Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

  Marshall slipped into a state between sleep and a coma. Some moments he could swear that he could hear the world around him; notes of yelling without words, smells without images, and feelings without heat. The next, he was in a dream-like state where nothing made sense. The day’s events played backwards, people were in the wrong places, and things he knew were supposed to be there weren’t. Marshall swore that he must have died, and this was some kind of pre-death loop he had been thrown into at the whims of the Void and its take on the Laws of Reality. It had to be, because he should be dead right now from the explosion.

  Right, the explosion. Focus on that and drill down. He had seen the timer at roughly 2 minutes before he fainted. That meant that if he woke up right now, then he would have seconds to get Delton and flee as fast as he–

  “That won’t work, and you know it.” The voice floated into his mind like a far off speaker at a concert back in the Castle. Like the singer was speaking only to him, and that the crowd was gone. The echo was off, but it held no power behind its words. Like the beat of a butterfly’s wings against his ear.

  It didn’t sound like Tethel, but instead sounded much more robotic. Lacking human emotions and missing the reflections that humans have when they talk to each other. It was like a computer addressed him in a generated voice. Like virtual intelligence.

  “Archie? Is that you?” Marshall’s voice came out in a rasp that he couldn’t identify why. Why was his voice so shot? Why did it sound like he was just waking up from a horrid sleep? He looked around the destroyed building he climbed out of. He stood in the hallway of it, the sounds of gunfire in reverse outside.

  “Is that what you want to call me?” The flaccid tone came from above him. Whoever it was, they were upstairs speaking down to him. Through a crack in the floor maybe? “Very well. Redesignation registered.”

  Wait, what? Hadn’t he already nicknamed the machine to that stupid name he came up with? He knew it was in bad taste, but he found it fitting to call a machine like it Archie. So why was it acting like…

  The place around him started to bleed together and form a new shape. No, not a new shape. A more fixed up state of the same shape. The walls were repairing, the holes in the ceiling were closing, and the windows fell back into a solid state. A white, clean paint covered the walls again as he watched. It was like everything was peeling in reverse and the damage was rewinding in time.

  As the building came back to what he assumed was before The Fall, he started seeing vague shapes as well. Humanoid shadows were walking around the halls of the building. They seemed to hurry from place to place, a couple of them running even. Those two were smaller; about the size of children if he could guess. A secretary sat behind a counter, seeming to be talking to a few more shadows in bulkier wear. Possibly soldiers? Marshall wasn’t sure, but he did know that this place was… a lot more packed than he thought it would be.

  He wandered past the entrance he was standing at and looked down the hall. Some of the shadows were coming into focus, showing those that would have stayed at the hospital as patients in wheelchairs or on beds preparing to be wheeled. The doctors went through their chores and jobs; some standing around with papers and some more attending to patients. Just like life he knew, the medical staff never had a moment of rest.

  A sound came from the doorway down that he had used. It was some kind of reader on the side, the light green and letting through some more vague shapes. Those armed men he saw from prior gazes. He looked back to see more of them at the counter, signing something with the receptionist. A patient wandered past them, the burns on her side showing through the wrappings binding her waist.

  Marshall took another look around and noticed that all of them shared similar burns and markings. Some kind of heat or radiation burn that turned these people into casualties by the looks of it. He kept that thought as he followed after the vague shapes of the men who had yet to come into focus. The door closed behind him, sealing. Funny, it hadn’t had a seal on it when he had used it.

  The men made their way down the same set of stairs he was used to. The stairs he quickly climbed to escape the hellish time below he had experienced. He was now descending them in this ‘nightmare’ he was having. One that he was sure Archie was somehow imposing on him. They made their way down the stairs to the door he knew as the cells. One of them paused and looked through the window of the door. It shook its head and looked to the other one, motioning to continue down the stairs.

  Curiosity took Marshall, and he looked in the door’s window after the one shadow had moved. Beyond it was more of those shadowy people, but also some kind of shadow he knew the shape of all too well. Behind that door was a R.I.O.T. trooper, one of the headaches for the Castle’s soldiers when dealing with rebels. To see them on Terra, and in the days they were employed actively, was a shock to him. They were easily a head taller than Marshall, and were bulkier than normal armor by a wide margin. The kicker? They were civilian-suppression soldiers. They weren’t even meant to be used in war.

  Marshall turned and followed after the two vague shapes. They were starting to come into focus now, as if him realizing who they were cemented them as existing. They were two of the old-world’s Civilian Authority. Since this place was in one of the old states left over from Russia breaking apart, they still utilized a lot of the more Western-Euro authoritative measures. The Civilian Authority being nothing more than a home-guard military. The military weapons they were holding didn’t help either.

  By the time they reached the floor that Marshall had fled from earlier, Marshall’s nerves were on edge. What would he see when the doors were open? Marshall was a trained soldier, but at the end of the day he was a soldier trained to fight inside a cockpit and sometimes against people. If an eldritch horror waited for him behind that door, Marshall was more than ready to find out what his own gun tasted like. Yet, he needed to look. Whether it was some burning desire or whatever was making this nightmare, he felt the pull to know.

  When the officers stepped through the door, the hallway from prior awaited them. Yet, there was a new hallway open. A couple shadows passed into it from the hallway, making room for the officers. Marshall followed, recognizing the shapes that he passed as scientists. Odd how the shadows only come into focus when he figures out what they are. He looked down the new hallway to see a stairwell at the end of that one as well. Maybe it collapsed before his time there?

  Marshall exited into the room he knew as the test chamber. What awaited him was… not too surprising. That, by itself, was what threw him so off. Scientists seemed to be along the platforms performing calibrations and tests. Around the edge of the room were more officers and some vague shapes that looked like the officers. The fact that they were shadowy meant that he hadn’t identified them yet. Standing in the center was another of the vague shapes that matched those against the walls. Joined by it was a man who held not a single ounce of vagueness. His form was crystal clear and seemed to almost draw in the eye.

  The man was a scientist of some kind. His uniform spoke of it, but the handgun on his side and a ballistic helmet on his head made that conclusion blurry. Scientists weren’t typically armed unless they were with a military, and even then, why under a hospital? The man patted the shadow on the shoulder and spoke. “Come now, Pvt. Evandor. You were so sure of yourself before, and all our tests are up to date. You only have to step through, and you’ll be the first man to teleport thousands of miles in a moment.”

  The shape next to him said something, but it was horridly warbled into static. Marshall actually winced from the sound of it. The man frowned and spoke again. “Hal, can you please confirm that the relay is active?”

  One of the scientists on the side answered in an affirmative quickly. “Yes sir, the relay is active. We have a jump-point between us and the Flux Relay. We’re also anchored to station 11, London. All systems are green.”

  The man turned back and nodded to the shadow. “See? All is fine… Now I need you to stand here and wait for the arch to light up. Then, when the portal is active, step into it. Ah! And here–” The man grabbed a helmet off the table next to the arch. “Put this on so we can see what you do. Don’t want you getting lost on the other side, do we?”

  The man stepped aside and the portal started to flare to life. The same way Marshall had seen a Nest open up, a portal to the Void opened right in front of him between the ring of the arch. The shadow hesitated for a moment, then stepped through.

  There was a pregnant pause as everyone held their breath. After a few heartbeats, a chime went through the room. An elated scientist tapped a couple buttons and exclaimed. “We have it! A proper connection, and even a whole test subject! London is sending over that he didn’t have the helmet we handed him but…”

  A new silence fell across the room. The man in the center, with a smile still on his face, spoke. “Where is the tracker, Doctor Freedmont?” The scientist rapidly slammed on keys on their terminal, the others in the room now also getting frantic in their checks. Marshall stepped towards the only man in the room fully in focus, and looked him over. He seemed a normal man at first glance, but the look in his eyes was dead. Nothing was alive in this man’s soul. And the next part confirmed that.

  “Evandor’s tracker is still active… but not sending a signal. However, the gate still reads it as active. Which means…” The scientist trailed off hesitantly. A hesitance that was not shared by her coworker, who jumped in. “Which means that the tracker is somewhere between the gates, in the Flux.”

  The man nodded, but an AI voice followed this instead of him. Archie’s voice. “Conductor, would you like to stop all transit?”

  Marshall called out immediately with a “Archie? Is that you? Can you hear me?” But no reply came. Instead, the man in focus turned towards Marshall and locked eyes with him. As if he could see Marshall.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The Conductor smiled and spoke. “No. In fact, get me a direct line with London. I’d like to speak with our new friend Evandor immediately. I think he’ll be a great help to us and our Flux problem.”

  The eyes bore into Marshall, creating such a fear in him that, after those words were spoken, Marshall turned and fled from the room. A room that slowly devolved into nonsense again. Twists and turns that didn’t make any sense, and rooms built on themselves in never ending spirals that lead both up and down at the same time. And then?

  Light greeted Marshall’s groggy eyes as he blinked them open. It was blinding, but was the greatest thing he’d seen since sliced bread. No, wait, that analogy didn’t work here. No, it was the best thing he’d seen since working toilets on Terra. Yeah, that works.

  His eyes were somewhat unfocused for a few seconds as he tried to get his bearings. It seemed as if something was covering his right eye and blocking out half of his vision. Marshall tried to raise his hand up to touch his face, but found it bound. His eye wandered down towards the place where his hand was and found a very tight, fitted blanket binding him to the bed that he was in. It was all white, including the walls, furniture, and curtains over the window. A poster hung on the wall of a cat on a tree branch, soliciting good feelings of not falling off the branch. Marshall stared at it for a moment, then leaned back with a groan. A headache was forming, and one that threatened to turn into a full blown migraine.

  “Awake, I see?” Came the calm voice of a middle eastern man off to his right. Marshall looked to see a medical curtain pulled out to block his bed from the rest of the room. A shadow of a man was on the other side in the shape of someone sitting, reading something. The man rose and moved the curtain, revealing the rest of the room.

  Marshall was right on the money when he guessed this was a hospital room. A second bed sat on the other side, unoccupied. Instead, a tanned-skinned man stood next to his bed, a book in hand. Marshall squinted to see it read ‘The Summer Before the War’. An odd choice of a title, but Marshall ignored it to look at the man. A man who was looking right back at him.

  His brown eyes seemed relaxed above his lax smile. Yet, even as they peered at Marshall, he felt they were assessing him with every movement. A predator’s gaze. As quickly as they fell on him, however, they moved away to the tray next to his bed. “Water?” Marshall gave a nod, letting the man get it. “Cadence has been beside herself for the better part of a day waiting on you to wake up. She’s the one that tipped the White Coats off that you were in there. Bold spitfire, that one.” He raised the cup to Marshall and poised the straw for him to drink from it; which Marshall did happily. His throat was nothing but sandpaper after that whole ordeal.

  “Sorry, I should introduce myself before I start going over things.” The man spoke after Marshall had drunk a bit, moving the cup back to the side-table. “My name is Mr. A. Well, actually, you can simply call me Aaiden. We’re not so dissimilar, you and I.” He gave a gesture to Marshall before continuing. “My partner, Mr. C, pulled you from that horrid situation. Apparently you met Barnaby. My condolences. That man has it out for anyone and everyone not like him and his. Especially us.”

  Before the man could continue, Marshall cut in. “How are we… similar?” came the raspy reply from his throat.

  Aaiden gave a nod to this and seemed to metaphorically readjust himself. “Right. You’re very new to Terra by the sounds of it, so let me help in this. I’m an Outworlder too. However, I’ve been around the block quite a bit more than you, and can spot people not from here much easier than others of my situation. And you, good sirs, are like a pig in a shark enclosure.”

  As the man paused in his speech, Marshall looked at him with surprise. “I’m… not alone? I thought… I thought it was only my squadmates and me. No one talks about Terra in the Castle.”

  Aaiden smiled at this and waved his hand. “Oh no, of course not! Terra is a failure at containment the likes of which no one has seen since… well, since the last time! Letting the Void get out and uncontained like this is something that is a stain on the Castle’s reputation, so anyone that comes here does it in secret after all. Like me and mine.” He gives a gesture to himself at this. “And unfortunately, you’re now one of those that were lost.” His eyes soften at this, and Marshall can see the pity in them. “I’m truly sorry, but as you are now, you won’t be allowed back.”

  The weight of what Aaiden said to him seemed to settle over his heart like a guillotine ready to kill. He wouldn’t be able to go back? What about his parents? His sister? What did he mean by ‘as he was now’? Marshall seemed to get more and more panicked, but Aaiden raised a hand to shush him. Marshall saw this, but spoke anyway. “What… what do you mean ‘as I am now’?”

  Aaiden paused, then a grave look fell over his face. “Right. I’m sure you can feel it, but let me… get you a mirror…” He rose and searched around the room before coming back with a hand mirror. He held it up to reflect Marshall’s face.

  What stared back at Marshall was nothing short of a horror scene. The eye that held the contact he had put in was now a purple hue with veins bulging in it. Metallic tendrils snaked from it and sunk into his flesh around the right side of his head, making it look like a metal plant had taken root in him. Burn marks, like those on the patients he saw in the dream, were littering the side of his head where the tendrils dug in. He called them radiation burns before… but he knew all too well what they actually were.

  Marshall stared for what felt like ages before he looked away. “I… see.” was the only reply he could force out. “What else happened?” The fact that his voice was so calm enraged Marshall. Yet, there was such a feeling of hollow shock in him that it colored his words like a thick oil.

  Aaiden seemed to be a little off-put by the reply as well, as it took him a moment to actually reply. “... Well, the VI you installed seemed to react to your moment of Blowback. It came alive and… well, it actually saved your life. Your brain should have melted. It also dug in and restarted your heart for you. The doctors here pronounced you dead on arrival, but you started breathing less than half an hour after they announced it. Remarkable, really. I’ve only seen a few individuals come back from a Blowback like that, and not all of them even retain enough sanity to still be called ‘people’. Melting brain and all.” The farther he got into speaking, the less Aaiden seemed to actually be off-put by Marshall’s response. In fact, he even seemed to lean into a more comedic tone for it. As if he was trying to make light of the situation, and give some levity to the air.

  It didn’t work to the degree that Aaiden may have hoped. Marshall, for his worth, just listened and stared at the ceiling like a corpse. It all hit him like a freight hauler. He had been going non-stop on adrenaline, frivolity, and wonderment over all these new sights, sounds, and adventure. He hadn’t taken even a moment to assess what was happening to himself or even what he was getting into. His one-track mind of getting home was all that mattered, and he had realized far too late that the people here were an actual danger to him and his own. He had acted foolishly, selfish even, when it came to how he treated everyone around him. Even challenging that man in the yard was something he could have avoided, if he really tried to. And yet, he didn’t.

  Now, at the end of this whole experience, he only really had a stranger to tell him how fucked he was. Truly, he didn’t even have a moment to contemplate that part before Aaiden’s pause was broken and he continued. “I’m… sorry Marshall. That’s your name, right? Cadence told me it when they brought you in here. I’m sorry to have to tell you all this, and then give the news so lightly and roundabout. I’m not usually the one to deliver these kinds of things.” The man took a breath and continued, seeming to reinforce himself. “Your core is damaged. Your Void-Core, as they call them on Terra. I doubt you’ll be able to actually use the things again the same way you did before. You didn’t have the checks and balances there that the contractors typically have. I’ve been told by a certain bird that you ignited it on your own. Because of that, you went far beyond what your core was capable of and scarred it. It affected your body and… you’ll need to find a good cane maker. The doctors can tell you more when they come in to check on you.”

  Aaiden rose after this, gathering his things he had sitting on the nightstand of the other bed. “I’ll let Cadence know you’re awake. I’m sorry Marshall, truly. I hope you find a good living on Terra.” With that, Aaiden left Marshall to his thoughts.

  It felt like the world just crawled by after that. Cadence visited; a wreck of a person as she blamed herself for getting him involved in Petrov and Valentine. Valentine himself visited, saying his own condolences and swearing to help Marshall through what he may. Some of the White Coats even stopped by, but their faces and names were just blurs to him. Marshall, for all his resolve, just laid there and listened.

  It was over. He couldn’t go home now. He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t win. He was now reduced to a casualty of this world, and he had to live in it after it had maimed him. A dark and clouded reality settled over him, and his days in the White Coat’s hospital ward passed like both molasses and lightning. Reality bled days into minutes, but every one of those minutes were a lifetime. He slept more than he was awake, and the strength to even want to leave had left him.

  Between losing all his companions and friends, to now being trapped here was a truth he now had to deal with. He couldn’t even get Delton out, his body a smear in that crater of what was a battleground. The consequence of his greed and want all coming into fruition.

  On the fourth day of him being in here, Marshall felt a question stir in him. A new need that had slowly been blooming over the course of his time in this singular bed. “...Archie?” came the raspy word, the first spoken in days.

  There was no response, and Marshall felt his blood boil. How dare this VI who had saved him and rendered him a cripple not even respond when he called out? It owed him at least that! Marshall would never walk without assistance again, and the damn VI can’t even–

  “Hello, Conductor. How may I be of assistance?” The words bled into his mind like a haze that could barely be heard. His heart hurt as it spoke, as if something inside of him was too raw to fully understand what it was saying.

  Marshall grimaced and spoke again, obvious strain in his voice. “Archie, do you have a record of who passed within the walls of the building you were in? Such as a man named Petrov? Or Barnaby?”

  The VI didn’t respond for nearly ten minutes after this, but Marshall could feel the thing working. Whatever it was doing, it made his skin crawl with pins and needles and his body to ache. He had to withstand it, however. He needed to know.

  The response came again, the same pain in his chest once again manifesting. “Affirmative. I have a full log of all employees of Flux-Co. Petrov is registered as the regional manager. The first one in–” the number seemed hard to understand, and the pain in his chest grew immense. Marshall coughed, blood staining his lips as he did. The VI stopped, the pain immediately ceasing.

  Marshall stayed like that for some time, panting and waiting for the pain to disperse. When it did, he felt the VI crawl one of the cables along his head out of whatever socket it had been cemented into and work towards his ear. It caused a slight burning in his chest again, but nothing even comparable to last time. When the crawling stopped, the voice was no longer in his mind, but next to his ear. “I’m sorry, Conductor. This should cause less pain. I could not save you. I failed again. Would you like me to rebase my code like last time?”

  A wave of confusion went through him as he processed those words. ‘Again’? ‘Last time?’ Marshall let his held breath out and gently moved his head back and forth. “No, Archie. It isn’t your fault.” The anger in him began boiling as he began to put together a shoddy and pointed plan. “It’s not your fault, but you’re gonna help me kill the bastards who’s fault it is. Then we’re going home, one way or another.”

  The VI was silent for a while, letting Marshall slip back into a restless sleep. When his breath was leveled to indicate REM, the VI whirred again and spoke. “All requirements met. Activating sub-routine: Nightingale.” The voice shifted from the metallic twang that it had to something far too human, and far too familiar. “I’ll protect you this time, Marshall. I promise.”