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PREVIOUS CHAPTER INDEX NEXT CHAPTER Dark Crimson By Nick P. Everything I saw told me that Kurt had gone insane. The place was full of heads and bodies. It was on my way back to the palace that I saw the chains that dangled from the top and down the sides of boulders, attached to which were withered human bodies. More carcasses, some still red, glossy, and dripping, hung from the ceilings on the far side of the terrace. There were also Stroggs, but fewer. If I was still alive, it was obviously because he wanted me that way. Otherwise, the welcoming committee of Stroggs and humans alike wouldn’t have bothered to scatter at the sound of our siren. The siren. It was what Kurt used to control the troops. So what did they think of this stranger, rolling into town and broadcasting orders? Lance and I headed across the stone courtyard, wearily glancing about. The sun was hanging low over the horizon. And in the onslaught of shadows, I found myself surrounded by Kurt’s troops in a matter of seconds. I saw their elongated shadows creep across the Strogg stone masonry moments before a circular wall of flesh, metal, and bone wrapped around me. Lance was left out and cast aside. One Strogg, a filthy thing with grey skin stretched over bone with a gigantic mechanical claw on one arm, a rail gun mounted on the other, and a pair of mechanical legs, rather roughly grabbed me and the whole procession carried me onward into the palace. They pushed me up the stairs and through the terrace, towards the gigantic pair of mechanical doors. One of the humans in the group silently ran up and ran a card through the lock. The doors beeped and swung aside, revealing darkness beyond. And so we proceeded into the blackness. It took my eyes to adjust to the dim light and catch as much as they could. What they took in was a long hall with arched ceilings that ran high above the ground, their roof remaining hidden by darkness. We moved forwards, over the cold, stone floor and took a left. And there was an opening to another room. There, my disgusting escorts stopped and waited for me to walk into the room. They formed an impenetrable wall and I had only one way to go: through the doorway and into what lay beyond. And so I did. When inside, my eyes were pleasantly greeted by light. Off to one corner, a single tiny window roughly cut from the rock walls let a beam of orange light filter through. The chamber was small and stuffy, and much remained hidden in shadows. But I could still make out the foot of a bed, a table lined with fruits, and a desk off to my right. It smelled like slow death in there, some unknown Stroggos sickness, nightmares. This was the end of the road alright. Unknown Stroggos sicknesses. They had proven the be nearly as dangerous as the Stroggs themselves. Nearly a thousand soldiers had contracted them, and it still wasn’t certain whether they were transmitted through contact, air, food, or flies. Serious effort went towards preventing these diseases from reaching Earth. Upon a soldier’s return to our home abode, he would have to undergo a thorough medical screening in an airtight, enclosed chamber. And this is all before even nearing Earth, at the Midway. “Where are you from, Willard?” I froze. The heavy, putrid odour had carried me away into a semi-conscious state. But that voice, that steely, deep, and slightly muffled voice threw me out of it. It was an all too-familiar voice, one I had heard played in the general’s quarters seemingly so long ago. But it was different now, tired, weary, and worn out. My eyes scanned the room, and I could make out a vague form laying on the bed. The beam of light from the window fell across the bed illuminated a pair of large, strong, yellow hands, crossed and gently flexing. At the head of the bed, a pair of shining eyes gazed out from the semi-darkness and the vague form that was a head. I tried not to breathe too hard and to slow my heartbeat. “I’m from Washington, sir.” “Were you born there?” “Yes sir.” “Whereabouts?” “West quarters, sir.” The pair of hands shifted lightly. “How far were you from the ocean?” “About forty or so kilometres. To get to the ocean, I had to cross the entire city.” The man pushed himself forward and the beam of light fell across his face. It was Colonel Kurt, his face now weary and looking unlike that which I had seen in the photographs, but it was unmistakably he. “I used to sail with my father there when I was young,” he said. “I remember this one beach… I can’t remember where exactly. It was cut away from all sides by big boulders, it could only be reached by buggy. It was so wild, so overgrown. You’d think it was heaven on earth, painted green in broad strokes… It instilled more than just that. It was all about freedom. “Have you ever thought about freedom and what you have of it? Are you free from the opinions of others, or is it because of these that your freedom has gone? What are your opinions, Willard? Why do they want you to terminate my command?” Eyes blazed from the blackness, it was sudden vitality, an unstoppable force. “I was sent on a classified mission, sir.” I told him simply. He tried to laugh, but didn’t have the strength. All that came was a feeble grunt. “It appears that… that it’s no longer classified, now is it? But tell me, I’m really curious: Just what did they tell you?” “They told me that you had gone totally insane and that your methods were unsound.” “Are my methods unsound?” “I don’t see any method at all, sir.” Kurt settled himself back in his bed. “Yes, I expected someone like you. What about you? What did you expect?” I didn’t know what to say so I remained silent. “Are you an assassin?” he asked. “I’m a soldier.” His voice turned cold. “You’re neither. You’re simply an errand boy, sent by liars to collect a bill. Sent to do something about me. And yet, you don’t know what to do. You are uncertain, unsure. You were this way long before you even drew near. And that is no way for a soldier, or assassin, to be. That is what one must do, one must keep a clear goal within his head. To kill, you must be certain. And if you were certain, you would’ve killed me by now.” * * * Kurt had me escorted out of his room and put away. He was awfully sick, or at least still in recovery, and had little strength to confront me. His troops whisked me away, though the dark halls and outside, where darkness had set in. Along the way, in the absolute darkness, kicks and elbows weren’t spared. A foot struck me in the stomach moments before bone hit the back of my head. With that, my conscience began to slowly give way and all around me became a blur. It was a vital moment, I couldn’t give up, I knew that I had to fight it, and I did. But a heavy weight fell across my eyes and cleared my mind. And so, with much reluctance, the ultimate blackness, unperturbed by dreams, fell across my eyes. Next morning brought along an indescribable headache. For a while, it forced information gathered by my senses away. It took me nearly an hour to realise where I was and to absorb all of my surroundings. My eyes fell to the dirt below. To my right was the grand terrace of the palace. My vision was broken by a vague brown shape that, when it came into focus, I realised to be the rusted bar of a thick cage that surrounded me. Bars were covered in corrosion and ran into a flat rectangle that enclosed my body. My arms were tied, raised at my sides while I allowed my head to hang forward limply. It was like being crucified, sans the blood. All the pain I felt was internal. But I bet I still looked like a wreck. Midnight Stroggos winds had covered me in a thin layer of dirt. My lip throbbed in pain and stomach ached where I had been kicked. But all this was cast aside by the force of my headache. And then, while the Stroggos heat was still at its morning bay, I saw a dark figure striding towards me. It seemed unreal, a hallucination. I had been having visions and wasn’t quite able to separate reality from not. With my battered and aching head, I was used to seeing things. But only once it drew so close did I realise that it was a material being. It was the second-generation Russian man that had welcomed us what seemed to be so long ago. He walked up to me with the usual grin. “Cigarette? Water?” I refused the cigarette, but welcomed the water. The cool liquid seemed to bring new life into me. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever tasted. At that moment, it had seemed to me like nothing else, the nectar of life. At that point, I knew he was real. The man pulled the flask away from me and finished the rest. And then he lit a cigarette and started talking. “Why? Why would a nice guy like you want to kill a genius? Well, who would ever want to kill a real genius? You know, the man likes you. He really does. He’s got something in mind for you. Aren’t you curious about that? I sure am, I’m very curious. You curious?” He slapped my side somewhat jokingly, though it was bruised and pain echoed throughout my body. “There’s something happening out there, man. You know something? I know something that you don’t know. Yeah, man, that’s right.” He stuck his pointer at his temple. “The man is clear in his mind, but his soul is mad. Oh yeah, he’s dying, I think. He hates all this, he hates all that. You should hear him talk in his sleep. But that’s nowhere near as crazy as what he tells me sometimes when awake! But… the man’s… uh… well, he reads poetry out loud, right? And what a voice! It’s his voice… “He likes you because you’re still alive. Oh, he’s got plans for you.” He smiled at me politely. “Nah, I’m not going to help you, but you’re going to help him. You’re going to help him, man. I mean, what are they going to say, you see, when he’s gone? Huh? Because he dies when it dies, see, when it dies, he dies, man. What are they going to say about him? What? Are they going to say that he was a wise man? That he had plans? That he had wisdom? Bullshit! Am I going to be the one that’s going to set them straight? Look at me¾Wrong! It’s you!” He turned and briskly walked away. And so midday came. I was rather fortunate; clouds came that hid the sun and its unbearable afternoon shine. The clouds were unusually thick and darkened the land. I stood there, aching. After the water, my headache had receded, but I still felt exhausted. I could barely move. But even if I wanted to, I was bound in the cage. I heard footsteps and tried to raise my head, but couldn’t find the strength. It was a wonder where I found energy to breathe. This was only toughened by the moisture in the air. Rains were rare on Stroggos, but I felt it coming. Life would’ve never started here had it not been for the rare rain. Thunder in the distance announced its arrival. Had it been 2200 hours already? Chef had surely called the airstrike by now. The footsteps drew near and I rolled my eyes upward. A raindrop landed on my shoulder. And in front of the dark, churning clouds, I saw the dark and unmistakable figure of Kurt, his face masked by darkness. He stood there, imposing, strong. Lightning crackled behind him, only darkening his silhouette. And in a swift motion, he swung his arm and I felt something hard land on my lap. I turned and twisted, trying to push it to where there was more light. My hands were bound and I could do little. But then a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky and illuminated it. It was Chef. Or at least, Chef’s face. Not his head, his face. That was worse. It had been carved out from his body and was now resting on my lap. Lightning revealed wide, frightened eyes. His mouth was ajar, limp tongue hanging from it. His skin was now grey and dead, his moustache oddly dark. There was dirt that streaked across his face and dark crimson blood around the edges where his face had been cut. “No! No… oh Christ!” I yelled and started to twist and turn, as much and permitted by the cage, trying to get the horrible thing off of my lap. It was ghastly, the way it seemed to stare back at me, eyes screaming. The mouth seemed to move. “It’s your fault,” it silently told me. “He’s one of our own, captain. Let him stay here and kill these crazy-fucks! This planet’s full of them! But hell, we got this far…” Another lightning split the sky apart. “But shit, I don’t give a damn where I reach, as long as it ain’t here…” Blood rolled down the edge of its mouth. I threw my hip upward and the face rolled off of my lap and into the ground. And I looked away, silently weeping. |
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