenith and now crept closer to the edge of
the seawall to end its brief visible period. Xerio walked downstairs and placed himself at the
kitchen table, head in his arms. Kyter walked out from his study where he wrote the chronicles
of their history and sat opposite Xerio, his adopted son.

“Late night again?” he asked, sure of the answer.

Xerio looked up and nodded, smiling wryly. “It was good, though. I really felt…alive. It’s
strange, I suppose, that I feel that way, but nothing is normal down here.”

Kyter grinned. “Uncertainty is the only certain thing.” He talked in quotable lines now that
he had begun to write, all deeply philosophical and obviously the result of his intense studies
into the English language. His chronicles, “Tales of Los Diablos,” would serve as a history of the
people the world had forgotten. Even though he was not an original test subject, Kyter had
taken it upon himself to collect the stories of those within the walls of this city.

He had grown to be a father to all, as Melody had a mother. In a strange twist of irony, the
only among them who did not regard them as such was their other adopted son, Enigma. He
roamed freely among the streets of both the north and south sides.

“That it is,” Xerio replied.

“By the way,” Kyter started, “Have you heard anything from…?”

“Not yet,” Xerio replied, “I don’t exist, it seems.”

“Give it time,” Kyter said. “Give it time.” He retreated into his study and Xerio could hear
the rustle of paper as he shuffled around through his manuscript and began scratching away
new words.
 79

He rose and walked outside, feeling the stale air hit him anew. A walk would clear his mind.
It was nearly a mile until the border of the south side and he covered it in 15 minutes, walking
slowly, his head down. He reached the stygian border and sat on a park bench, the supports
rusted but stable. He stared into the sky and watched as the sun slowly slipped over the edge of
the seawall. But in the disappearance of the sun, the day grew brighter. He brought his head
down and looked ahead. She stood there.

The necklace caught her light and cast it outwards around her, an aura of perfection. He
stared, dumbfounded. A light breeze caught her brilliant hair and tossed it around her face. She
wore rimless glasses, prisms to amplify her beauty. Her pale lips opened, ready to speak, but
she closed them again and chose instead to meet his gaze. He rose and held the necklace up in
his hand, then let it fall back down. He lost himself in her glowing eyes.

“Perfect.” he said.

They stood there in the gathering twilight, a fusion of light and darkness.
 80

Chapter 16 - The Body of William Morris

The living stood in a solemn circle around the dead. He had been called William Morris. Now

he was no long William Morris, but an empty husk that once served as a vessel for the soul

called William Morris. That body had been through more than any body should be able to.

Those eyes had captured and recorded more images than any eye should capture.

That body had been created forty-four years ago in a small town in Delaware. It had come

from the body of one who lived and worked in the fabric factory. After eighteen years of

existence, it had travelled. It had travelled across the country to Washington, then Idaho. After

twenty-two years of existence, it had joined other bodies in a great conglomeration of bodies

known as the army. It had held a gun and pulled the trigger of that gun, freeing other souls

from other bodies in what had been called “repression of resistance,” a thinly masked

euphemism. After thirty-three years of existence, it had travelled to Luna, where it had been

poked and prodded and filled with chemicals. It had changed, it had grown. It was able to lift

giant objects and jump towering heights. Then it had travelled to Alaska, then to Los Diablos,

where it lay now.

It was covered in scars, some from bullets, others from needles, others from knives. It

glistened dully in the light rain that fell among the group gathered there. The body that William

Morris once inhabited lay still, at peace.

A woman stepped forward from the crown and bent to his forehead. She kissed it lightly

and a tear fell on his face, joining in the pools of water that gathered there. She caressed his

familiar face, feeling the scars and imperfections that had made it what it was. Deep into the
 81

blue eyes she gazed, searching for something she had lost, but it was gone. She stepped back

and stared into the sky. She found what she was looking for and bowed her head in silence.

The body was lowered into the cold ground and covered with shovelfuls of dirt.
 82

Into the Fog

Race hate isn't human nature; race hate is the abandonment of human nature.

~ Orson Welles
 83

Chapter 17 - Prologue

They stood in the small assembly, staring at the body of

the man they had once known. The flames rose high into the sky,
his spirit already gone. They were all companions, fellow warriors
in the struggle they fought every day.

A woman stood, gazing at the burning corpses. One she

had hardly known, the other, she knew, but could not remember
from where or when. His face haunted her dreams, yet she had
never met him until hours before his death. For some reason, she
wept, but she knew not why. She stared deep into his face. Then
she recognized him. Where had it started? She looked back into
her past, beyond the war, beyond the sad stories of friends
forever lost, beyond the haze that clouded her history. She
remembered the day it had all started.
 84

Chapter 18 - The Death of Innocence

All things truly wicked start from an innocence

~Ernest Hemingway

Jasmine stared out the window, eyes dead and ears deaf to the static, blaring day and night.
The waves, lapping. The wind, blowing. The soft hum of the dehumidifier.

“Dinner in five minutes,” said the voice in her head. The voice lived there, yet it was
elsewhere, being broadcast all over Gaia. In everyone’s mind there lived the silent voice. It was
a computer chip, implanted at birth, the wire antenna that doubled as a port interface dangling
from it to her shoulders. Her boyish haircut scarcely concealed the chip, but she was not
ashamed of it as were those who wore their hair long to avoid displaying the chip. “Dinner in
five minutes.” It repeated. She sighed.

She sat down silently, her brother and parents joining her at the table. There were no
questions because they already knew what she had been doing. Her schoolwork had been
monitored, her entire life watched and scrutinized for signs of treachery. She stuck an IV needle
into the small metal opening on her left arm. Vitamins flowed through the tube into her
bloodstream as her right arm ate the small meal that only served a purpose in tradition.

Dinner was over. She logged onto her computer and flipped to her history lesson.

A.D. 2700

Global warming causes the oceans to rise.

A.D. 2708

San Francisco and other west coast cities disappear.

The rest of the lesson covered the events leading up to the current year, now 2726. She
looked out the windows, her gaze reaching to what had once been the Sacramento River valley.
Now it was a vast inland sea, the opposite mountains a chain of islands protruding from the
water like the mandibles of a giant animal.
 85

It was raining. It always was. No one knew for years how much water really was on Gaia, yet
the nuclear Firestorm had uncovered deposits of water deep beneath Gaia’s surface. Now,
toxified rain falling continually, so much water was present no one cared to drink anymore.
Maybe a cup a day was all one needed. Fog covered the land like a cotton sheet, white masses
carpeting the entire world. For Jasmine, life had always been like this. The sky never changed its
somber hue; the clouds never broke to show the clear blue of day. Jasmine paused in a brief
moment, and with clear blue eyes, stared into the fog.

Los Diablos was a sorry place. Buildings lay in ruin. Great monuments to the folly of man
forever destroyed. In the alleys and darknesses lurked demons, shadows of men undone, their
lives destroyed. Their hair was long, their teeth jagged and broken from eating the bones of the
fallen. They spoke in low, guttural tones, a language reminiscent of English, yet so twisted from
its original form. Yet aside from the death that was so omnipresent in this city, something was
happening. The Firestorm had changed something. In Los Diablos, the fallout from the
holocaust had affected these men in a way it had nowhere else…. yet. Mutations ran rampant
among the population, some for good, others for evil. Many of the mutations destroyed the
victim, disintegrating them into nothingness, a carnal remnant of their former self. These were
the demons. Others it gave power to, superhuman abilities beyond reckoning. These were the
devils. The spectre, Enigma, could hide himself at anytime. The flame called Teo burned with an
inner fire. The death named Xerio killed at the touch of a finger. The rest of the world feared
this city, the mutants, the ghouls living within it. They did not distinguish between the demons
and those who still retained their soul, the mutants, the devils. Quarantining the city, they
wished to destroy all the freaks forever. By doing so, they signed the warrant for their death.

Jasmine turned away from the window and stared back at the screen. The screen stood
there, giving off an incandescent glow. She stared at it, eyes glazing over as she stared. Her
stomach started to ache and she felt nauseous. Her throat locked and she couldn’t breathe. The
inside of her throat burned with a sensation like every one of her nerves had been set on fire.
She keeled over, unconscious.

As she came to, everything was dark. She then became aware of her eyelids as they slid
open. Her parents stood over her, eyes wide in alarm. She shook her head to clear the dizziness
 86

and stared. She tried to rise, but she couldn’t. Her arms and legs were paralyzed. She lifted an
arm to her mother and tried to rise, but her arm passed through her mother’s body. She stared
as if she was in a dream and tried again, but with the same results. Her parents stepped back
and she fell back into a daze.

She awoke yet again to the sound of heavy boots, a sound that sent chills down her spine.
She opened her eyes again and found that the fatigue had vanished. They came.

They were the Disinfectors, agents of humanity, come to cleanse homes from the plague
that had invaded the world. When the disease first struck, They were organized to fight it.
Stories of Their brutality in suppressing the outbreak were legendary. When the residents of
homes reported strange people with abnormalities beyond belief, They were called in. Every
family feared Them; every person lived in terror of Them coming.

Jasmine turned her head as a Disinfector burst in the door, donned in his white suit,
weapon in his hands. Jasmine jumped up and landed on the floor. She ran to the other door,
yet she couldn’t stop herself as she flew through it as if it did not exist. She leapt out the
window, yet it did not shatter as she passed through. Her airborne body flew into the cold sea
and she started to swim for her life. She looked up at the cliff, but the Disinfector just stood
there, staring down at the water.

Los Diablos was restless. Los diablos were restless. Every day the horde pushed from their
hiding places and out into the rest of the world, yet not so far that the Disinfectors patrolling
the outskirts suspected what was coming. The unwilling devils eliminated the soulless white
demons efficiently, showing no remorse in their euthanasia.

Xerio was a scout. Every day he left the city on a mission to survey the surrounding area.
Enigma accompanied him on his reconnaissance missions, taking on the dangerous
 87

assignments, his invisibility protecting him from detection. Now they approached the “clean
zone,” the city limits, where the guards patrolled the fences.

Xerio crept forward toward the guard. “Watch me,” he whispered to Enigma.

Enigma nodded his silent agreement. Xerio ran through the shadows, his padded feet
noiselessly traversing the grass. With a soft grunt, he leaped onto the Disinfector and rendered
him useless, his deadly touch destroying the nerve relays in the guard's mind. Enigma ran to
meet Xerio. He pulled a “fence breacher,” a device for parting the close-knit mesh of the
barrier, out of his pack. With practiced skill, he separated the weave of wires as he had done
dozens of times, let Xerio pass, slipped through himself, and let the fence close behind him.
Xerio and he ran quickly to the hilltop and stared down at the sight before their eyes.

An army of Disinfectors marched on them, their white suits glowing in the moonlight. Xerio
nodded to Enigma and headed back to the city. Enigma disappeared, his mutated body bending
the light around him. He dashed down the hill, not a sound marking his progress. He slyly crept
down into the ranks of the white suits, reached the commander of the legion and walked
alongside him, listening.

“Take your men around to the north side, I'll come from the south, as planned. Take the
majority of your men through the main streets, but check for any alleys or side-streets where
they might be hiding. By tomorrow the demons won't know what hit them.” Enigma had heard
all he needed. He ran away and into the city. Xerio had already stirred the population into
action, and the mutants were packing their few remaining belongings. Enigma reported his
findings to Xerio.

“People!” Xerio shouted. The crowd's fury decreased in intensity as Xerio addressed them.
“The Disinfectors are heading in on us from both north and south. Our only hope is to act
sensibly and logically. Our scouts have reported that the seawall has several tunnels leading up
it to a mountain range. We must reach those tunnels by daybreak. Take nothing, save
absolutely irreplaceable items. Leave when you are ready. Enigma and I will leave with the last
of you. Let's go!” The crowd did not cheer, but resumed their focused packing, a few taking
 88

several items out of their cloth bags. In less than an hour, Xerio and Enigma watched their city
disappear into the darkness of the night as they headed for the seawall.

The seawall was constructed when the citizens of Los Diablos first realized the danger that
they were in from the rising ocean. Reaching almost a thousand feet in height, this massive
construction would have been a majestic monument, but for the emergency situation it was
erected in. However, as majestic as this structure was, it carried death with it.

After the firestorm, nuclear fallout spread over the oceans. The radioactive particles sunk
into the depression created by the seawall and concentrated in the city of Los Angeles. It
became a hellhole, a prison for the millions of the people trapped inside. Those millions had
dwindled into thousands, then hundreds, as the disease struck this monstrous city. None had
survived unscathed. The city of angels had become the city of devils.

Enigma pulled a pocket-sized pair of binoculars out of his coat and peered through them at
the top of the seawall. He could already see the first mutants making their way over the edge.
He turned around for one last look at the city, yet all he saw was an army of white advancing on
their sorry party.

“Run!” he yelled.

She crawled out of the water, hair hanging in sorry threads around her head. She coughed
once, twice now, then collapsed onto the rocky island in the middle of nowhere.

Hours later, she woke up and crawled on her hands and knees to a sitting position. She
pushed the matted hair out of her eyes and gazed around her. The sun was now setting over
the ocean, and in the twilight she could make out nothing but water for miles. She sighed
resignedly and then began to sob uncontrollably.

Enigma ran as fast as he could, jumping over others, shoving, not thinking of anyone beside
himself in his mad rush to safety. Xerio stood where he was, letting the other mutants pass him
 89

as they willed. He ran towards the disinfectors, arms flailing, screaming at the top of his lungs.
He was a man possessed, hitting away the white-robed men, killing them instantly. Focused on
subduing Xerio, the army stopped as the deadly cloud bought the other mutants precious time.
Enigma reached the ladders and turned around. Behind him, he could not see Xerio, his body
engulfed by the disinfectors.

He had known Xerio for all of his life that he could remember. Xerio was a mentor, a
counselor, but more importantly, a friend. They had evaded the humans dozens of times, each
taking great risks among themselves for the other. This time, Xerio was giving his life in order to
save Enigma. He wiped away the tears, bit his lip to numb the pain and grabbed the rungs of
the ladder, climbing. With every step taking him farther away from the world he had known all
his life and the friend who gave his to save him, his nerves burned with pain, tears streamed
down his face. He reached the top and collapsed onto the metal platform, his grief and physical
weariness pulling him down.

He awoke hours later, still on the metal platform, a small puddle beneath his face. He stood
up and looked around. In front of him was a disinfector vessel, white-suited apparitions
ascending into it. He strolled over to the ship, wondering why they had not seen him. He tried
to think why they would have avoided him. It was like they hadn’t even known he was there.
Then he realized that he had been invisible. He followed the last Disinfector into the ship as the
door closed behind him.
 90

Chapter 19 - The Workings of Fate

How a person masters his fate is more
important than what his fate is

~Wilhelm von Humboldt

It was morning. Jasmine looked out across the horizon. At the very edge of her vision, she
could see a ship, whiter than the glare of the sun behind her. It was coming toward her, and she
waved at it, hoping for a ride. In a matter of minutes, it reached her. The vessel lowered its
landing ramp and a white-suited man walked out. She recoiled in shock at the sight of the
Disinfector. Trying to hide her disgust, she smiled at the man.

“This is an odd place for someone like you to be,” he said. “Need a ride?”

She nodded, knowing it was the only way she had a chance to survive. They boarded the
ship and the door shut behind them. On board were dozens of the same white-suited men that
had come for her yesterday. She tried to hide her trembling as she passed them. They smiled
and nodded their greetings. The man who came out, apparently the captain, led her into a small
room filled with electronics. He took a small wand and connected it to the antenna hanging
from the chip below her ear. There was a beep as it made its reading, then he put it down and
looked at the readout. His eyes opened in alarm. ---Subject scheduled for disinfection, escaped.
Terminate---

He spun around, pulling a gun out of his holster, but she was gone. He hunted through the
room frantically, searching for her. He dashed out of the room and into the room below,
beckoning to a group of Disinfectors for them to follow him. She stood there in the room,
surprised. She tried to osmose through the wall behind her, but couldn’t, so she opened the
door and rushed inside, locking it. He pulled a key out of his pocket, inserted in the lock and
opened the door. He stepped through it, shutting it behind him. She tried to run through the
nearest wall, but was blocked with a shock.

“Not so easy now,” he said to her, lips twisting in a diabolic grin. “This room is sealed from
your little tricks. Now, come here.” She backed up as far as she could, then shuddered, as if
 91

something had run into her. He advanced toward her. His head twisted around and his jaw
shattered, hit by an invisible force. The troopers looked shocked and headed for the door, but
met a volley of invisible blows as they fumbled for the lock. Resounding sounds of flesh meeting
flesh reverberated through the small room. When they all lay dead or unconscious, a man
materialized in front of Jasmine. She stood there, not knowing what to think.

“You’re…you’re one of those mutants…”she said, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded. “And so are you. Stay here. He became invisible again, the door opened, closed
and she was alone yet again.

He re-entered the room carrying a tray, covered with pastries and fruit, apparently the
Disinfector’s breakfast. He offered it to her and then sat down.

“Where are the soldiers?” she asked.

“Sleeping,” he responded. “So, what’s your story?”

She finished chewing and gave a wry smile. “I don’t know. One day I was living a normal life.
I was a senior in high school, then…I got a headache, passed out, and the Disinfectors have
been after me ever since. Do you know what happened?”

He pursed his lips. “Yes.”

“What?”

“The Disinfectors only come when someone has been struck with the Kismet. Their job is to
cleanse the Kismet, though they can never eradicate it. The Kismet is what we call the effects of
the radiation, though in truth it is not a disease. The firestorm spread radiation all over Gaia,
especially in Los Diablos.” He hung his head and his eyes seemed ready to cry. “When the
Kismet first came to Los Diablos, the…” he stopped, looking for the right words. “People died in
the streets. In places, you couldn’t walk through the piles of bodies. There had been twelve
million people in Los Diablos. In a matter of weeks, the two thousand or so of us were all that
were left. I was only two at the time, I was told all this by my…adoptive parents.”

Jasmine looked at him with sorrow. “What’s your story? Where did you come from?”
 92

“I don’t really know,” he replied. “The memories in my head only reach back to about six
years ago. I know from friends that I lived in Los Angeles before the Firestorm, but I don’t know
much about my past.” He shook his head and rose to his feet. Opening the door, he stared out
onto the empty deck of the ship, then turned around. “Good night,” he said.

“Good night.”

The boat drifted during the night, heading in a path unknown to anyone. In reality, it was
headed toward what was once Washington. During the night, it appeared on the radar to
another Disinfector vessel.

“Disinfector one-one-nine,” it hailed. “Disinfector one-one-nine, come in. This is Disinfector

three-eight-seven.”

Enigma heard the blare over the radio. He leapt to his feet and picked up the comm. “Roger
that, Disinfector three-eight-seven, this is Disinfector one-one-nine.” He winced, hoping they
would buy his false response.

“I don’t see any crew on deck, one-one-nine. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problems on board,” Enigma responded.

“Well, I’m reading that you don’t have anyone onboard beside yourself. I’m going to send a
crew over.”

Enigma frowned. “Roger that, we’ll be ready for you.”

“Over and out,” the other ship responded.

Enigma paced the floor, distraught. He dashed down to wake Jasmine. She stirred slowly,
sleepily.

“Get up,” he said urgently. “Disinfectors are coming aboard in a few minutes. We’ve just
been hailed.”

She immediately rose. “What about when they find I’m wanted?” she asked. They would
now definitely be tracking her chip’s radio signal now.
 93

Enigma thought for a moment. He left the room for several seconds and came back with a
syringe. “Stay still.” He inserted the needle next to the chip next to her ear, then depressed the
plunger. She winced briefly, then was calm. He took a small knife and severed a small cord.
Even through the anesthetics, she could feel some of the pain and winced. He retrieved an
electronic device from his pocket and attached it to the spot where the wire used to be. The
information downloaded from the small device and into the microchip. In a matter of seconds,
the transfer was done and he removed the device. Yanking the cord that went from the chip
into an antenna on her back, he retrieved another small chip from a small box and plugged it in
between the cord and the chip. He put his tools away and checked the connections one last
time.

“You’re good to go,” he said.

He disappeared and ran up the walkway to the deck. The ship was still several miles off and
he began to make preparations. Several minutes passed without event and Jasmine began to
wonder if the ships had decided not to pursue them. Then she felt a sudden impact that rocked
the ship from bow to stern. She stood up and walked toward the door. As she put her hand on
it, she heard footsteps coming from the deck. They passed over her, stopped, then came down
towards her. She reached toward the wall and slipped through it as the door opened into the
small room, the force field now down. The soldiers entered the room, looked around, and left.
She re-entered the room, locked the door and sat, waiting for any sound.

Enigma prowled around the ship, alert for the sound of heavy footsteps, the sound of
approaching enemies. He felt vibrations in the metal plating and stood upright with
attentiveness. He pulled a small knife from a pouch on his jacket and approached the sound.
Silently, he covered the disinfector's mouth to muffle the sound and slit his throat. Enigma
caught the body and laid it down on the floor softly. He prowled off silently to find any other
disinfectors that scoured the ship. He saw the white suits from a distance and approached them
with caution. He pulled a gun from the grasp of the disinfector and brought the butt down on
his skull. Firing short bursts, he punctured the hearts of the remaining few with eerie accuracy.
Dragging the bodies to the mess hall, he locked them in the freezer and headed down to the
room where Jasmine was waiting.
 94

“It's alright,” he said. “they're gone, but we need to find somewhere to go before they find
what happened. The ship they came from drifted off after the disinfectors dismounted, but I
don't know why.” They heard a muffled explosion in the distance, but ignored it.

“Doesn’t it bother you that they just left without warning?”

“Yes. It does, but I don’t have the luxury of worry. Let’s get going.” He opened the door for
her, followed her out, and shut it behind him. “our best chance would be the lifeboats. They’re
equipped with outboard motors and we can make for a safehold without attracting attention.”
He leapt into the lifeboat and after she had followed, let the ropes holding them up out, the
boat gently landing in the water. He gunned the engine and the small craft sped off into the
growing darkness.

Midnight came. The fog obscured even the stars overhead. Enigma heard the whine of a
cruiser engine over the hum of the lifeboat as he awoke. He peered around himself into the fog,
but he could see nothing. He killed the engine and let the boat drift. As he turned around to see
where the craft was heading, a white wall loomed before him. The whine grew louder. He woke
Jasmine. Silently, he motioned toward the disinfector craft. Her eyes opened wide in horror as
she looked at him. He shook his head, not knowing what to do. Above the rail of the ship, he
saw two glowing red spots. Jasmine pointed. They waited, their small boat softly hitting the
massive body of the cruiser. The boat shuddered, an impact from below sending tremors
through the small craft. Enigma peered into the water. A dark shape passed under their boat.
He looked over the other side and, in a shower of droplets, a creature exploded out of the
water. It did several somersaults in mid air, and Enigma could only briefly catch its face before it
landed in the water on the other side of the boat. In the boat a rope landed, the end of which
Enigma couldn’t make out. A glowing figure slid down the rope into the boat.

“Greetings, friends,” it said.

Enigma looked at it cautiously, still cowering on the floor of the boat.

“Are you not a friend?” it asked. “are you not an outcast from society like us?”

Enigma still did not speak or move.

 95

“Are you not a mutant like us?”

 96

Chapter 20 - Inevitability of Society

We have really lost in our society the sense of the
sacredness of life.

~Basil Hume

The supreme Arbiter pounded the gavel.

“The panel now recognizes Edward Bullicci, lead researcher of genetic modifications in
Hungary.”

A small, frail man stood up in the midst of the hundreds of scientists. He was dressed in
formal attire, a suit and tie, yet he looked strangely uneasy in his clothes. Glasses rested on his
nose, making his gray eyes appear larger and even deader than they were. William Bullicci was
an interesting character. One of the most respected researchers in the field, he seemed to have
infinite resources, yet no one knew where they came from. The crowd wondered if today he
would divulge some of his secrets to the world.

He spoke in a regal voice. “In my independent researching of the growing problem, I have
found several findings that may, in fact, change the minds of the panel. Please listen with open
minds, gentlemen, even though my findings can be confirmed with many other researchers.”
He looked up for approval.

“Continue.” The Arbiter nodded.

“In my research, I have, in fact been able to determine the future outcome of the genetic
mutations plaguing the planet. As you assuredly already know, they are caused by a rare
isotope found in the lunar material around the planet, stemming from the genetic testing and
nuclear facilities on the moon built years ago. As I’m sure you’re aware, the isotope causes
genetic anomalies. It affects the reproductive systems of the recipient, passing on the disease
to the next generation. The symptoms are marked by abnormally high intelligence factors and
near-inhuman physical factors.” He scratched behind his ear. “This was only discovered after
the first few hundred cases of the manifestation of the biological material found in the
remnants of the Lunar catastrophe. In fact gentlemen, every single one of you carries this
 97

isotope. The samples were much more widespread than our first reports indicated. It affects
chromosomes and therefore it has a chance of spreading down generations, and it is dominant,
not recessive. This means that, in this case, 65 percent of the next generation will have this
disease. Sending ‘disinfectors’ to ‘cleanse’ the world is useless. The more humanity grows, the
more of us you will breed. You will be outnumbered.” The Arbiter pounded his gavel to restore
order as the committee rose in volume.

“Mr. Bullicci, this panel recognizes your findings, with one point of examination.”

Bullicci nodded. “Continue.”

“Did you say ‘us’?”

He nodded. “Arbiters, gentlemen, in fact, the rest of the world take note. We ‘mutants’ are
not diseased. We have the same genes as all of you. The isotope manifests itself in many forms,
some fantastic, others inconsequential. You cannot cleanse us; you cannot get rid of us. We are
on Gaia to stay.”

“Is that all you have to say?” the Arbiter asked.

“It is.” Bullicci sat down.

The Arbiter took a look at a piece of paper sitting on his desk.

“The panel now recognizes Fredrick Friedshen of the Hamburg Medical Institute.”

Another man stood up, a broad-shouldered man, about six and a half feet tall. “In light of
my colleague’s announcement, I would like to modify my statement a bit.”

“Feel free to.”

“As Mr. Bullicci has just stated, we have discovered the cause of this ‘disease.’ However, as
he mistakenly believes, it is not without a cure. There is, in fact, a ‘counter-isotope,’ if you will,
that, with the panel’s permission, can be released into the atmosphere and negates the current
radiation. It does not affect persons who have already mutated, nor does it prevent their genes
from being passed on. It will only make the unaffected humans ‘normal’ again.”
 98

“What about the remaining mutants? What happens to them?” Austria’s representative
asked.

“If we let them reproduce, they will spread unchecked through our world. The only way to
truly eradicate this disease,” he fumbled in his coat. “Is to eradicate them, starting here,” he
withdrew a stockless Beretta model 12e, a powerful SMG, from his jacket. “and now.”

The audience sat back in horror. The supreme Arbiter pounded his gavel. “Silence, silence.
Violence will not solve this problem.”

Fredrick shifted his aim to the Arbiter. “And what do you know, old man? Have you seen the
slow spread of these demons into our society? Have you seen radiation and the experiments of
‘scientists’ eat away human flesh, transforming good, honest men into these malices, these
threats to humanity that we see here? Have you?”

The Arbiter sputtered. “I…” he tried to buy time while fumbling for the button to call the
guards into the room.

The staccato sound of a chain of bullets breaking the sound barrier filled the room. The
Arbiter slumped in his seat. The murder stepped up to the platform and bent his head near the
dying man’s ear.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference anyway, old man.” Fredrick whispered to the body of
the dead Arbiter. He motioned to the guards standing at the door. They shouldered their rifles
at the crowd. Bullicci leapt in the air. The guards fired at him, but he was too quick.
Materializing, dematerializing, rematerializing, he shot around the room, incapacitating the
guards who were now firing madly without concern for aim. Fredrick sprayed bullets at Bullicci,
but they hit thin air as the mutant eliminated the guards. Bullicci landed on Fredrick’s chest, a
wave of his hand dismissing the gun from Fredrick’s grasp.

“We’ll always be here, whether you want us to be or not,” he said, scorn and contempt
showing on his face. He raised his fist to punch Fredrick, but thought better of it and dashed out
the door, the stunned and injured audience watching in amazement.
 99

He had a shadowy past and a dark future. He was their best commander, but no one knew
where he had come or even if would stay another day. They said he was born in Britain, they
thought he was in his late thirties, they revered him as a god.

Kevin Heathcliffe was the commander of the third infantry regiment. At six feet and three
inches tall, he was an imposing figure, his clear hazel eyes burning with a zealous fire from
within. He was broad-shouldered, well-muscled, yet sported a small paunch, evidence of the
lack of warfare he had seen in the past few months. His military cropped hair was a light
orange. He gazed upon the structure in wonder. “What is it?” he asked his friend and technical
inspector, William Thompson.

“It’s mechanized infantry. We call it a mech for short. In layman’s terms, it’s a gun platform
that moves wherever you want. You sit in the cockpit and control every aspect of its motion.
Here, get in it and tell me what you think, sir.” Kevin climbed into the cockpit and pressed the
red “hatch control” button. The shell slammed shut with a hiss and steam as the airlock sealed
him in. Over the radio he heard the instructor’s voice. “Buckle the straps at your feet around
your legs. Those will control the movement of the vehicle. The joysticks are arm control and the
triggers fire the hand-mounted weapons. The missile and jump-jet controls are self-
explanatory.” Kevin laced himself in and said,

“What do I do now?”

“Press the green ‘coordinate’ button. It will set up your leg controls for movement,”
Thompson said. Kevin followed orders and felt the mech shift beneath his body. It then sat still.
He raised his right leg. The mech shifted balance to the left. He pushed his leg forward and set it
down. The mech took a step forward. He lifted his leg again, this time pushing it back and
setting it down. The mech took a step backward. He lifted his left leg, applied pressure to the
right side of the harness and set it down. The mech turned to the right.

“What’s the max speed on these things?” he asked.

“They can get up to 80 miles an hour, but you need incredible concentration and
coordination to do that.” Thompson stated.
 100

“I’d guess so,” Kevin replied. “you said something about jump jets. What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s a feature we haven’t developed fully, but we hope to finish in the near future.
They allow you to leap about eighty feet in the air. It’s used primarily to see further, but combat
uses are also kept in mind.” Kevin pushed the hatch control button again and the harnesses
popped off his legs and the hatch opened again with a hiss of steam. He climbed down from the
machine and straightened his back with a push of his fingers and a pop of his spine.

“So, how do these things work? I’m not sure I understand the physics keeping this machine
upright.”

The technician assumed a scholarly mood. “The stabilization is gyroscopic. We’ve got small
but powerful gyroscopes at critical locations around the vehicle. It’s powered by a fusion
reactor. Our scientists figured out how to contain one inside a 4x4 block recently, so we figured
this would be a good application. The guns run directly off of that. We have enough power to
use Einstein’s theory and actually create the bullets from energy.”

“So how many are we building of these?”

“As many as we need. Anything to kill the mutants, right?” the tech slapped Kevin on the
back.

Kevin forced himself to smile. “Right.”

“Let’s go get a beer.”

Sheets of freezing, all-permeating rain fell from the sky, leaving no surface dry. Bolts of
lightning rent the sky, cataclysmic thunder closing the gap left by the streaks of energy. Enigma
stepped away from the window and turned to the mutant who had landed on their boat hours
previous.

“So do we know who’s left?” he asked

 101

“For all we know, the mutants on this boat are the only survivors of our race. All that made
it out of Los Diablos perished at the hand of Disinfectors after trying to run. We have no word
from any news network to the contrary. Disinfector channels are dead.”

“Do you know why?”

“We think it’s because of the conference being held in Geneva today. There was to be a
summit on the Kismet, on its future repercussions. Everyone is talking about it. I haven’t heard
anything about the results yet.”

The radio beeped four times, then went silent. Everyone in the room looked toward it.

“That’s the signal that a broadcast is about to start,” a mutant said.

Enigma listened carefully through the static and interference.

“….today….world was shocked at…..ference when a scien…..overed the future of

the….ations. Moments later….ientist revealed a….gun, killing….iter and wound….others. He
sustained…ury, but the mutant….ist killed the….uards. We have….on the judgement of…..biter is
dead. More in 30….utes.” Then there was silence.

“The Arbiter dead…” one broke the silence.

“Discovering the future of the mutations…” another wondered.

Enigma was puzzled. “Where did the mutant scientist come from?”

“More importantly, where did he go?” asked Jasmine. “If we can find where he went, we
may find the other mutants.”

Enigma walked over to a computer panel and tapped the spacebar. The screen lit up. He
navigated his way to the tracking screen.

“Of all in attendance, the one not accounted for is a William Bullicci. Entering this in the
mutant record database indicated that his tracker’s last signal came from here,” he pointed to
the location on the screen. “somewhere in the far north of France. Judging by his path, the
closest area not occupied by the disinfectors is in the outskirts of London. Let’s start there.”
 102

Kevin laughed and clinked mugs with Thompson.

“That was incredible,” he laughed as he took a swig of ale. “Good times, good times.”

Thompson nodded. “That was before all this, before the war. Before these damned…” he
fumbled for the right word. “devils.”

Kevin stared into his mug. “You know, I don’t think they’re all that bad.”

Thompson stared at him. “You alright?”

Kevin nodded. “I’m fine, just a little drunk. Why?”

“You’ve always hated the mutants. What got into you?”

“I don’t know. It just seems…maybe they’re right. Maybe they are something new, not the
diseased freaks we think they are.” He shook his head and took a swig of ale.

Enigma and Jasmine walked along the Thames alone in silence, neither able to say a word to
the other, yet wishing to. For all his experiences, Enigma had never been in this situation
before. His life had been hate- and death- centric, and this was love and life.

Bullicci stood before the crowd gathered in what was once all the glory of Notre Dame
Cathedral, the stone now cracked, the vaulted roof broken, holes in the majestic arches torn by
tremors in the earth. Light streamed in through the gaps, tangled ivy cascaded down from
above.

“We are not mutants,” he was saying in a regal voice, one unfit for such a lowly setting. “We
are not diseased freaks, as they call us. We are not a sickness to be destroyed or a plague to be
conquered. Yet we are not human. We are not the race that built this Cathedral. We are not the
race that destroyed this world. We are not everything that they call us, and yet we are. We are
diseased, yet we are whole. We are dying, and yet we live. We are strange, and yet we are
normal. In truth, friends, we are a new race, one not bound by the prejudices of millennia past.
We are free from the responsibilities of death that humans are bound to. We are not human,
yet we are not animal. We are Maen, we are Humaankind, a new race, a new people upon this
 103

old earth. We must endeavor to live as a people, even if to do so, we must kill. The humans will
hate us, yet we must kill that hate. Our enemy is not humanity; it is the hate of humanity. We
must not destroy humans, but we must destroy their malice. Maen, we must gather with
unified purpose and do what is necessary to take what is ours to further this world for
humankind and humaankind alike!”

The crowd erupted into applause and Bullicci stepped down from the podium.

Enigma and Jasmine watched from the back of the cathedral. Enigma stepped forward,
walking toward Bullicci, who was now shaking the hands of several of the humaen observers.
Enigma shook Bullicci’s hand, as did Jasmine.

“I’d like to talk with you afterwards,” he said.

“Anything for a fellow maan,” Bullicci smiled. Enigma nodded and walked away.

“So, is this all that remain of ‘humaankind’?” Enigma asked.

Bullicci smiled. “Heavens, no. This is but one colony, albeit the largest, of the humaan
movement. There are hundreds of other colonies around the globe, all part of the humaan
network. The speech you just heard was broadcast all around the world on encrypted channels
to the humaan of the world.”

Jasmine was surprised. “I thought Los Diablos was the only place in the world where we
existed.”

Bullicci laughed. “No, no. The disease exists in every human on Gaia. Los Diablos was the
first place where the disease manifested itself, primarily because of the high radiation
concentration caused by the low elevation. However, because of the nuclear fallout, the effects
have spread everywhere in the world and not a person has been left unscathed. Well, not for
much longer, but nonetheless…” he thought for a moment. “Here, you’re a little behind on all
this. Let me update you.”
 104

Enigma and Jasmine listened intently as William Bullicci explained the science behind this
strange and wonderful curse.

“So you’re saying that, in essence, every human on Gaia has this isotope in them, and it is
only a matter of time before maen outnumber men?” Enigma asked.

“Uninhibited, yes. However, the man who tried to stop me at the summit has discovered a
cure for it, and once every human has received this cure, the ratio will stay the same.
Unfortunately, what he does not know, and will ultimately be his undoing, is that the ‘cure’ has
a 50 percent lethality chance. This means that half of the humans who receive this hell’s angel
will die from it. It is, as of yet, unknown whether or not the human body, in this advanced state
of the plague, can survive without the isotope, as it may genetically modify the other
chromosomes to make the body rely on it. If it does rely on it, the effects may range anywhere
from mild headaches to…” he stopped and bit his lip.

“To what?” Jasmine asked.

“To the extinction of the human race.”

Jasmine showered in a small but well-furnished underground room and dressed for bed. As
she was about to slip under the covers and go to sleep, she heard a knock at the door. She rose
and looked through the small hole in the door at the stubbled face of Enigma. She unlocked the
heavy door and swung it open. He looked abashed and did his best to keep his gaze on her face.

“Is this not a good time?” he asked. “I can come back.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. Come in.” He stepped inside the small room and looked
around. A table lamp threw shadows around the dim room, the rock walls plastered to keep a
sense of hospitability.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“Well, I wanted to tell you something. I’m…” he paused. “I’m thinking about starting again.”
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“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen things and done things in the last six years that no one should have to live with
the memory of. I have nightmares and my every waking moment is plagued with visions of hell.
I want to get my memory wiped, except for a few key things. The other thing you needed to
know is that I’m leaving soon and I probably won’t ever be back here. The thing I needed to ask
you about is if you wanted me to remember you. I don’t want you worrying and wondering if
I’m thinking about you. I don’t want either of us to have to the responsibility of being attached
to someone they might never see again.”

Jasmine sat down on the bed, her mind spinning. She and Enigma had grown close during
the few weeks they had known each other, but she never expected this. She looked up at his
clear sapphire eyes. Rising, she put her arms around him and hung there, supported by his
hands. Both were silent as they considered the implications. She pulled her head back and
looked back at his face. She studied it for, as far as she knew, the last time.

“I don’t know an easy way, but for both our sakes, we have to agree to go our separate
ways. “She leaned forward and their lips met, each savoring the kiss, knowing that it was a
silent farewell.
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Chapter 21 - The Heroism of Betrayal

Heroes never die. They live on forever in the hearts
and minds of those who would follow in their
footsteps

~Emily Potter

Kevin’s alarm went off in his ear around two in the morning. He sat bolt upright and jumped
into his fatigues. Shaking the other maen, for that was what they were, he pulled his Glock from
its holster and checked the ammo. He screwed a silencer onto the barrel and pulled his combat
knife from its position on his locker. The other maen were up and dressed now. They put their
hands together in a symbol of brotherhood.

“For Gaia,” Kevin said.

“For Gaia,” They echoed. They dismissed, each to his mech. Kevin dashed to his and climbed
up the ladder. He sat down and pulled the belt across his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he heard a voice ask.

Thompson, he thought. Damn you, I didn’t want to do this.

“You shouldn’t have said that about the mutants, you know.”

Kevin kept silent.

“You’re one of them now, aren’t you? You’ve become one of the devils, the monsters.
What’s your curse?”

“Thompson, leave. I don’t want to do this.”

“What are you going to do? Shoot me? You’re going to shoot your friend, your battle
buddy? Fine. Do it. If you don’t, you can’t leave.”

Kevin bit his lip and closed his eyes. “You don’t have to be a part of the hate, Thompson.
You don’t have to give in to the fear and prejudice. You know you’re better than that. We don’t
want to hurt you.”
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“You aren’t human anymore, Kevin, you aren’t what you used to be. You’re a monster like
them.”

“If there’s a monster here, it’s not the one who’s a victim of a random incident that could
happen to anyone. It’s the one who preys on the innocent, the unknowing. It’s the one who kills
out of blind malice. Thompson, you’ve become the monster.”

Thompson lifted his radio to his mouth. “Security, we…”

Kevin leaned out of the mech and aimed his Glock at Thompson. “I never wanted to do
this,” he said. “Goodbye, old friend.” He depressed the trigger. A projectile of lead escaped the
gun barrel, making a pop as it passed the sound barrier. Milliseconds later it entered
Thompson’s head as his mouth finished the word “traitor”. Kevin bit his lip and punched the
hatch button. He ran the mech toward the hangar bay doors, six other mechs following him, his
friends. Moments later, guards started to pour out of the doors on the sides of the hangar.
Kevin opened fire, hundreds of shells bursting forth from the heavy machine guns. Humans fell
left and right as the bullets tore through them. Reaching the exit. Kevin activated the jump jets
and took a massive leap toward the wilderness beyond, leaving behind the citadel of hate.

Enigma had slept restlessly. Nightmares haunted his every toss and turn. When he awoke,
he felt tired, not rejuvenated, as he should have been. He decided to take a walk, hoping to
clear his mind. He left Notre Dame and walked at a brisk pace through the ruined city of
London. Smoke still burned from bombs weeks ago. He stopped at a meadow and paused for
reflection. He stared at the sky, the birds flying amid the fumes rising to high heaven. The sky
was white, the fog thick to a measure it had never been before. He closed his eyes and hung his
head. Thoughts drifted through his mind.

“The extinction of the human race.” Bullicci’s words echoed in his head, the shock burning
his brain. He sat in silent repose.

The earth trembled with a might tremor. Enigma looked up at the monstrous machine. Out
of instinct, he turned invisible. Over the mech’s loudspeakers he heard.
 108

“Fellow maan, we are not here to hurt you.”

“How do I know that you’re a friend?” Enigma remained invisible.

“Say a random sentence.”

Enigma was baffled, but complied. “Maen are not…”

The mech cut him off. “Malicious, but wish peace.”

Enigma was shocked. “That’s exactly what I was going to say. How did you know that?”

“I have precognition. It is my curse and my gift. Will you take us to Bullicci?”

Enigma turned visible. “I will.”

“This better be good,” Bullicci said to an aide as he donned a bathrobe and left his room to
see what the commotion was about. He stepped out of the door. Maen had assembled in the
cathedral en masse to observe the situation. Enigma entered the massive doors of the
cathedral followed by massive machines, walkers covered with weapons, a cockpit above the
legs containing a person. The seven walkers stopped, and the hatch opened on the foremost. A
man got out and walked toward Bullicci. He kneeled before him.

“Kevin Heathcliffe, at your service.” He said.

“What are those things?” Bullicci asked Kevin.

“They call them mechs. Mechanized infantry, really. I was hoping you’d be able to recreate
them and use them for your purposes. They have a miniature fusion engine in them. That by
itself would be valuable.”

“What of humankind’s plans?”

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“They plan to launch a full-scale war against you. You need all the help you can get. I also
stole a number of blueprints for experimental warfare. I took the trouble of deleting their
copies of them, so these” he held up a thumb drive, “should be the only copies on Gaia.”

Bullicci took the drive from him. “We are forever indebted to you, Mr. Heathcliffe.” He
handed the drive to his aide. “Send this to our factory in Russia. I want these being fabricated
within the week.”

Jasmine was impressed at the efficiency of the maen. Within a matter of days, production
had begun on the mechanized infantry, the warsuits, the weapons for combating the humans.
Time flew by as more and more soldiers arrived at the London base. Thousands there were
now, arming themselves for the coming destruction. Enigma had joined Kevin’s squad of maen,
ready to be sent on patrol to Los Diablos. The thickening fog Enigma had noticed as a sign of the
water receding, the oceans evaporating into the atmosphere. Much of it was settling in the
upper atmosphere, yet the air became more and more humid as sea levels dropped around the
world. Finally, the Great War could begin. On land, on sea, in the air, Maen were ready for the
war against inhumanity.
 110

Chapter 22 - Regrettably
Let us make war, since evidently, you have
found peace intolerable

Publius Scipio Africanus

Enigma entered Bullicci’s room.

“Hi,” Bullicci said. “Want something?”

Enigma nodded. “I want to forget all this. I want a new memory.”

Bullicci frowned. “Why?”

“I have too much in my past that I don’t want to remember. I can’t keep some of the images
out of my mind. The transformation of my closest friends, the death of so many of them. I want
to forget all that. Can you do that? Is that possible?”

Bullicci nodded. “We do have the technology. What….kind of memory would you want?”

“I want the important stuff,” Enigma said. “I want to remember why I’m fighting, I want to
remember that I came from Los Diablos, and I want to remember the living hell it was, but I
don’t want any images left.”

“We can do that, but it might take a while and there might be side effects.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Today,” Bullicci said, “we witness the start of the greatest civil war that Gaia has ever seen.
From all over the world, maen gather here to fight humanity. We fight not because we desire it,
but out of necessity. To survive as a race, we must break free of our oppressors, we must find
our place on this earth, we must hold our ground. Today, we stand, we fight, and we will
conquer our rightful place on Gaia. Stand with me, Maen, in declaring this to the world: we will
not be exterminated like the plague you think we are. We will not die without showing you our
true worth. You will see, humanity, our resolve, our might, our will to live. We will show you
who we are. As maen, we stand together here today and declare, with one voice our creed. We
 111

are Maen!” The crowd chanted those words over and over again, proclaiming to the skies their
right to live.

Enigma, savoring the sight of the grand old building for the first time, watched from the
upper story of the cathedral, remembering all that he stood for. Looking down into the
cathedral, he saw a beautiful woman cross the courtyard, look up and pass. He thought would
like to meet her if he ever had a chance. He looked to the sky as jets shot overhead, the blast
ruffling his clothes. He closed the lid on his helmet and turned to board the waiting transport.
He stepped to meet Kevin and his new comrades.

Jasmine entered her small room, her mind as well cleared of the images and memories that
would haunt her. She knew she missed something, someone, but she couldn’t remember who.
She rose, opened the door and stepped out. She walked down the narrow hallway and into the
cathedral. The fog had settled again and she walked to the stream that had been the Thames.
She stared in the water for a moment, hopped across the brook, and, without knowing her
destination, headed into the fog.

Bullicci sat in his office, papers on his lap, more on his desk. He gazed at a small television
screen, a news station blaring reports from all over the world. He lifted a remote and turned it
off, staring at the door. What had he done? Was he sending these young maen to their death?
He had done his job, he had founded a new order. He lifted a handwritten paper to his eyes,
proofread it once more and placed it facing the door on top of the stack of papers. He left his
letter of resignation behind and disappeared behind a shroud of anonymity.

The journey took several hours, but they arrived in Los Diablos. It was just the way Enigma
remembered it, yet after the sea had receded, they had taken down the sea wall and used it for
other projects. The door opened and Enigma could see the city teeming with human patrols,
fires raging. He turned to his compatriots and said with a grim visage,

“Welcome, my friends, to hell.” He stepped out of the ship, the amber clad warriors
following him into the City of Devils. War had begun, and there was no telling what evil it would
bring.
 112

Biohaz
It is well that war is so terrible — lest we should grow too fond of it

~Robert E. Lee
 113

Chapter 23 - Hell on Earth

Hell is empty and all the devils are here

~William Shakespeare

Thump. The water rippled.

Thump. The vibration sent oscillations through the small pool of life-sustaining liquid.

"Probably eight-foot MWP, anti-tank emplacement."

Thump. The amber-clad man rose, standing from his kneeling position.

"Five miles away." He addressed his comrades, suited in armor. This armor contained
everything necessary for life: food, sleeping bag, weapons, grenades, and saws. Thick visors
covered their faces, and their body similarly encased with plastic-lead compounds. Behind the
masks, behind each of their ears, was a small burnt-out chip, evidence of their conversion to
maankind. Once these chips had held all their information, Social Security number, age, name,
birth date, etc., but now they had been destroyed, a symbolic forsaking of humanity. Each of
them bore a strange symbol on his arm: a yellow circle with a black circle in the middle. On all
sides of the circle were three black triangles. In their hands were strange weapons. They were
based around a green tank, out of which came a nozzle, trigger, handle, and stock, all black
steel. On the soldiers’, for that is what they were, backs, were similarly shaped green tanks.
These, however, covered nearly their entire backs. The gold-suited maan studied the landscape.
For miles, ruined buildings covered the earth, sitting next to vast piles of ash and rubble.
Occasionally, a rat would dart from the safety of one building into the next. Only the constant
vibrations reminded the man that life existed on this barren planet, the one called Gaia.

The city whose ruins he stood on was Los Diablos, and there were few who remembered its
original name. The Angels. How ironic that the city they fought and died on was once named
after heavenly beings. Los Angeles, they had called it. The spelling was in a foreign tongue, now
lost to time as well. The only language anybody who was anyone spoke was Basic. Originally, it
 114

had been called English, but as that culture, too, was bombed from the face of Gaia, a new
name was in order.

Bombed. As the orange-suited man again studied the land, slowly turning to face the new
horrors, he cringed. The nuclear winter had come, nations bombing nations over petty
grievances. The only neutral nation remained Switzerland. Now everyone’s hope was to reach
the Heaven in this world, before the Heaven in the next. The oceans had been evaporated,
leaving the air perpetually humid, such that drinking was nearly unnecessary, one only had to
open his mouth to drink a glass of water.

Kevin Heathcliffe, for that was his name, turned to his men and studied them. Pyro, Oscar,
Luc, they all had their nicknames. His was Cap. Always Cap. So informal, so cold. He was their
captain, and could never socialize, joke, or be friends with them. They thought his heart was as
cold as the deaths he designed for his enemies.

His enemies. They were humans in the strictest sense of the word, cold, cunning, deadly,
and unmoving. As equals, neither could gain on each other, but Kevin’s army had less
resources. But more heart.

“We’re moving out now,” using the tone of voice he reserved for commands. Sharp,
punctual, and commanding.

“Sir.” Pyro and the others responded, in the same deathly tone of voice. The team scuttled
into the nearest building and hid, awaiting the signal from Kevin. They felt no fear, having done
this dozens of times. On Kevin’s wave, they scampered into another building and another,
slowly tracking towards the Mounted Weapons platform. The troops called them Mechs, short
for Mechanized Infantry. Some say these machines stole our hearts. Kevin silently thought. I say
they stole our very souls. This was a five-footer, a slight challenge for the battle-hardened 651st
battalion of the New Order. Five feet did not stand for the height of the Mech, but the length of
its gun. Five feet was higher-end, with three feet being the shortest. Once their color was
metallic, yet now carbon scoring and BioWaste corrosion had worn away till they resembled
monsters. At last the crew came within sight of their target. Rising about twenty feet into the
air, this vaguely human-shaped monstrosity bristled with weaponry. Plasma guns adorned its
 115

waist and BioWaste guns its arms. Its right arm, perpetually supported by its left, held a great
tube. Out of this tube came the weapon that caused this destruction: A four-foot long, tube
launched, automatically sighted, radio guided, heat seeking, two hundred kiloton atomic
rocket. These Mechs were the scourge of Gaia. Fortunately for the 651st battalion, they were
not hard to take down by maenpower.

“Pyro, over there!” Kevin yelled to a member of his team. He leapt at the Mech and grabbed
onto the access ladder. Hanging, he pulled a diamond-toothed saw out of his pack and dove it
into the Mech’s body. Realizing its peril, the Mech shook and jumped, each mighty leap taking it
dozens of feet in the air and crashing back down with an earth-shattering crunch. Kevin hung on
for dear life, still sawing. As the blade made a complete circle, he tossed a BioWaste grenade in
and leapt into the air, activating his jets. In mid-air, he turned to see the Mech. For a second all
there was were screaming voices, and then the Mech pulsed once and landed on the ground.
With an air of finality, it shriveled, becoming a 200-ton sphere of metal one foot in diameter,
green gas slowly leaking from the remnants. Kevin said a silent prayer for the perished souls,
crossed himself, and turned and slowly walked away.

“I’ve seen worse,” the red-haired man said. His name was Marvin Alfred Rodriguez EnSalmio
the third, but most everyone called him Pyro. And even as he sat, flicking his lighter, a fire
burned in his eyes. He was tall and skinny, constantly moving, alive with energy. Flame was
where he lived and what he enjoyed. His suit, spray-painted a deep red, was equipped with a
flamethrower, but lacked a cooling system, as the inhabitant maintained a 561.3 degree body
temperature, making him able to burn things with a touch. “We’ve fought tougher. Good job,
Cap, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Kevin was unemotional. As a Captain, he was never expected to show emotion.
Los Diablos was a tough place, and the men were expected to be even tougher. Luc spoke up. A
balding Frenchmaan in his early twenties, he was the mentor of the group and had a maniacal
obsession with water, his body being 90% that substance. He swayed and rocked with the slight
breeze, skin rippling. He had a blue suit, armed with a high-pressure water cannon.
 116

“Good job, team. The Humans won’t be bothering us again.”

Kevin couldn’t stand it anymore. “Alright. Fine. Call them the Humans when you’re alone.
But around me, I only want them to be enemies. I was on their side until I became a maan, and I
will always remember them. Don’t call them Humans. We are all humans.”

“Right, Cap.” Enigma spoke. Enigma was Kevin’s favorite. A tall maan, he had curly brown
hair and an innocent, yet scarred complexion. He was normally not unsettling, but he had a
habit of turning invisible at the most annoying times. He was the team’s CipherMaster and all-
around programmer, with a tendency to “modify” suits at the most perplexing times. He was
the first that Kevin had met of the New Order.

Oscar, the BioWaste expert, was one of a few Viking maen left in the world. His face,
eternally grimy, bore a smile revealing rotten teeth. His hair, tousled and greasy, was several
inches long, well beyond the standard military length. He was housed in a dark green suit with
horns protruding from his helmet. Perpetually dirty, he exuded a nuclear field and had a
tendency to kill rats by touching them.

BioWaste was the world’s leading weapon. In “pure” form it could reduce a man into a
screaming pulp within seconds. As a grenade, it exploded, covering everything within a 3-meter
radius with slime, suddenly solidified, and then, as a result of the chemical reaction, all air was
suddenly sucked out of it and crushed anything left within. BioSludge was a powerful neuro-
toxin, killing anything it touched. However, as a string form, it was excessively adhesive. Thus,
the men’s suits contained a setting for shooting strings of it, making them like spidermen. A
brilliant scientist named Eshenkel Quinley designed both the chemicals in the early 2700s,
shortly after the firestorm. Obsessed with the problem of growing nuclear and bio-hazardous
waste, he proposed a solution: fight with it. Now, several short years later, Gaia lay decimated
at the decision of a Norwegian scientist.

Kevin sighed and crawled under his sleeping bag’s cover and went to sleep.
 117

He woke the next morning to the sound of rustling feet and the mechanic whirring of suits
being donned.

“Wake up, wake up!” Pyro yelled in his ear.

“What?” Kevin jumped to his feet and looked around. His crew was scrambling about
madly.

“Someone’s here!” Kevin rushed to his suit and jumped in. If no one was firing, then they
must be friends. As the hermetically sealed suit closed and hissed around him, he gasped as he
always did at the sharp rush of pure oxygen coming from the tanks. He waited ten seconds for
the onboard computer to resume and took off running toward his colleagues, already on their
way. He jumped, engaged his jump jets, and soared to the top of a building for a better view.
From his vantage point, he could see several dozen unsuited maen coming toward their
encampment. Kevin sighed in relief. These were not enemies. He leaped down from his perch
and ran toward the intruders. He lifted his facemask as he approached.

“Who are you?” He asked, still slightly wary.

“We are a group dispatched from the Distribution of Underground Materials Base. And
we’ve run into some minor problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“About a month ago, we intercepted a radio broadcast preparing an invasion of England,

which as you know is our headquarters. Unfortunately, that very day our only known remaining
mech squadrons vanished without a trace near the Bermuda Triangle. We later learned that
Human destroyers had pushed them back into the Triangle itself. All were lost.”

“Why does this concern us?” Kevin asked, still puzzled.

“Primarily, because you’re our only hope. Our other mech squadrons that we know are loyal
have disappeared, as we told you. We have heard of your legendary exploits, and we are trying
to gather everyone we can to us in this time of need. We need you to help us, even if you aren’t
as good as the legends would suggest.”

“We’re not, whatever legends you have heard. But we’ll come.”
118
 119

Chapter 24 - Dutiful Conduct

A man has honor if he holds himself to an ideal of
conduct though it is inconvenient, unprofitable, or
dangerous to do so

~Walter Lippmann

The small band marched quickly across the ruins of Los Diablos, passing many a fallen mech
on the way, evidence of the squad’s brutal killing efficiency. Finally, walking over the ruins of a
small park, once known as Burton W. Chase Park, they reached Marina del Rey, where a small
skiff was anchored in the shallows. The party boarded it and took off, skimming over the water
at hundreds of knots.

The skiff continued on until many hours later they reached London. Their guide, who by
now they had learned was called Anton, led them into an abandoned cathedral. They stopped
and waited for the rest of their party to catch up. Anton led them into a room near the back
and pulled a lever, long ago rusted with age. Tracing his steps back across the room, he entered
a small room and knocked twice on the floor. A small panel slid open and he entered,
motioning for them to follow. As they climbed down hundreds of rungs of ladder, the heat grew
and grew and all but Pyro had their suits at high AC. Finally, they reached a large room. It was
filled with hundreds of maen, hundreds of machines, hundreds of blinking lights, and hundreds
of screens. Enigma looked around him, déjà vu striking, but he couldn’t remember why he felt
like he had been here before. Kevin followed Anton over to a tall man standing at a computer,
studying particle physics of nuclear fallout. He turned as Kevin approached.

“Ah. Kevin Heathcliffe, I presume?” the man was well-spoken with a hint of British accent.

“I am. And you?”

“I am Rodgerson, Wilf Rodgerson.”

“What happened to Bullicci? When I was last here, he ran this order.

Rodgerson smiled. “You’ve been gone a long time then. Bullicci left nearly five years ago.
I’ve been the commander-in-chief since then.”
 120

“If I may ask, what ‘change’ prompted you to join this group?” Kevin asked.

The man nodded. “That you may ask. But it is not the answer you expect. I am not a maan,
simply another human biased against prejudice. And you?”

“I can see things before they happen. Precognition, you might call it. I could tell what you’re
saying five seconds from now, but I can’t read lips.”

“Ah. And your friends?”

Kevin spent the next few minutes explaining his friends and briefing Wilf on their situations,
then Wilf theirs.

“As we see it, the enemy is going to attack us one week from now, and there is nothing we
can do to stop them once they’ve come.”

“What must we do?”

“That I don’t know exactly. I know that your enemies have superior firepower and
weaponry, but nothing else. You’ll have to destroy the enemy’s headquarters, but besides that,
I have no direction for you.”

“That’s great. Just great. Let me talk to my squad.” Kevin walked slowly over to the rest of
his group, standing in a corner discussing something.

“Maen?”

His group stood up straight. “Yes?” it was Pyro.

“The future of humaanity is in our hands. We hold it, we may die. We drop it, Maen will
never see the light of day. Are you with me?”

“With ya all the way, cap.”

“This is a G-241c. It is the peak of BioWaste pistol technology in the world today. It has been
clocked at over five hundred miles per second. It contains a shell of compressed BioWaste. If it
hits a man, he’s dead within seconds.” Lieutenant Schmitt was briefing the small squad on the
weapons they’d be using.
 121

“Here’s your rifle, the A-279e.” It was a compact rifle, bullpup configured, the waste
canister behind the trigger, allowing for the barrel to reach the entire length of the gun. “It fires
compressed BioSludge bullets at a rate of about…twenty-seven slugs a second, well fast enough
to kill anyone around you not wearing protective armor. If you’re really in a pinch, you can try
setting the power dial up. It can slice through about three inches of titanium alloy, which is
what most of the mechs you’re fighting will have. On the bottom, you’ll note we have a second
trigger.” The Lieutenant motioned toward a small trigger near the bottom of the handle.

“This will be your main grenade supply. The BioWaste in here is very volatile, so use with
caution and be at least 100 meters away before you fire. The max range is about 500 meters, so
I don’t think you’ll ever get that close.”

“Is that all we’ll be taking?” Oscar asked, obviously disappointed at the lack of weapons.

“No. You, as our Bio Weapons expert, will be taking several pounds of raw plutonium with a
couple triggers. Use sparingly, they have a blast range of about one mile per pound.”

“However, each of the rest of you also has special weapons according to your mutation.
Pyro, you have a flamethrower. All it does it take your body heat and amplify it to set some
kerosene on fire. Luc, here’s a couple grenades. Toss one of these into a crevasse and it will fill
it with water. The catch is that in three seconds, it will implode and crush everything inside.
Enigma, here’s a sword.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“I’m not. It is naturally nearly invisible, because it consists of pure energy. It’s super-heated,
so it should be able to cut through any armor they have out there.” He motioned to Kevin.

“Kevin, I’d like to speak with you alone.” Kevin followed him into a back room.

“What is this about?”

“First, here’s your gun. It’s a silenced sniper with a scope that zooms anywhere from 2x to
400x. Kills in one shot. With your precognition, nothing should avoid it.”

“Thanks. This is about more than killing men, isn’t it? I already know how to.”
 122

“You’re right. On both accounts, even.” The Lieutenant sighed. “If you fail, the world is lost.
Prejudice and hate will win. If they are not removed forever, there will be more dead. The
world will fall to greed and hate. It happened once. It must not happen again. Kevin, you must
not fail. You cannot turn back if you lose a maen, even if your entire squad dies. The world rests
on your shoulders.”

Kevin Heathcliffe walked out of the door, his burden-weary shoulders sagging.
 123

Chapter 25 - A Hero’s Sacrifice

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out
the lamp because dawn has come

~Rabindranath Tagore

Two days, fourteen hours, fifty-two minutes. So much had to happen in so short a time.
Kevin scanned the skies with his rifle. No sign of life…there! He
zoomed…100x…200x…300x…400x…fire! One more kill.

The ground was barren for miles around, pock-marked with craters from BioWaste
explosions. On a hill far beyond he could see the very top of a structure. He zoomed in on the
building and looked at the top. The town of Bethune’s military processing center.

“Come in.” He keyed his radio.

“We’re receiving you.”

“Does the name Bethune mean anything?”

“Is that the town you’re approaching?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That is their main production facility. It is also where our intelligence reports the
strike is coming from. Take that out and you’re done. There are about twenty storehouses of
mechs in the base.”

“Over and out.” Kevin switched off the headset.

“What’d he say?” Luc asked.

“The town ahead is our destination. Oscar, do you have the explosives?”

“Rodger, captain.” Oscar stepped to the front.

“Enigma, you go first, and infiltrate the perimeter. Signal us when you’re done.”

“As you wish.” The maan disappeared and only soft crunching could be heard fading into
the distance.
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Enigma panted. He had been traveling for twenty minutes and it was hot in his suit. He
switched the AC on and ran further. Finally, he reached the perimeter of the base. Surrounded
by miles of barbed wire, the massive structure rose hundreds of feet in the air. He pulled out his
sword and switched it on. The sword consisted of two tubes at a right angle, a beam of energy
protruding from one. This way, depending on which tube he held, he could either slash or stab
with precision. There was a soft humming and a slight blue distortion, as from the heat from a
fire, hung in the air. He swung at the wire. Before him, the barrier broke effortlessly, cut in half.
He swung again and cleared a hole wired enough for a maan. Running to the next barrier, he
swung the sword in a broad arc and cut a hole in the thick steel wall. Cautiously, he crept into
the building, sheathing his sword.

For dozens of meters, he crept along, meeting no one. Finally, he keyed his headset.

“Enigma to Cap. Come in.”

“Kevin here. What is your status?”

“I’ve infiltrated the perimeter. You, Pyro, Luc and Oscar are free to continue.”

“Rodger that. Kevin out.”

Enigma ran back to the exit, awaiting the squad’s approach.

Kevin ran as quickly as he could along the dirt path on the way to the base. Just before the
final rise, he suddenly dropped.

“Down!” He hissed. His squad obeyed. Kevin crawled to the top of the rise and looked
down. In a small hole cut in the wall, he could see Enigma waving, and then he disappeared.
Kevin scanned the building for cameras or stationary guns. Finding none, he proceeded, still
prone, to the fence. He looked up, suddenly bound by some impulse. In the sky hung a
helicopter. Out of it climbed a soldier on a rope, descending rapidly. Kevin pulled his gun up and
fired. The soldier hung limply as the helicopter sped away. Kevin zoomed in again. In his mind’s
eye, in his world of precognition, the helicopter turned around. He fired in back of it. As he had
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seen, the copter turned around, directly into the path of the bullet. The fuel tank exploded and
the chopper sunk like a rock.

But all Kevin heard was Luc’s screaming, then silence.

“He’s dead.” It was Pyro’s voice over the com. “The chopper fell on him.”

Kevin hung his head in shame.

The company ran forward into the small hole where Enigma waited, into a hallway, dozens
of feet tall.

“I’ve been waiting forever. Sorry about Luc.”

“It’s all right.” Kevin was almost teary. “We need to carry on. Pyro, which way?”

“I don’t know. Luc was carrying the GPS.”

Kevin sighed. “Pick a direction, then.”

Pyro closed his eyes and pointed.

“All right. On we go.” The company pressed forward into the heart of the beast.

An hour later, the company reached a large room. In it they could see thousands of mechs,
ready for combat. Next to them lay tens of thousands of nuclear warheads. Further down the
room, assault rifles, grenades, SMGs, pistols, every make and model of gun lay.

“Wow.” Oscar gasped. “All right. Everyone get back far. I’m planting half a pound in here.
Actually, go forward, deeper.” The company sprinted across the floor. An alarm sounded.

“Move!” Oscar yelled. “Don’t stop!”

“No!” Enigma turned back, where now dozens of soldiers were suiting up in their mechs.

“Run, Enigma!” Kevin shouted.

Oscar laid a 20-gram bomb on the ground and grabbed a trigger from his pack. Inserting it
into the plutonium, he yelled.
 126

“Enigma, run!” He tossed his pack to Enigma and, with a heave, jumped on the pile of
plutonium as the human soldiers closed in around him.

Enigma was thrown forward, passing even his running friends in the hallway. With a crunch
he hit a turn in the hall and stopped. Kevin and Pyro ran up to him.

“Go on. I’m gone. I think my back’s broken. I’ll hold them off. Run!” He handed the pack to
Pyro.

Kevin wasted no time and sprinted down the hall with Pyro. Behind them, they could hear
gunshots as Enigma shot at their pursuers, following close. In front of them, more troops ran at
them, emerging from their bunkers, pulling their guns out of their holsters. Kevin pulled out his
assault rifle and fired, holding down the trigger, his eyes closed, praying. When he opened them
again, Pyro was several feet ahead, spraying flame into barracks. Kevin leaped ahead into the
carnage. When finally every enemy near them was down, they ran ahead into the gradually
cooling corridor. They stopped as they reached a gaping chasm. Kevin looked into the hole.
Within the structure was a giant cold fusion reactor, powering the human war effort. Twenty
storehouses like the one Oscar had killed himself to destroy. Only one reactor to fuel it all.

“Give me your grenades.” Pyro spoke, his voice chill.

“What?”

“Give me your grenades.”

Kevin handed over his grenades, puzzled.

“Run.” Then Pyro pulled all the pins and jumped off the edge, heading straight for the core,
where the concentrated explosion of the multiple grenades would detonate the reactor . Kevin
stared, then leapt into the air. The shock wave hit him at the peak of his jump, and as his head
hit the roof, he lost consciousness.

When he woke up, his body was broken, but he was still flying. With a push of his finger, he
engaged his jets. Coming down, he could see a ten-mile wide crater where Pyro had sacrificed
himself to end one attack, to save all men from themselves.
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Far away, a pile of rubble lifted itself and an invisible force staggered out toward freedom.

In the hospital, Kevin recovered with amazing speed. He walked out onto the balcony one
day and stared out at the golden sunset. One more day, one more triumph. One man against a
thousand. The war for Gaia was not near the end. No, this was just another page in a thousand.
Kevin Heathcliffe walked away from the balcony, the sun setting on one more page.

Enigma
Δεν ελπιζω τιποτα. Δε φοβαμαι τιποτα. Είμαι ελευθερος

I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. I am free.

128

~ Nikos Kazantzakis
 129

Chapter 26 - Determination’s Child

All great things are simple, and many can be
expressed in single words: freedom, justice, honor,
duty, mercy, hope

~Sir Winston Churchill

Enigma paced across the cold brick floor of the Swiss hospital. A hospital gown hung around
his now gaunt frame, battered and bruised. He slowly pondered the bricks as he trotted slowly
along toward the sink. He turned on the faucet and filled a glass with water. He lifted it to his
mouth and let the cool liquid soothe his burning throat, scorched by radiation. He made his way
over to the window and stared out, for the first time in his life stopping to enjoy mountains.
The peaks of the Swiss Alps glistened in the sunlight catching facets of crystal, scattering light
around the room, a million points of shimmering life. No more did he live in a world of death.
He had staggered here, his body bruised and broken, his face a twisted mess of scar tissue. He
had prayed to die, but by God’s grace, he lived. Barely. For weeks he had passed in and out of
consciousness, twisting and turning so violently he would fall out of his own hospital bed.
Finally, today, he had awakened, and now, staring at the magnificence of the Alps, he promised
himself that others would see this place too. He turned. There stood a young nurse; she was
holding a tray of food.

“Enigma!” Her face brightened. “You’re up!”

Silently, he took the tray of food from her and kissed her on the cheek, walking out onto the
balcony to eat his breakfast. It was the best meal he had ever eaten.

Several hours later, the same nurse approached him, this time holding nothing but a
clipboard.

“Enigma?”
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Enigma took another look at the golden mountains, and then turned to face the nurse.
Again he took in her face, the first woman he’d seen for years. Her hair was golden-brown, her
eyes blue, like his had been. He stared for a while, enchanted, before answering.

“Yes?”

“The doctor would like to see you in his office.” She backed away, slowly, obviously
uncomfortable under his stare.

“It’s alright. I haven’t seen so many things for so many years.”

The nurse managed a stifled laugh.

“Oh, I have a question,”

“Yes?”

“How do you know my name?”

“We were able to match your DNA with the database in Geneva. It told us your name and
medical history. Follow me.” Enigma followed her down the corridor to a room. Unlike most
hospitals, the room was large, with a skylight streaming down golden shafts of light. Enigma
stared up into the sky.

“Enigma?” The doctor jerked him back to reality. “The test we’ve done on you report that
your left arm has been fractured in three places, your skull has a nasty break in it and you’ll
probably never be able to partake in any demanding exercise again because one of your lungs
collapsed from the radiation. I’d suggest that you take it easy and live here the rest of your life.”

Enigma jerked his head around to look at the doctor, the pain in his neck reminding him of
the nasty tear. “No. I can’t stay here. I have friends out there. I’m not letting them down.”

“But…” Enigma was already gone.

For hours, Enigma sat on the porch, crying and wondering. Finally, he lifted his head and
stared out at the sun setting behind the snow-capped mountains. If he died out there, it would
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be a price worth paying to have his friends back. He walked inside as the sun sank behind the
Alps.

Far away, in a hospital in England, Kevin Heathcliffe also watched the same sun set and
walked back inside. The doctors had told him, too, that he would never fight again. The
throbbing in every joint in his body told him so. He was not happy about giving up his gun, but
unlike Enigma, he accepted it. In his mind, everyone he had ever known in the last ten years
was gone. He was thirty-seven himself, far too old to start a family. Death had followed him at
every step, nipping at his heels. Now it had caught up and was toying with him. He knew it was
so, for even now, his strength faded, and he collapsed onto his bed, letting sleep take him.

Enigma too collapsed onto his bed, but not to sleep. He sat on it, packing his few belongings
into a suitcase. He combed what was left of his hair neatly and stared at himself in the mirror. A
mere shadow of his previous self, his cheekbones protruded, his face thin and gaunt, his brown
hair wispy. His blue eyes had turned gray. At last he was ready. He picked his suitcase up and
walked out the door. Just outside, the nurse was standing. Enigma jumped back in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Where are you going?” The nurse stared into his gray eyes. Enigma looked away.

“I’m going to England. The survivors of my squad, if any, are there.” Enigma hung his head.

“Why? You could stay in Switzerland. Everyone on Gaia wants to be here and you want to
leave.”

“I’ll come back. I have to bring my friend.”

“I’m going with you. You need help.”

“I… don’t need help. You’d get killed anyway.”

The nurse shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I don’t think you know me.”
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“I’m going alone. But…before I go, what’s your name?”

“Lana Buford. What’s yours?”

Enigma blinked slowly, then, with a faraway look in his eyes, began.

“I don’t have one. I was born somewhere in Los Diablos. I don’t remember anything. One
day, I was in Los Diablos, the next, England, now here.” Lana walked away down the hall and
turned abruptly into her room. Enigma ran to the door, burst out onto the balcony, attached a
string of BioSludge from a pistol he had found in the doctor’s office to the roof, slowly
descended, and was gone, running through the thick grass into the night.

He didn’t stop until the next afternoon. Panting and exhausted, he dropped onto a patch of
snow and brought out a croissant he had taken from the hospital. A bluebird landed on his
shoulder and stared at the bread. He tore a small chunk off and fed it to the bird. The bird
gobbled it greedily. Enigma stared at it for a while.

“Hi.”

The bird tweeted back.

“You remind me of someone.”

Tweet.

“Well, you can travel with me.”

Happy tweet.

“Well, let’s go.” Enigma stood back up and brushed the snow off his pants and continued
walking.

Several hours later, Enigma stopped and laid out his sleeping bag on the ground. The bird
also stopped with him and flew up to a rock above his head.

“Good night.”

Tweet.
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Enigma heard Lana’s voice.

I’m going with you. You need help.

“I…I don’t need help.” He responded.

Yes you do. I’m coming with you.

“No.” Enigma responded. He slowly opened his eyes. Damn it, I’ve even got her face stuck in
my head. But why does she have her eyes closed? He stared longer at the face, and then
glanced down. Someone was lying next to him. It was Lana Buford! She had tracked him all this
way. He glanced up. The bluebird was no longer there. He leaned forward to look at her face.
To make sure, he touched it. Her eyes opened with a start.

“Lana?”

“Oh. Hi.” She wore a sheepish look. “I didn’t mean to sleep in this long.”

“Lana.” Enigma sighed. “I told you not to come.”

“I couldn’t help it. Besides, you said I could travel with you.”

“No I…That was you?”

She nodded. “You’ll need help. It’s a long way from here to England.”

“Can you turn into anything besides a…bird?”

“Not really. Mostly just birds.”

“Well, alright. You can travel with me. But I don’t want any unnecessary intrusions.”

She smiled.
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Chapter 27 - The Price of Security

Those who would give up Essential Liberty to
purchase a little Temporary Safety, deserve neither
Liberty nor Safety.

Benjamin Franklin

“So, where do you come from?”

It was a long day, and Enigma only wanted someone to talk to.

“I was raised in Germany. My parents braved a journey into Switzerland. Only my sister,
Christy, and I made it over. My parents froze at the summit. They gave us their blankets to keep
warm. I took my sister into a hospital and she had to have two toes amputated because of
frostbite. I stayed at the hospital and eventually got a job there. I see so many people coming in
from the border that die as soon as they get through the doors.”

“What happened to your sister?”

“I don’t know. She tried to make it back, but was ambushed by human patrols. I haven’t
seen her since.”

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Enigma looked downward.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I always hold out hopes that someday when I pass over
these mountains that I’ll find her.”

“You pass here often?”

Lana laughed. “Oh yes. Many times a year. I get news every once in a while from outside
Switzerland. I’m kind of a spy.”

He nodded and yawned. “I need some sleep.”

 135

Kevin wandered the halls of the hospital, at a loss for what to do. As his arms had not fully
healed yet, he was still confined to hospital walls. He glanced into a random cot and looked at
the inhabitant.

“Help me!” The man whispered. “They’re going to kill me!”

Kevin stopped, perplexed. “What?” he walked into the small room.

“They’ve pinned the blame on me for a killing. I didn’t do it, I swear!”

Kevin was now interested. “How can I help?”

The man leapt out of bed. “Just help me out this window.” He limped over to a window and
opened it. “Grab this.” He pulled a vine out of his wrist and handed it to Kevin. Kevin blinked.
“Grab it!” Kevin did as he was instructed and let the maan down the wall. “Jump!” he heard the
maan say. He looked below him. There was a newly constructed hedge of soft bushes. He
shrugged and jumped out the window. The maan started running and Kevin followed, shaking
his head.

By morning, they were still traveling, never having stopped once. Kevin panted heavily and
dropped to the ground, exhausted.

“Come on!” the strange maan yelled to him. “Keep going!”

“Stop!” Kevin yelled at the maan. “We’ve been running for hours and I don’t even know
your name.”

“Fine. All right. I guess you have a right to know why you’re following me. My name’s…Chris
Bufordson. I didn’t kill anyone. Hell, I wasn’t even accused of killing anyone. I only wanted to
get out of that hospital. You know what it’s like.”

Kevin nodded, a wry smile on his face.

“They think my leg’s broken, and they won’t let me out. Wouldn’t.”

“So why were you in there in the first place?” Kevin was getting more and more confused.”
 136

“I was ambushed by patrols in the mountains and captured. Eventually, a unit of maen
returning to their base destroyed that human legion. They picked me up and took me to the
hospital.”

“So why did they think your leg is broken?”

“Well, it looks like it.” The maan stared down at his leg and shifted his foot. The leg bent in
the middle of the shin in an eerie way. Kevin recoiled in horror.

“Yeah. Exactly. In fact, it’s a mutation that allows me to jump higher and such.” He leapt
into the air to an altitude of about 20 feet and came back down. “Good. Only about two more
miles until the channel.”

“And…how are we going to cross it?” Kevin was losing faith in the stranger’s plan.

“Well, in about 1990-something, the country known as England built a tunnel…”

Enigma also walked endlessly, crossing through France. All around him, the war had been
waged. It was all he could do to keep from stepping in the open potholes all around him, or
keep his foot from sinking into the rotting chest of an unfortunate soldier. The stink of death
was everywhere. Lana whirled high overhead, always happy, always laughing. Enigma envied
her. Finally, Enigma spotted the city of Paris just over a rise.

“Lana!” he called. “What do you see?” She changed into an eagle, flew higher, and then
dropped down to the ground suddenly. She changed into a human and wept.

Enigma stared for a second, and then ran ahead onto the top of the hill. Over the landscape
were strewn thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of bodies, all pale, gleaming with an
eerie glow in the sunlight. Paris itself was a ruin of burnt buildings and severed limbs. Smoke
still rose from some buildings. Even the rats and mice lived no more in the deserted streets.
Enigma saw a shape move in the corner of his eye and noticed a shadow dart across the street.
He ran toward it, turning invisible. The figure vanished around a corner and Enigma leapt
forward. Still, the figure was dozens of feet in front of him. Enigma sprinted toward the rapidly
disappearing figure. The pursued stopped and hid in an indentation in the wall. Enigma could
 137

hear it panting heavily. He walked slowly toward it and stared at it. It looked like an insectoid,
but was also strangely human. In it hand, it held a bloodstained sickle. Enigma reached his hand
out and held the creature by the neck.

“Who are you?” He demanded, materializing.

The creature struggled for a second, and then relaxed. It grinned.

“Just looking.” Its voice was squeaky and high.

“For what?”

“Anything in this city.” The creature smiled again.

“What happened here?”

“Bombs, war, men come in, kill everyone. First they bomb it, mutate everyone, then come
in, kill all mutants. Some people tried to escape, but many have disease.”

“What disease?” Enigma asked, relaxing his grip.

“I don’t know what called, but you get it, within four days, you dissolve and die.”

“How do you catch it?”

“I don…” Within his hand, the creature’s features slid downwards, the being inwardly
destroying itself. “Save me!” It yelled. Within seconds, Enigma was standing in all that remained
of the creature he had been interrogating. He turned to his right. There stood Lana.

“What was…?” She didn’t finish.

“I don’t know.” He picked up a pair of rifles from the corpses and continued through the
city.
 138

Chapter 28 -Reunion and Betrayal

There is no such thing as society. There are
individual men and women and there are families

~Margaret Thatcher

“So they spent years on this and abandoned it within 20 years of completion?” Kevin asked
Chris.

“Yeah. Basically. They got a few more years of use out of it for smuggling supplies across the
border.”

“Wow.” Kevin and Chris now stood in a tunnel running under the English Channel. They had
been walking for about 20 minutes now and were taking a break.

“So, tell me about your family.” Kevin started as they began walking again.

“Well, I used to live in Switzerland, but I kind of became a smuggler and got caught. My
sister still lives there, and my parents are somewhere frozen on the Alps. Not a very happy
history, if you get my meaning.” Chris paused for a while. “What about yours?”

“I don’t know much about them. My mother was a steel worker, and my father a
construction worker. They both died when the bombing started.”

“Oh.”

“What’s that?” Enigma asked.

“Hmm? What?” He was jerked back from staring ahead into the landscape.

“That.” Enigma pointed to a body of water.

“That’s the English Channel.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Enigma shook his head. “I haven’t remembered anything much from before my
hospital term.”
 139

“Let’s go.” Together the friends walked toward the Channel.

About a half hour later, they reached the Channel.

“How do we cross?” Enigma asked, bewildered.

“Over here. I think this is it.” Lana lifted a chunk of masonry and revealed a passageway.

Kevin stumbled around in the darkness, all light, save a small torch, left behind, miles ago.
Suddenly, a shaft of light opened the darkness in front of him and a pair of legs dropped
through the hole.

“I think this is it.” He heard a woman’s voice say.

“Alright.” A more familiar voice spoke out.

“Enigma?”

“Yes?”

“What?” Lana asked.

“Why’d you call my name?”

“I didn…” She vanished into the hole.

Kevin found himself holding a very attractive young lady that he had just pulled through a
hole in the roof. Chris stared for a while, his eyes adjusting to the light.

“Lana?”

Enigma dove into the hole after Lana. He landed on solid ground. Around him, the tunnel
was dark, save for the patch of light where he had entered.

“Enigma?” It was Kevin’s voice.

 140

“Yes?” Out of the shadows, Kevin Heathcliffe came running. Enigma hugged him. “What
happened? You were dead!” Tears of joy ran down both their faces as they embraced.

Lana, however, stood, staring at Chris.

“Christy?”

Chris smiled and removed a wig from her head, revealing long blonde hair.

Enigma glanced over at Chris, as did Kevin. The two sisters had met again.

Late that night, over a warm campfire, Enigma, Kevin, and the sisters, related their stories
to each other. But after these no longer held interest, the company sat, quiet.

Finally, Kevin broke the uncanny silence.

“What now?” It was on everyone’s mind.

“Go to Switzerland.” Christy was decided.

“But what about all the people dying? In Paris, in Los Diablos, all over the world?” Enigma
still could smell the rotting flesh, see the disembodied corpses. He could feel the creature
turning into a pile of rotten organic material. He could hear the pleas of the creature and as it
seemed; the entire world: Save me! Save me! It rang in his ears.

“Why save them?” Christy, for having such beauty, had such a cold heart. “They don’t
deserve to live. Let them die.”

A part of Enigma wanted to believe her, wanted to go to Switzerland, wanted to live in

peace all his life. Another part of him was in Paris, with the dying maen and men.

“We need to help them.” It was Lana, her voice trembling as she spoke. “We can’t leave our
friends behind.”

“They’re not our friends. They deserve to die. Maybe not the Maen, but we can’t help
them.”

Enigma hung his head and thought.

 141

“I’m with Enigma.” Kevin broke the silence. “They’re friends. Maybe if we take initiative,
wars like this can be avoided. Man doesn’t have to fight. We can help each other for once. You,
Christy, should know that. Going to Switzerland doesn’t change anything. The world doesn’t
change. There will still be division. There will still be hate. And once humankind has killed
everything they hate, they will find more things to hate. This is how the world ends, in hate and
death. If you want to leave, you can go to Switzerland. But remember us when you’re old.
Remember tonight.”

“I will. I’ll remember tonight when I look at your grave. When I hear the news that you
died. That you died fighting for a lost cause. I’ll think about tonight when I sit in comfort in my
home and remember that you chose to stay behind to help a dying race.” Christy rose. “Lana, it
doesn’t have to be like this. You can come.”

“I can’t. It’s not a lost cause, Christy.” Lana said.

“Then you are as foolish as the rest of them. I will not weep when I hear of your death, your
suicide. Maen are a lost cause, Lana.” She turned her back and ran into the night, vanishing.

Lana bent down and wept.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered as he hugged her.

Enigma held Lana close as the moon sunk behind the horizon and all became dark.
 142

Chapter 29 - The Calm Before the Storm

All wars are civil wars because all men are brothers

~François Fenelon

Kevin stared into the darkness. He flicked the switch on his night vision goggles. Scanning
the plains, he saw nothing. He stopped and focused on an object in the distance. There. What
was that? He zoomed in. A mech? Here? He spun around. Enigma and Lana lay asleep, leaning
on each other.

“Enigma,” he whispered. “Enigma, Lana.”

Enigma shook his head groggily. “What?”

“A mech. Get your weapon ready.”

Enigma shook Lana gently. “Lana.”

“What?”

“Do you have a gun?”

“What? Why?”

“There’s a mech coming.”

She stood up and reached inside her vest, pulling out a BioWaste pistol.

“Good.” Kevin said. “Let’s get going.” He pulled his rifle out of his pack and shouldered it as
he ran. Enigma and Lana followed.

Emil Roseyekev hated French patrol. It meant hours of endless wandering through
abandoned villages. With a one-man mech, it was even more boring. He’d originally joined
because of the power he felt when in a mech. He’d never feel fear. Every once in a while, he’d
come across a maan or two. That was fun. It was basically the only enjoyable part of this patrol.
Making maen scream as he put one foot of the mech down on their chest and broke their ribs,
and then slowly inched his machine gun closer and closer. The look on their faces…Wait. What?
 143

Movement? Good. Oh. Three. Even better. Picking up trace metal signatures. Good. A little bit
of a fight. Maybe he’d keep them alive long enough for them to polish his mech from the scars
they’d give it. Then he would think of some ingenious way to torture them. Oh, look, one was a
girl…

Kevin stopped and aimed his rifle, looking through the scope.

“He’s coming.”

Enigma rummaged in his pack for a while until he found what he was looking for. A small L-
shaped object. He pushed an indentation, and a sword flared to life. He turned it off as quickly.
He ran off toward the mech.

Emil was confused. One of the signatures had disappeared. He shrugged his shoulders. The
girl was still there.

Kevin sat down, as did Lana. They both glanced over at the mech and got up again. They
started running away, at a slower rate than they normally would. Finally the mech caught up.

Good. I have you now.

“Greetings, maen.” Emil broadcast through the speakers. “How are you?” He liked making
his enemies think he was a friend.

“Good. Can’t complain.”

“Too bad.” Emil lowered his gun at Kevin. “I think I’ll kill you, buddy. I’ll let the girl watch.” A
blade flicked out of the finger of the mech.

Enigma inserted his sword into the shell of the mech.

Emil turned to the side. What the…

“Get out of the mech, ‘buddy’.” A voice came out of nowhere. Emil was not scared.
 144

“Sure. Right. Then what are you going to do?”

“I’ll probably cut off your toes. Then I’ll head upwards. When your legs are gone, I’ll remove
your ears. I’ll decide what to take off from there.”

Emil laughed. “Threats. From a person I can’t see.”

“Ahh. It’s the invisibility that gets you. Well, alright.” Enigma was now visible, his sword
across Emil’s neck, the ambient heat searing his throat.

For the first time in his life, Emil felt fear of a very real kind. But he couldn’t betray it.

“And what if I fire the gun at your friends?”

“Then I’ll kill you first.”

Emil stalled for time. “What if I fire first? What about that?”

His head rolled to the floor of the mech, a smug look frozen on his visage.

“All clear, cap. Help me clean this guy out of here.”

The small group was in the mech and heading toward Germany.

“You think we’ll ever see your sister again?” Enigma asked.

“I couldn’t tell you.” Lana responded, her perpetual smile slightly smaller than usual. “I
don’t have anyone else now. I find her, I lose her. Her loss is hard…Partly because I can’t share
everything with someone now. I had the doctors, then my sister, now…”

“I don’t mind listening.” Enigma finished.

Kevin, driving the mech, smiled as he overheard the conversation.

The mech walked into Berlin about noon. The streets were deserted. A stench hung in the
air. Far into the horizon, buildings ran on. In each one of them, the windows had been broken,
and now glass lay on the ground, littering the streets. Bodies also lay there, white and swollen
from rigor mortis. Enigma leapt out and lifted his hands in the air as a sign of peace.
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“Anyone here?” he yelled. He heard a hatch open down an alley. “I have my hands up. Show
yourself.” He saw a maan run out of the alleyway and stand in front of him, then started circling
around him.

“I don’t see anyone yet.” He heard Kevin say.

“Very funny.” Enigma yelled.

“No, really. Do you?”

“You mean besides this one?”

“What?”

Enigma turned invisible. The man didn’t cease his circling. There was the reason. Enigma
could see invisible people, Kevin couldn’t.

“Hey, buddy. I can see you. You can see me. No one else can. You can stop the circling and
show yourself.”

The maan looked surprised. “Well, I don’t have to determine if you’re a friend or not now.
Come with me. I assume you don’t want to stand in this street any longer than you have to.”

Enigma nodded. Lana and Kevin followed the maan along with Enigma.

He led them into a trapdoor under a dumpster and down stairs into an eerily lit room.
Seated at the table were two maen. One’s hair ran down his shoulders in long green braids, the
other was technically a womaan. She had black hair and black eyes. That wouldn’t have been so
bad except that she didn’t have a body. The clothes were draped over an invisible frame and
the hair hung on an invisible head. Her eyeballs rotated, as they could see, even from the side
of her and she looked at them. Her teeth, eyes, and hair were all that showed of her. She
brought a hand out in greeting. Only her nails showed, and Enigma shook her hand. He smiled.
It looked like she smiled back. Kevin took her hand.

He yelled and wrenched his hand back.

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She laughed, a dark, foreboding laugh. “Sorry. I tend to do that sometimes. My body gives
off electrical pulses every once in a while. Anyway, I am Andarana, and this is my husband,
Bejen. The green haired man looked up from a stack of papers.

“Hi.” He said.

“Would you like to stay here for the night?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. We’ve got some bedrooms in the back” Andarana said. “Any maan is welcome
here.” She led them to the bedrooms.

Kevin passed a night in relative comfort. He slept well in a comfortable bed at last. Lana also
slept well.

But Enigma, though he lay in a comfortable bed, tossed and turned. He dreamt of evil
things.
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Chapter 30 - So That Others May Live

We who are left, how shall we look again

Happily on the sun or feel the rain

Without remembering how they who went

Ungrudgingly and spent

Their lives for us loved, too, the sun and rain?

~ Wilfred Wilson Gibson

The mech hunted him down, everywhere he went. It was a red mech, fiery, horns
protruding out of its chassis. He ran through a fiery city, bodies littering the ground. He looked
only forward; fearful of the sights looking down would bring him. Finally he came to the edge of
the city. There he stopped, looking over a battlefield. Behind him the mech and city were gone.
Only now he looked over a grassy field. Vultures circled overhead. Bodies and mechs littered
the plain. He walked forward slowly, contemplating the agony of the faces he saw on the
ground. Each with a story, each like his own… Then he saw a face with a story that was his own.
He lay there on the field, blood gushing out of a shot in the heart. He stared into his own face,
overcome by the tragedy borne in the eyes. He tore his eyes away from his face and looked up.
There came a woman. She ran through the plains of destruction, looking for something. It was
Lana. Enigma swallowed hard. Finally she came to his body. He watched as she bent down and
hugged him, crying, tears running down her face in rivers. She stood up and faced Enigma. She
put her hand on his shoulder and shook him…

“Wake up!” Lana was saying.

Enigma opened his eyes and groaned.

“Get up. We have to go.” She stared at him. “You don’t look so great.”

“I don’t feel too great either. Why do we have to get up?”

“Andarana wants us to help her and some other maen.”

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“Fine.”

Andarana was waiting in the kitchen for them. She was eating a piece of toast. Enigma could
see it being masticated and swallowed. He couldn’t see the saliva, but the toast he could see.
Blech..

“You wanted to see us?” he asked.

“Yah.” She put the toast down and swallowed some orange juice. “You probably don’t know
this, but we’re the leaders of the maen. We hide here simply because no one comes here much.
Anyway,” she finished her toast and juice and sat down. “We received a challenge from the
men. There’s a field outside of Stuttgart. They challenge us to a fight there. All we can muster
against all they can muster. Whoever wins, secedes to the other. It’s not like we have much
choice. We wanted to find you, Enigma, and you, Kevin, before we met them.”

“Why us?” Kevin asked the obvious question.

“Why not? We have heard of your exploits. The only ones to leave the Bethune plant alive.
You held off against impossible odds in San Diablo. You are heroes. We ask that once more, you
help your countrymen against their nemesis in a final battle. Whatever the outcome, you will
fight no more.” She paused for emphasis. “Enigma?”

“I have no choice.”

“Lana?”

“I’ll follow Enigma.”

“We’ll go.”

Enigma went into his small room to pack what he could and clean his gun. He heard a knock
on his door. “Come in,” he said, not even turning around.

“Enigma?” Lana said. He turned to face her.

“Yes?”
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“I…” she paused, unsure of what to say. “I wanted to tell you, before this…”

He looked inquisitive. “What?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I…” but she closed her mouth and left the room.

For the rest of the day, their small crew repaired the broken mechs Andarana and Bejen had
collected, preparing them for battle-ready status. Finally, as it neared night, the renovations
were finished. Each of the party had one. Now, finally, Maankind’s last hope marched toward
the battle to end all battles. As they marched, other mechs and maen joined them on the
journey. All mechs were painted with a red and orange nuclear explosion surrounded by a
green circle. Finally, even they joined a longer stream of maen, all heading south. Tens of
thousands of mechs, hundreds of thousands of warriors, millions of stories, only one purpose:
peace. Ironic, Enigma thought, Hundreds of thousands of people fighting so no one will have to
fight anymore. Why must humanity always be this way? He, like millions of others over
thousands of years, found no answer or comfort in his wondering.

They marched through the city of Stuttgart. Enigma felt a chill. He had been here before.
Running through these streets, chased by a diabolical mech, only to…There it was. The field. He
stared out, looking at a plain, except for the bodies, the same as one he had seen before. As the
mechs assembled, he stared out at the field, maen passing him on either side. He would die
here, he knew. He didn’t believe in psychics, dreams, mystics, and all that, but this time, he
thought, just this time, maybe it held a sliver of truth.

He walked his mech slowly onto the field, destiny working its unalterable path. Thousands
of maen stood there, some in mechs, some on foot, others in the suits they had worn so long
ago in Los Diablos. Once in position, he lifted the hood on his mech and climbed down the
ladder to savor the scene with his own eyes, not the screen of the machine. Another pilot
emerged from a neighboring mech and stood by him. It was a woman, her boyishly-cut hair
clutching her head closely. Her blue eyes stared with a fierce intensity out across the field. She
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turned to him. As their eyes met, there was a glimmer of recognition. Enigma stared for a
moment, not knowing where in his past he knew her from. She also tried to recall memories of
him, but couldn’t.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“I think so,” he replied. “but I don’t know you.”

They returned to their mechs for battle, Jasmine to hers, Enigma to his.

The afternoon sun vanished behind a haze of cloud. The best battles are always fought in
rain. He thought. On the other side of the plain, mechs approached. They were fighting mechs,
not these, this rabble of volunteers, put into a war just because their ancestors made one huge
mistake. One mech walked into the middle of the field from either side. One was Andarana’s,
the other…He couldn’t tell anything about it. They conversed for a while, then departed.
Andarana walked back toward them.

“They will show you no mercy! Prisoners will not be taken! Deserters will be shot by both
sides. Only one type of people will leave this battlefield alive! Who will they be?!”

“Maen!” The shout echoed through the plains.

“Who?”

“Maen!”

“We will show them our resolve! We will ride them down! We will show them how wars are
fought! We will fight battle on our own terms! When you ride, ride for your country! When you
fight, fight for your life! When you die, die for all of Maenkind!”

“Maen!” There was no one within twenty miles who could not hear the shout.

“Ride!”

“Fight!”

“Die!” With one last triumphant yell of defiance, the world’s last hopes charged down the
hill in a mad rush remembered forever in the annals of history.
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Enigma had never been in a battle before. He had killed men, he had fought, but never so
many. His mech charged, spewing fire, and the maen falling beside him reminded him that this
was no simulation. Cries of pain echoed around the battlefield. He closed his eyes and launched
a missile at a mech charging toward him. The fragments blew into a thousand directions,
littering his windshield with metal shards. He kicked, struggled and punched with his mech.
Men fell around him like flies. Yet never had he been so calm, so sure of his future.

Lana stopped her mech. Across from her was a mech, fighting its way through the line. It
was painted with the same red color scheme as every other mech of the men. But inside it was
not a man. No, she knew this one. Finally, Christy stared at her from her cockpit, her eyes
blazing with bloodlust. Lana stared back, looking her sister in the eyes. Christy charged her,
BioWaste spewing. Lana leapt into the air, whirled around and flipped, landing neatly behind
her sister. Her missile shot at mach speed into Christy’s turbine, shattering her mech. She saw
her sister’s body fly out. Lana didn’t know if she was alive or not, but the red mech behind her
tore her attention away. Battle was more pressing, but she still felt her stomach knot.

Enigma had been blown out of his mech. Now he tore at enemies with his sword, an
invisible pest. He slashed the leg off one mech, only to find himself facing another. But
gradually, the amount of mechs diminished and he found himself fighting men, a personal type
of warfare he was not used to. The grimace and surprise as men died from an unknown
assailant was new to Enigma. He was sickened by their pain, but fought on.

He plunged his sword into a man and whirled around. A rifleman was standing there, his
BioWaste gun raised. Enigma looked surprised and flickered his invisibility off for a fraction of a
second. The man pulled the trigger. Enigma could feel his heart shattering, vessels tearing,
muscles ripping. He plunged forward with his sword and stared the man in the face.

“Remember my face.” Enigma grimaced. “I’ll see you soon.” The man dropped to the
ground and died with his eyes staring at Enigma, his last sight. Enigma dropped to the ground,
life pouring out his chest.
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Kevin fired his rifle. The man in front of him dropped to the bloodstained grass. Kevin
stopped and panted. He whirled around and fired at another man. A grenade dropped from the
dying man’s hands. Kevin stared at it and started to back off, his life playing before his eyes as
the world turned to blurs, life slowing down. The grenade exploded, filling his body with
shrapnel. His body executed a back flip and landed next to Enigma.

“Goodbye, old friend. I’m coming.” Enigma slumped back, not quite dead. Then, as his spirit
left his body, he saw a woman running toward him, her sandy-blonde hair waving, her head
turning, blue eyes searching, the sun at her back. He knew that his dream had come true. He
smiled as she held his body in her arms and cried until night came, and they were alone under
the moon.
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Chapter 31 - Epilogue
They stood in the small assembly, staring at the body of the man they had once known. The
flames rose high into the sky, his spirit already gone. They were all companions, fellow warriors
in the struggle they fought every day.

“We are gathered here today to remember and cherish old friends. We are also here to
celebrate that they died in order that we could now live here. Their deaths were not in vain,
their sacrifices not for vain heroism. They died because they believed in what we all believe in:
peace. They knew that pacifism is not the road to peace; they fought because sometimes, war
and death is the only way. For Enigma and Kevin Heathcliffe, their way was death. Ours is life.
We must now cherish those who are dead, and embrace those who can live. Peace to all of
you.”

Jasmine stood, gazing at the burning corpses. One she had hardly known, the other, she
knew, but could not remember from where or when. His face haunted her dreams, yet she had
never met him until hours before his death. For some reason, she wept, but she knew not why.
She stared deep into his face. Then she recognized him. Where had it started? She looked back
into her past, beyond the war, beyond the sad stories of friends forever lost, beyond the haze
that clouded her history. She remembered the day it had all started.

Enigma had given his life so she could have hers. A single tear crept down her cheek, then
another. Soon a torrent fell down her face as she wept for him.
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From little towns in a far land we came

To save our honour and a world aflame.

By little towns in a far land we sleep

And trust the world we won for you to keep.

~ Rudyard Kipling

This is dedicated to all the soldiers over all the years who have given their lives in the
defense of liberty, justice, and freedom. Our thanks goes out to you and our support to your
families. Rest in peace.