Conscientia mortem-XXXIII
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DATE:5th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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In the briefing room, Superior Woman displayed an impressive set of schematics and documents on the monitor, highlighting a duplex in the middle of Bastogne Alley, one of the oldest parts of Concord.
"This," she began, pointing to the image of the complex, "is where Dr. Biz, our 'mad scientist,' operates. Known for his work in cybernetic abominations—flesh twisted with steel, creating nightmarish hybrids that obey his every command. He's developed technology beyond our current understanding: energy weapons capable of mass destruction, and molecular reactors that could power entire cities… or wipe them off the map."
She paused, letting the weight of it settle, then continued, "But his worst crime is hoarding all of this technology. Holding humanity back from the power it could wield."
I nearly scoffed. The worst crime? I thought. To me, and I was sure to Alice as well, Biz's so-called "abominations" and grotesque experiments on human lives seemed infinitely worse. But Superior Woman's priorities were clearly different, focused more on what he was keeping from the world than the twisted suffering he left in his wake.
She shifted her stance and went on. "Our team for the operation will include myself, Alice, Aionis—" she shot me a sharp look, "—and Chen." The man from earlier, the one with lightning-fast martial arts skills, nodded in acknowledgment.
I nodded, unsurprised. My AI had already dug up most of this information, piecing together clues about Biz's habits and movement. Of course, I let Superior Woman do the talking.
"There's only one way in," she continued, emphasizing the main entrance. "No rooftop access, no underground tunnels. It's designed to look like any other building, but the interior will be wired with traps. We'll have to rely on stealth and awareness—anything obvious could be a trigger."
Alice's face tightened as she studied the plan. "So we're dealing with a controlled entry and probably some form of automated defense inside?"
Superior Woman nodded. "Correct. From what we know, Biz has automated systems in place, but we don't know the exact layout. I expect some sort of security bots or internal sensors, so stay vigilant. Civilians live nearby, and the last thing we need is a scene or, worse, hostages."
She paused, glancing over each of us. "Our team is minimal. The objective is simple: get in, apprehend Biz, and secure his research."
Superior Woman ended with a final reminder. "Stay focused. He's not just some mad scientist—Biz is strategic. We may only get one chance at this."
With that, the plan was set, and we were ready to move.
Alice glanced at me, likely picking up on my reaction, though she stayed silent. I shrugged. This whole mission seemed like a mess already, but if it meant putting an end to whatever Biz was doing, then at least that was something.
As we stepped into the building, the front room had an oddly domestic charm. It looked like an ordinary reception area—an old-fashioned armchair in one corner, a dusty chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a musty, faded carpet spread across the floor. The only thing unusual was the heavy, seemingly locked door at the back.
Alice moved toward it, her face steely as she approached the lock. She raised her hand, prepared to break it open, when suddenly, with a deafening clang, the door of a nearby wardrobe burst open. A half-human, half-metal creature—a grotesque cyborg, likely one of Biz's deranged creations—lunged at her. Its eyes were hollow, and its twisted, malformed limbs clanged and whirred, betraying remnants of flesh wrapped around raw metal.
Without thinking, Alice's instinct kicked in. She intensified the gravitational pull around it, intending to immobilize the cyborg and buy us a moment to regroup. But instead, the force was overwhelming. The creature's flesh began to contort, skin and muscle warping as its organic parts imploded inward, crushed brutally against the unforgiving metal. In seconds, it crumpled into a horrifying mass, unmoving.
Alice froze, staring in horror at what she'd done, her breathing suddenly shallow. She hadn't meant to kill it—just to neutralize the threat. But she'd lost control.
Her hands trembled as she looked at the crumpled body, her face pale and haunted. This mission was pushing her to a breaking point she hadn't anticipated, and I could see the cracks in her resolve forming right in front of me. Her usual fierce determination had faded, replaced with a fragile, haunted look that hadn't left her eyes since Prisma's death.
Watching her, I couldn't help but think thag she looked like she was barely holding on, teetering on the edge of despair. And here we were, expected to keep going, pushing deeper into Biz's lair, without a moment to catch our breath.
I kept quiet, unsure of what to say that wouldn't make it worse. Alice was strong—stronger than most of us—but in this moment, her strength was slipping, and I wasn't sure if she could keep carrying this burden.
Superior Woman approached the door with a determined look, her frustration evident. She stepped back and delivered a powerful punch, aimed at breaking the lock. But instead of splintering wood, her fist collided with an unseen barrier. The sound was more akin to hitting solid steel, and she staggered back, shaking her hand in disbelief.
"What the hell?" she muttered, inspecting the door closely. I felt a cold knot of dread forming in my stomach as I noticed a faint, pulsating glow around the edges of the door. An energy field? It seemed to encompass the entire house, locking us in.
Before any of us could react, a distorted voice crackled through the old radio on the reception desk, echoing off the walls like a twisted invitation. "Welcome, my esteemed guests! It seems you've found yourselves in my little sanctuary. How delightful!" The voice held a mocking cheerfulness that sent shivers down my spine.
"We prefer to call it an uninvited intrusion," Superior Woman shot back, her voice steady but tinged with irritation.
The voice continued, unperturbed. "Ah, yes, quite the audacious move! But I must confess, your arrival is somewhat annoying. However, I do love a good game! I have prepared a riddle for you. Solve it within the hour, or..." The voice trailed off, and I could hear a soft, sinister chuckle. "...inert poison gas will fill this room, and I would hate for anything to happen to such promising heroes."
Superior Woman scoffed, crossing her arms. "You really think some gas could kill me? I've been through worse than whatever you're cooking up!"
"Is that so?" The voice replied, its tone suddenly sharper. "But what about your team? How will they fare against the poison? I imagine your strength won't be of much help if you're incapacitated, or worse… dead." The last word hung ominously in the air, thick with malice.
I glanced at Alice, whose face had gone pale. The memory of the cyborg's death still lingered, and I could see her thoughts spiraling into dark places. We were trapped, and the odds were stacking against us. I felt the weight of the situation pressing down, a suffocating reminder that we were running out of time.
"We have to figure this out," I said, breaking the tense silence that followed. "There must be a way to stop this gas from getting in."
Superior Woman nodded, her focus returning as she surveyed the room. "First things first. Let's listen to the riddle and figure out what we're dealing with."
The voice crackled again, this time more theatrical. "Here's your riddle: What has eyes that don't cross, teeth that don't floss, and trees with no moss? Solve it quickly, my dear guests, or I promise you won't enjoy the breathe of fresh air for much longer!"
I stared blankly at the reception area, my mind racing as I tried to dissect the words. What has eyes that don't cross, teeth that don't floss, and trees with no moss? It felt like a nonsensical jumble of phrases, a puzzle with no solution.
"What the hell does that even mean?" I muttered, trying to grasp the significance of each line. My thoughts tumbled over one another like marbles rolling down a hill. "Eyes that don't cross… teeth that don't floss… trees with no moss? There can't possibly be an answer to that."
Chen's expression mirrored my confusion, his brows furrowing as he processed the riddle. "It sounds like a riddle from a children's book or something," he said, his voice strong. "But what could it possibly refer to?"
Superior Woman paced, her fists clenched. "It's just a distraction. He wants us to waste time figuring it out while he prepares whatever trap he has in store for us. But we can't afford to play his games!"
I nodded, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "But we don't have a choice. If we don't solve it, we'll suffocate. So, let's break it down."
"Okay," Chen said, taking a deep breath. "Eyes that don't cross. Maybe that refers to something like a… a map? Eyes can represent spots or locations, and maps have them but they don't cross each other."
"Right, but what about teeth?" I pressed. "And trees?"
Superior Woman interjected, "Teeth could symbolize something sharp. Maybe something that cuts or grinds? But trees with no moss… could it mean something that resembles trees but isn't actually organic?"
My mind was spinning, the pressure mounting as I felt the clock ticking down. "It's just a riddle, and it's got to mean something simple," I insisted, my voice rising with frustration. "But this feels like an absurd waste of time. There has to be an easier way to figure this out."
As I stood there, caught in a web of confusion and mounting dread, the reality sank in: this riddle was our only chance to escape. But the more I tried to grasp its meaning, the more it slipped through my fingers like sand.
Alice was the best one to answer such a stupid riddle, but she was currently out of action. I don't think Biz did this on purpose.
Damn, fuck it I give up. I placed myself in the armchair and tried to collect my supposed last thoughts about what happened in my life.
That damn desert...
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DATE:2nd of May, the 55th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Dunes of Salvia
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We spotted the smoke before we saw the wreck, thick and black against the storm's choking red haze. As we drew closer, my stomach sank. The truck we'd been sent to secure was engulfed in flames, burning like a beacon in the empty desert. Around it lay the bodies of the other mercenaries, their forms half-buried by sand, faces frozen in expressions of pain and defiance. Bullet holes pocked their torsos and limbs, testament to a brutal last stand. It looked like they'd tried to fend off the insurgents as long as they could, pushing through the sandstorm while under fire.
The captain cursed under his breath, his voice barely audible over the storm as he scanned the carnage. "Damn it… nothing left to recover here."
Just as he signaled for us to turn back, his gaze snapped to something in the distance—a half-truck barely visible through the shifting sands. He motioned forward urgently. "There! That's got to be our last chance."
We gunned the engines, pushing through the storm toward the vague silhouette until more shapes emerged. Two half-trucks sat half-buried in sand, clearly damaged, likely from gunfire or the relentless winds. As we slowed, I could see shadows crouched beneath them—insurgents shielding themselves from the storm's fury, trying to guard their loot.
The moment they heard our bikes, they scrambled, fumbling for their weapons, but it was too late. We were already closing in, Barry firing as we skidded to a stop. I raised my weapon alongside him, firing at a man barely on his feet, sending him crumpling backward into the sand. Around us, the other mercs moved in like a well-rehearsed dance, their shots precise, bodies swift as we took down the insurgents one by one. In moments, silence fell, broken only by the howl of the storm.
The captain walked over to one of the half-trucks, checking its cargo. He lifted a small crystal in his gloved hand, ventium glinting like some strange, dangerous gem even in the hazy light.
The captain stared at the two half-trucks, the gears clearly turning in his head as he slurred his words, struggling to come up with a plan. "How… how in hell are we supposed to get these things back? We were banking on the damn armored truck, not... this mess." He kicked at the sand, glancing irritably over at me. "Zaun, check the engine on that one. See if we've got any shot of getting at least one of these rolling."
I didn't even need to look under the hood. "They're packed with sand. Not a chance."
The captain swore again, spitting into the storm as if it might do something to change our situation. For a moment, I thought he was going to call the mission off altogether. Then Paul, who'd been staring at the corpses scattered around us, spoke up.
"We could… improvise," he suggested, his voice calm and strangely clinical. "If we strip the clothes from these bodies, knot them together into a kind of… blanket or tarp, we could pile the crystals in and drag it behind the bikes. Soft sand means it should hold up, at least until we get close."
The captain shook his head, looking at Paul as if he'd lost his mind. "Are you serious? We're gonna play tug-o-war across miles of dunes?"
Barry, surprisingly, chimed in. "Sand's soft enough. Shouldn't tear too fast, especially with the crystals piled in a bundle. Just gotta make sure the knots hold."
With a frustrated grunt, the captain glanced back at the trucks, then at the dead mercenaries around us. "Fine. Zaun, Barry—get to work. Grab whatever fabric you can. The rest of you, see what rope we can scavenge. Let's make this work."
Grimly, we set to the gruesome task, stripping off torn, bloodstained clothing from bodies that had, minutes before, been our enemies. I tried not to focus too much on what I was doing, keeping my mind focused on the dull task of tying each piece together, looping shirts, jackets, and whatever else we could find into a makeshift blanket.
We rolled the ventium crystals into the fabric, forming a solid bundle, then tied ropes around it and connected it to our dirt bikes. The whole thing looked like something out of a nightmare, but it would have to do.
As I tightened the last knot, I muttered to Barry, "One storm, one bullet—this whole plan falls apart."
He just shrugged, giving me a grim smile. "It's held this far. Let's see if we can drag this haul back before anything else goes wrong."
The journey back was a chaotic tug-of-war, each bike bound to the bundle of crystals by knotted cloth and tangled rope. With all three dirt bikes connected, we had to move in sync, every twist of the throttle pulling the bag forward a few feet through the sand, then straining against the dunes that seemed hell-bent on stopping us.
"Hold steady!" shouted the captain from his bike, positioned in the middle to keep us aligned.
It was grueling, every second a relentless battle against the storm. The wind screeched, ripping across the dunes and throwing sand like shrapnel. It was as if the desert itself wanted to swallow us whole, sand piling in waves that crashed against us, half-blinding me as I gripped the handlebars. I stole a glance at Barry beside me, the bandana around his face barely keeping the storm at bay, his goggles already dusted and scratched.
The makeshift bag holding the crystals dragged behind us, jerking and bouncing over the sand dunes. With each lurch, I feared the clothes would tear, spilling the precious crystals we'd just fought so hard to retrieve. I kept an eye on the bundle every time I dared a quick look back, watching it swing wildly, held together only by knots in the sand-blasted fabric of dead men.
The bike jolted and jerked beneath me as we sped through patches of thick, soft sand, and I fought to keep it steady. Every bump sent a jolt through my bones, vibrating into my chest as I braced myself against the endless stream of sand slashing past my face. It stuck to my sweat-soaked skin, filling every crease and crevice, the grit collecting in the corners of my eyes and gritting against my teeth. My lungs felt heavy with it, every breath an effort.
"Zaun, hold it steady!" Barry shouted over the roar of the wind, his voice muffled as he turned to check on the bundle. I barely nodded, my mind set on one thing: just make it back. We crested a steep dune, only to careen down its side with a near loss of balance. My heart hammered, but I forced the bike forward, ignoring the burn in my hands and legs
"You're pulling too hard, Zaun!" Barry's shout barely cut through the roar of the wind. I eased off the throttle, matching my speed to his, trying to keep that delicate balance. My heart pounded, hands aching from gripping the handlebars as we navigated patches of loose sand that seemed to swallow the wheels.
As the storm grew fiercer, visibility plummeted. The bag threatened to swing wildly whenever we hit a bump or slide, so we had to keep our distance in a tight line. At times, the wind would throw up gusts so intense that the ropes would creak under the strain, almost yanking the bag from our grasp. The captain cursed under his breath, but he kept his bike steady, dragging us forward through the sand and refusing to let up, as though sheer willpower alone could keep us from snapping apart.
Each foot forward felt like a battle won, every meter earned through gritted teeth and aching limbs. By the time we saw the camp's outline ahead, exhaustion clung to us as tightly as the sand, caking our skin and clothes.
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We finally dragged the makeshift bag over the last stretch, the camp coming into sight through the thickening haze of sand. The storm was turning brutal; the sand stung like a thousand needles, and every second on the bike felt like fighting against a giant's breath pushing us backward. Each shift of the sand threatened to pull the bundle free or tip us over. By the time we reached the perimeter, we were barely holding it together.
"Move! Get it underground!" the captain yelled, his voice barely audible over the raging winds.
Together, we kicked up the sand with shovels and whatever else we could find, working quickly to bury the precious ventium crystals before they could be scattered to the storm. The sand fought us the whole time, blowing back into the shallow trench, burying our hands and legs as we worked. My body ached, and I could feel the grit in every pore and joint. I was covered in sand, my skin rubbed raw by its roughness. I thought of the crystals underground, now sealed away like buried treasure we'd only risk our lives to dig up again.
Finally, with the last mound of sand over the pile, we scrambled for the shelter of the metal shacks, practically falling inside and slamming the door shut against the roaring wind. I collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily, soaked in sweat and coated with sand from head to toe. The grit scratched at my skin, irritating every pore. My mouth was dry, my clothes felt like sandpaper, and the grime on me felt permanent, sinking deeper with each breath. There was no shower in this camp, no reprieve from the desert caked into every part of me.
All I could do was sink into the corner, trying not to breathe too deeply as I wiped the sand off my face, knowing full well it'd just settle back in again.
I leaned back against the wall, every inch of my skin itching, stinging from the sand, feeling heavier than I could stand. It was everywhere—in my hair, under my nails, scraping against my clothes. The grit stuck to my skin, soaking up every bead of sweat until my whole body felt like one raw, open wound. The air inside the shack was thick and stale, hot like the inside of an oven. I tried to breathe, but each inhale caught in my throat, scratching like tiny needles down to my lungs.
And for what? I looked at my hands, callused and trembling, at the filthy camp, at the wind rattling through every gap in the metal walls, at the sack of buried crystals just outside. They weren't just some precious resources; they were soaked in blood and agony. A mountain of lives sacrificed for stones that didn't even give back warmth or food, just some glowing chunks in a world that didn't care how many died to dig them up.
The bitterness rose in my chest, raw and fierce, pressing against my ribs like a blade. I almost laughed and cried at the same time, feeling the weight of it all pressing down until I could hardly breathe. The taste of salt burned at the back of my throat, my eyes stinging as if the storm had followed me in here. I was going to crack, right there in that filthy shack, choking on the damn futility of it all.
Then Barry's voice sliced through my thoughts, sharp and cold.
"You look pitiful, you know that?" He stood across from me, arms crossed, staring at me like I was something small and weak. His eyes were hard, that same hatred there, seething just beneath the surface. "I knew you were soft. Just didn't think you'd fall apart this fast."
The words hit me, twisting something inside. I was too tired to respond, too broken to fight back, so I just stared at the ground, letting his words sink in, feeling them burn.
"C'mon, seriously? Look at you," he sneered. "Crawling into some corner like a kicked dog. You think you're suffering? You don't know half of it, kid. Out here, it's the tough who survive. The rest—" he let out a low, scornful chuckle, "they just break."
I could feel his eyes on me, that cold, cruel glint, like he was feeding off the way I was sinking. All I could do was sit there, feeling every word dig in deeper, mocking the part of me that still wanted to hold onto something, anything worth saving in this place.
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DATE:5th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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Thinking about it, Barry really was a piece of shit. I was all vulnerable there and he couldn't help but be an asshole. Damn he was cold.
But I can't deny that he was right. I was weak. But was it really the right choice to kill that part of me?
As I stayed there, in that comfy armchair, I realized how futile my existence had become these past days. I was currently waiting for my Doom while some idiots tried to solve a riddle. Why did I even bother to involve myself with this scheme? To take revenge on the Donn?
I never cared about that.
Was it because I didn't want the change link to reveal my identity?
If that was the case, why didn't I just kill her? Or better yet run away?
I don't think anyone would have bothered to track me down in another country. Or maybe they would. I did kill one of the most important people in the world....
Oh well. I guess there wasn't a better option.
At about 10 minutes before my death, I mustered the courage to finally ask Alice to solve the damn riddle. She had almost an hour to recollect her thoughts about murdering someone so I couldn't afforded her any more slack.
Her response really surprised me. In a cold detached tone she said:
"What has eyes that don't cross, teeth that don't floss, and trees with no moss?"
A pirate ship: the pirates all have eyepatches, the 'teeth' are their sabres, and the mossless trees the ship's masts." Those empty eyes reminded me of mine, but they looked uncharactistic on her face. A shame really, they destroyed that 'girl Full of curiosity look' she had going for her. And the apathetic way she said it, almost as if it was obvious. It was clear she already knew the answer. Could it have been that she was to stand to respond? Possibly. Admittedly it could also be just her not understanding what is the point to continue.
The door bipped and the Distorted voice returned:
" Weeel done. You may go to the exploration quest now that the tutorial was over."
SuperiorWoman sneered.
" And what? The riddle is supposed to mean anything?" Of course, she didn't get any response.
Yes, someone who sees herself as a perfect character from a novel would get her perspective about the world broken by leaving that stereotype.
The cold look in her eye said otherwise though. I don't think Alice is as innocent as she pretends. She wasn't sad that she killed that man. No, I didn't receive that idea. She was dissapointed.
One day how could someone be disappointed when they kill a person, but we are not talking about someone mentally stable. Yes, it could be said that having people die randomly is part of a character's journey in a book. But just killing someone out in the open like that, or perhaps the repetition this thing had in the past few days just made her give up. Yes, considering how she ponders her words carefully, she may just have not had anything to reply with in that circumstance.
Of course this could also be just meaningless thoughts drawn up by myself to delude myself from my own suffering, or remembering it.
I suppose it is worth to do a test.
I raised from the armchair and hugged her from behind whispering that it is all right. It didn't take long for Alice to get back into character and start crying, but this was no evidence that it was a fake action. Now that is something we will see later.
With no regrets, I raise from the floor and dwelve deeper into the house.-