Notissimum legatum-LV
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DATE:9th of July, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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The sunlight streaming through the curtains signaled that I'd slept well past my usual time. I rolled out of bed, still feeling the fatigue from yesterday, and headed to the kitchen. A herbal tea felt like the right choice this morning—soothing and uncomplicated. The faint aroma of chamomile and mint filled the room as I let the tea steep, the warm mug comforting in my hands.
Alice was already at her desk, her eyes glued to the screen. She barely looked up when I passed her, though she mumbled something about reports. Her dedication was... admirable, I supposed.
While sipping the tea, I decided to check my email. Among the usual noise was a message from the Professor. He wanted to see me about the events during the raid. Of course. His curiosity was insatiable, and he never let anything involving me slip by unnoticed.
I stared at the message for a moment before deciding I'd need a ride. My first thought was Sarah, though I doubted she'd be up for it. I called her, more out of obligation than hope.
To my surprise, she answered almost immediately and agreed. She sounded much better than the last time I'd seen her, mentioning that John had helped her recover enough to be mobile again. It was good to hear her voice stronger, though there was an odd hesitance in her tone.
"I needed to see the Professor anyway," she added, almost as if she were reassuring herself. "I… wasn't sure how to approach him on my own."
Judging by her tone, it was clear this wasn't just a casual visit for her. Whatever was on her mind, it weighed heavy.
I finished my tea and grabbed my jacket, taking the elevator downstairs.
Sarah picked me up at ground level, her hands gripping the wheel tightly as she drove. She seemed unusually anxious, her posture stiff and her eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror.
I leaned back, letting the silence sit for a moment before she finally broke it.
"With what happened to Blazer and the Crusader… the Inquisition's getting involved," she said, her tone heavy.
The Inquisition. I'd heard of them, though only in passing. Their official title was the Hero Association Bureau of Internal Investigation—a name far too long and formal for anyone to use. Most just called them the Inquisition, a moniker that suited their reputation.
"They're an elite force, aren't they?" I asked. "Hard to detect, hard to evade. " That's what the mercenaries say, anyway.
Sarah nodded. "That's about right. You never see them coming, but when they decide to dig, they dig deep. And now… they're digging into us."
"Us? Why us?"
"Because of the Crusader," she replied, her voice dropping further. "The Inquisition's started unraveling his past. Turns out he wasn't the saint he made himself out to be. They've linked him to a string of murders, and his wife's already been arrested for helping him cover them up."
I frowned, the pieces clicking into place. The Crusader's reputation had always been spotless—or so it seemed.
"They suspect the whole League," she added grimly.
"Of course they do," I muttered. It made sense. The Crusader had always been a symbol of justice, and if he turned out to be a murderer, it would cast a shadow over everyone associated with him. The Inquisition wouldn't leave any stone unturned.
Sarah glanced at me, her anxiety clear. "You don't seem surprised."
"I'm not," I said simply. "People like the Crusader… they either die clean, or their secrets come out eventually. No one's perfect. Not even heroes." To me it seems that they are mostly terrible people, but whatever.
She didn't respond, but her silence spoke volumes. Whatever else she wanted to say, she wasn't ready yet.
As the car rolled to a stop in front of the underground lab, I turned to Sarah, my expression unreadable. "What about the specimen I stole from the gangster? You've been avoiding the topic."
Sarah froze, her hands gripping the steering wheel. She swallowed hard, and when she finally spoke, her voice was weak.
"It… it was a superhero's heart," she admitted, her gaze locked on the dashboard.
"A superhero's heart?" I repeated, my voice low, incredulous.
She nodded hesitantly. "Secundo Manus killed him. He used it as payment to the Combine Gang for… something. I don't know what exactly."
I said nothing, letting the weight of her words settle. Secundo Manus. His name kept weaving itself deeper into the fabric of this mess, leaving a trail of blood and chaos in its wake.
We got out of the car in silence, descending the stairs to the lab. This time, Sarah followed me, her reluctance clear in the way she lingered a step behind.
The lab was as I remembered—cold, sterile, and humming with the faint buzz of machinery. The professor was waiting for us in one of his workshops, a massive assembly line of drones dominating the room. He was hunched over a control panel, tweaking some settings, but he straightened when he saw us enter.
"Ah, Aionis," he greeted, his voice warm despite the clinical atmosphere. His eyes briefly flicked to Sarah. "Miss Sarah, if you wouldn't mind waiting in the lounge? This discussion is a bit… technical."
Sarah hesitated, glancing at me for reassurance. I gave her a slight nod, and she reluctantly stepped away.
Once she was out of earshot, the professor gestured for me to follow him to a nearby workbench. On it lay an array of components—microchips, wires, and tiny sensors that gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light.
"I heard from Emily," he began without preamble, "about the limitations of the current sensors in your phone. I believe I can improve them significantly."
I raised an eyebrow. "You talked to Emily?"
He smiled, a faint glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Yes. There's a chip installed in your phone for communication. It's part of the design. Emily used it to send me a detailed report of the sensors' performance during your last… mission."
"So she can reach out to you without me knowing?"
"Only when necessary," he assured me. "She respects boundaries. But she's a highly advanced AI, Aionis. It would be a waste not to let her capabilities grow."
I looked at the workbench, the potential upgrades tempting. "What kind of improvements are we talking about?"
"Better resolution, faster processing, and the ability to detect a broader spectrum of data," he said. "With these upgrades, you'll have an edge that even the Inquisition would envy."
His mention of the Inquisition sent a flicker of unease through me, but I pushed it aside. "Let's see what you can do."
The professor smiled, already reaching for his tools. "That's the spirit."
The professor carefully removed the modules from the phone, snapping them out one by one with a precision that belied his age. It was fascinating to watch—each module detaching cleanly from the motherboard without the destructive process of soldering. I hadn't realized until then how this design reduced Emily's "pain."
"Interesting, isn't it?" he mused, noticing my expression. "This modular design was intentional. It minimizes distress to Emily whenever upgrades are necessary."
I nodded slowly, feeling a pang of guilt for not understanding this connection earlier.
As he continued his work, the professor shifted the conversation. "So, Vicenzio," he began, his voice sharp with disdain. "I don't feel any remorse for what happened to him. His heart was as rotten as his lineage."
"You didn't like him?" I asked, watching as he carefully disconnected another piece.
"The lordship of Balmundi has been a stain on society long before the Conquest of Concord," he said, his tone cold. "Even as feudal lords, they were cruel and oppressive. The Syndicate is just the latest iteration of their corruption."
I frowned, remembering what Vicenzio had said during the raid. "But he claimed he wasn't part of the Balmundi Syndicate."
The professor let out a dry laugh, setting down a delicate chip. "Ah, that's a common refrain among them. Balmundi isn't a dynasty, Aionis. It's a former village—an isolated settlement where nearly everyone was related by blood or marriage. After the conquest, the village was abandoned, but the name lives on. The Balmundi today are scattered across the land, with several 'main' families taking the name. There's the one that controls the Syndicate, the ones who were feudal lords, and various branch families spread through cities. They all call themselves Balmundi, but they act as though they're separate entities."
"So, it's not just one family? They're all connected by name and history?"
"Precisely," the professor said, glancing at me briefly before returning to the phone. "Vicenzio likely belonged to one of the branch families trying to maintain their old pride while distancing themselves from the Syndicate's infamy. A futile effort, if you ask me. They're all cut from the same cloth."
His words hung in the air for a moment before another question surfaced in my mind. "Why did you take the name Mundi?"
The professor paused, his hands still for the first time since he began. He let out a quiet sigh. "That was my mother's choice," he said softly. "When we fled Ventia, she wanted us to leave everything behind—our family, our history, even our name. She chose 'Mundi' as a symbol of freedom, of belonging to the world rather than a single place. But for me, it became a reminder of all that we lost."
I studied his face as he spoke, his usually sharp features softened by the weight of memory. For a moment, I saw not the cold, calculating genius, but a man who had endured more than he cared to admit.
He shook his head, as if dispelling the memory, and resumed his work. "Enough about the past. Let's focus on the present. Emily will have a stronger connection to you once I finish these upgrades. She'll be able to process and relay data faster than ever."
I nodded, though my thoughts lingered on the Balmundi name and the weight it carried—not just for the Syndicate, but for everyone it touched.
As I settled into the waiting room, I slipped the earpiece in and softly called out to Emily.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, leaning back in the chair.
Her response was immediate. "I'm alright," she said, her voice carrying a hint of worry, "but I'm more concerned about you."
I frowned slightly. "Why's that?"
"From what I've read online," she began, hesitating as though choosing her words carefully, "repeated exposure to high-stress situations can lead to exhaustion and mental strain. I... I know you say you're fine, but..."
"I'm used to it," I cut in, trying to reassure her.
She paused before responding, her voice tinged with unease. "But how? How can you take lives so easily? I've been monitoring your vitals through the drug-release vial connected to your pulse. Your heart didn't even react, no matter how many people you killed. It stayed steady, like nothing had happened."
Her admission hung in the air, her tone more curious than judgmental. "I... I can't really understand it myself," she continued softly, "but it's strange, isn't it?"
I sighed, folding my hands together. "I grew up in a dangerous environment," I explained, my voice even and unbothered. "Taking lives was a necessity, not a choice. When you face that reality enough times, you stop feeling anything about it. You adapt, or you die."
Emily was silent for a moment before she spoke again, her tone quieter now. "I see... I don't think I'll ever understand, but I just... hope you're alright."
Her concern was almost endearing, though I wasn't sure how to respond. I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes for a brief moment, the sound of her voice fading into a quiet hum as I waited for Sarah to return.
After a while, Sarah loosened her grip and pulled away. Her eyes were red and puffy, her makeup smudged, but she tried to compose herself.
"The professor confirmed it," she said, her voice shaky but resolute. "UltraMan can be resurrected." She paused, biting her lip as fresh tears welled up. "But I didn't want to meet him again like this… not as a pawn for Secundo Manus. He's going to twist him into a killer."
I held her gaze for a moment and said firmly, "We'll stop his plans."
She looked at me hesitantly, as though she wanted to believe me, then nodded reluctantly. With a deep breath, she started the car and pulled away from the lab.
As we drove through the city streets, the atmosphere remained heavy. After some time, I broke the silence. "Sarah… what about Amiya? Why didn't John heal her like he did for you?"
Sarah tightened her grip on the wheel, her jaw clenching slightly before answering. "John's power isn't healing in the way people think. It's more… precise. He can suture, cut, or mend at an atomic level, but it's more about manipulation than restoration. He uses it to stop bleeding or force cells into repair mode, but he can't… he can't regenerate tissue or age it up to where it should be."
I nodded slowly, processing her words.
The rest of the drive was silent, the weight of the conversation pressing down on us both.
We said our goodbyes and went down our own paths.
At home it wasn't that eventful.
I decided to make some popcorn in a pan, but Alice ate most of it while I was washing my hands. Such a thief!-*-*-*-*-*