The Frosted Files:Open Eyes

//Chapter 7\\

    When I woke up, it was dark.
    I don’t mean dark, as in night time. I wish it was only night time.
    It was dark, very very dark, everywhere. No light shone at all, and standing up, I couldn’t see much of anything besides the dull gray ground from which I woke. It felt like concrete, maybe, only a little bit smoother, not as rigid.
    There were no walls or ceiling in sight, but I felt as if I was in a room, my instincts suggesting something like a school gymnasium, or a stage. 
    From the corner of my eye, I saw movement, and spun around to face it. Through the darkness, I saw a faint outline of someone roughly my height, coming towards me. 
    A random person in a dark room means danger, and my instincts agreed.
    I willed my tech out-
    -but nothing happened. 
    I patted the usual hiding places, checking between folds of clothes, but found nothing. Where was my nanotech?
    The figure drew closer.
    “Missing something?” He said.
    The hairs along my spine and all the way up to the base of my skull stood on end. That voice was familiar, to an extent.
    It was my voice.
    The space was flooded by light, and I shut my eyes, holding up a hand to shield myself from the sudden light. I felt the figure stop just out of my reach, and slowly my eyes adjusted.
    Before me stood, well, me, if I was a Titanic drowning victim - pale blue skin, a very dark suit, and tendrils of nanotech flowing out from his back in his best Doc-Ock impression. 
    I stared, mouth agape, at myself, and looked around again. With the ability to see properly, thanks to the light that seemed to come from nowhere, I could now see a few chairs off to the side, and that was it. Still no walls, still no ceiling, still no explanation.
    I shook my head, clearing the confusion like an Etch-A-Sketch, and straightened my posture, steadying my hands and gaze.
    “You’ll answer my que-” I started, but the bastard cut me off.
    “No, you’ll respond to me, cunt. We don’t have much time together.”
    “So you spent the first bit as a dramatic introduction?”
    He spread his arms. “What can I say, we have a thing for dramatics.”
    “You say ‘we’ as if-”
    “Yeah, we are.”
    Another mind reading non-human, huh? 
    “Stop cutting me off, you bloody imposter.”
    “We cut people off all the time, why would you be any different?”
    I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sat in one of the chairs. The imposter did the same.
    “Can I speak now?”
    He nodded.
    “Great. First thing’s first; what the hell is going on?” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped in front of me. He opted to lean back in the chair, one arm over the back.
    “You passed out, so now you’re here, where you always go when you’re not conscious.”
    “You didn’t say ‘we’ this time.”
    “Because you're the only one that’s a visitor here, dumbass.”
    That was interesting, and also slightly scary.
    “So where are we, exactly? And how do you come into play?”
    He looked around, then back to me. “Well, we are in my lovely home; your head. Your dreams get made here, springing up from the air and ground, and I get a front row seat. That one with Apollo a few nights ago was nice. Sometimes I get to direct them myself, actually. As for how I come into play, well. I think the best way would be to show you.”
    He exaggeratedly reached behind his head to scratch his neck.
    The danger tingle I get whenever my tech detected danger started to go off, right at the base of my skull. Right where he was scratching. The tech continued to flow around him. 
    “When you put that chip in our skull, the tech linked to your mind in more ways than one. You never coded that danger sense, did you?”
    I shook my head. “Okay, so, what are you then? My mind? My soul?”
    He snorted out a laugh, and suddenly an unmarked glass bottle was in his hand. He took a drink, and it disappeared. “I’m you, bud. Your subconscious, you could say, but that's overused. All those little things you do that you barely think about - breathing, blinking, how your tongue moves when you speak, how you move your hands when you type, that’s all me. And with this tech, you’ve got me working overtime.”
    “So is that why I’m here, so you can complain? What, do you want a raise?”
    He leaned forward. “No, no. Listen, bud. Things are changing. Y’know that thing, with the cat?”
    Suddenly, faster than I could blink, we were back in the leafy garden I was in when I stared into the more recent chloro-fiend’s eyes. The gentle breeze swayed the grass, and as I watched, I saw a clone of myself - or maybe a clone of my copy - reach out and help the cat, playing back as if it was a holographic video. 
    “Yeah, this. These Soul Stares stay with us, so be careful what you look at. They stay with us, forever. Unfading. Every detail is as crisp as it was when it happened. This goes for any use of your Sight, too. No, you won’t know what that is yet, so don’t worry, just keep it in mind.”
    My hands began to burn with the hellfire cold/heat of the black chain, and I winced. 
    “Not like the trade-off isn’t worthwhile, usually. Whenever you look into something’s soul, it looks into yours - and you know how things have gone with that, so far.”
    I remembered the terrified look of the first chloro-fiend, how it was stunned afterwards. 
    “What does our soul look like?”
    My copy winked at me, but nothing changed. “That’s restricted information, unfortunately.”
    “What? Why?”
    “It’ll spoil the fun.”
    I rolled my eyes, but continued on. However suspicious this was, I couldn’t really argue. I mean, of everything that's happened in the past day or so, this was the least crazy. 
    “Things are changing, bud. I said that already, but-”
    The sourceless light flickered twice. My copy looked up, and quietly cursed.
    “We’re running out of time. Listen, things are changing - make sure you know where your heart lies. Oh, and, the hand will be yours, don’t worry. I only control the subconscious actions.”
    I started to speak, questions forming on the tip of my tongue, but things went dark again, if only for a second. 
    I fell back onto my ass into frosted grass, biting my tongue. Looking around, I noticed that I was in yet another garden, this one with sculptors of various women and monsters made of ice, evergreen trees every few feet, and frost covering nearly every surface. I huffed out a breath, and saw it condense into water vapor in front of me. Then the cold hit. It was terribly, terribly cold, colder than Arbitrium had ever gotten, which is saying a lot, considering Arbitrium is a lakeshore city. 
    Shoving my hands under my arms as I crossed them, I looked around for a building or fire or something - somewhere with heat, and maybe a nice drink. Lip balm, too. 
    Directly behind me was the most life-like ice statue I had seen yet - it was a tall woman, maybe 7 or 8 feet, wearing what looked to be a silk gown. Her eyes looked a little too big, but her beauty was almost mesmerizing, like how the sunlight sparkled off the ice and formed rainbows in the glare. 
    As I admired the ice sculptor, the eyes opened.
    I let out a very manly yelp and nearly fell on my ass again as I backed up.
    The ice began to move, slowly stepping off its stand. 
    “Fate Frost. My Queen has a proposition for you.”
    “You can fuck right off with that creepy ice shit before you go throwing out offers, bitch.”
    The ice sculpture nodded. “My apologies, Sir Frost. Allow me to change that.”
    Slowly, the ice melted, and the girl underneath was just as beautiful, if less shiny. Other sculptures began to melt, too, revealing maidens and monsters galore. No fighting broke out, but they all seemed animated, moving around. Some began to talk, and a few laughed, as if hearing a joke from an old friend. 
    “Does that suffice?” She asked, tilting her head a little. Her voice lacked emotion, as if she was actually a puppet of ice stuffed with a text-to-speech based voice box. 
    I nodded, and wished I had a heavier coat, maybe one with fur lining.
    A heavy black coat with gray fur fell around me, the sleeves already on my arms. 
    Magic coat summoning, sure.
    “Wonderful.” She pronounced it like ‘vunderful’, though her accent wasn’t russian. Nordic, maybe? 
    “Sir Frost, my Queen was communicating with Mageknight so’Wyllt - who you know as Adrian - about the future and how you may potentially be involved. Recent events have made certain situations predicted by prophetic members of the cohort clear, and thus we are formally inviting you to speak with the Queen regarding a proposition of power and status.”
    There was a lot to unpack in that statement. Queen, this ‘Mageknight’ title, prophetic people, an offer of power. Being called Sir.
    That’s a lot.
    It wasn’t a question, really, or an invitation. It was a declaration, ’you will come speak to my Queen about this position’. I don’t care much for being told what to do, so I glared angrily at the ice lady.
    “And if I decline?”
    That seemed to genuinely surprise her, because for once, she showed a sliver of emotion. Surprise touched her face, her eyes widening a little bit, and a split second later the icy wind picked up.
    “I would not advise working against the Queen, Sir F-”
    “And cut it with this ‘Sir’ shit. I’m not royalty.”
    She looked at me with another emotion that looked new to her frosted face - pity. What did she know that I didn’t?
    “Frost-”
    “No, I don’t want to talk to some bitch Queen about any offers. No girl scout cookies for me, Else. Piss off.” To make sure my intention really hit home, I flew the bird from both hands, directly at her.
    The wind picked up, getting colder. The coat seemed to grow thinner and thinner as the wind got worse and worse. 
    The icy maiden looked fearful now, dropping her whole ‘ethereal ice guardian’ vibe. She looked around frantically, hands clutched to her chest.
    “Frost-”
    “No.”
    “Frost-!”
    “No.”
    She rushed forward, and my hands flew up in automatic self defence. She shoved something into my hand, and snow clouded my vision.
    Waking up in the dark was getting old, fast, but here I was again, waking up, in the dark. The cold, clean scent of the infirmary in the Compound was the first thing I noticed, next to the stiffness of several people crowded around me. I layed on what felt like one of those paper lined doctor tables, the ones they use for check-ups, but this one felt wetter. 
    I slowly opened my eyes, careful of the light. It hurt anyway. 
    For some reason, my ears weren’t properly transmitting sound to my brain, because when  the low voice of my head medic, Zane, shouted for everyone to back up and give me some space, it felt like I was facing away from a television, trying to follow a conversation played on screen. Sure, I heard things, but they took a second to click. 
    As my vision adjusted, showing me Zane’s outline above me, I tried to talk, but choked on the dryness in my throat, and started coughing. My body tried to curl up, involuntary to me, but restraints on my wrists and ankles kept that from happening. A moment later, water was poured into my mouth, slowly enough for me to drink while laying down.
    “Stay down, Frost. You’re in pretty bad condition.”
    I groaned, but didn’t struggle against the restraints any further. I’ve trusted my life to Zane before, and would do so again. 
    “Couldn’t the wizard heal me?” I asked, squinting around the room with my limited sight. A few familiar faces lined the walls - Apollo, his hands clutched close to his chest, Vlad, with a sling, the air walking wizard himself, and my best friend Bar, who’s birthday I crashed with plant demons.
    “Fae, actually,” Adrian provided. I scowled at him. He smiled and nudged Bar forward, who let out a small squeak at the contact. He approached my left side, the side that I had the shield rings on. The shield rings.
    My hand.
    I thought back to what happened, and promptly puked onto the floor. When I turned my head to do that, I noticed why this mat felt wetter than usual - red fluid ran down in a few spots, pooling on the floor and underneath me. 
    “Don’t-don’t be mad, Fate, but-but I wanted to try something-g before he did any work.” He stepped closer, avoiding the puke and blood, and started working on the leather strap that held my left wrist. 
    When the strap was off, my senses were a little confused - I had felt the lack of my hand before I passed out. That void was full now, just not quite right. It felt like someone had emptied the stuffing and replaced it with the beads found in beanie babies. I slowly lifted my hand, metal shining in the light. Metal.
    I flexed my fingers, and the metal that sat where my hand had been moved as my hand would have.
    Bringing it closer, I saw that it was my nanotech, bits and pieces embedded directly into the skin and flesh where my hand had been severed. The nano-hand was shaped nearly identical to my own, but the weight was off, the power behind the movements was too strong.
    It was very, very strange. I considered my tech to be part of me, but this was taking it to the next level entirely.
    Nevertheless, I am Fate Frost - I’ll get through it.
    And, to be honest, it’s pretty badass to have a robot hand. Now all I need is a crippled evil father, a plasma sword, and I could be the star of my own movie trilogy.
    I realized Bar was talking, nerding out about how he and Zane had worked together to program an isolated group of nanotech to react to my nerves and muscles.
    “Can I be untied, please?” I asked, another wave of nausea coming over me. I hated to lay down, constrained. 
    Zane started to argue, but I asked again, just as nicely as before. Maybe even nicer, who knows, not me. 
    Zane and Bar undid the rest of the straps, and I sat up, wincing as I sat my new hand on the mat beside me and put pressure on it as I got up. It felt so weird to have metal push against bone, rather than skin and flesh. 
    Apollo rushed to me, flinging his arms around me and crying into my shoulder. I held him tightly for a good few moments, running my fleshy hand over his hair, reassuring him that I was okay. His poor golden heart must have been worried beyond melting point, because usually he would whack me with a wooden spoon before telling me how he would drag me back from hell himself if I ever died, only to kill me again. 
    “Okay, Terminator Junior, you’re up. Happy?” Zane grumbled, crossing his arms. I went against his best advice a lot, and somehow, he still stayed with us. Maybe he actually enjoyed our company. Maybe some sneaky brat with dyed hair got some very interesting footage of us. 
    Nah, that’s too outlandish to be why he stays. 
    “Yes, quite. Thank you, Zane, Bar.” Apollo pulled away, and I patted my pockets, realized my usual overcoat was hanging up, and went to pat down its pockets.
    “One more question, though. Where’s my flask?”
    Zane produced the flask from one of the pockets, and tossed it over. It was empty. I groaned.
    “No booze until you’re recovered, Frost. Doctor’s orders.”
    I shrugged my coat back on, and a little card fell out of the sleeve as I shoved my arm through. I picked it up, looking over it.
    The Winter Cohort. 431 Winter Way, Arbitrium, IL. 
    So, those hadn’t been fever dreams, after all.
    That’s… scary. Like, really really scary. More scary than the chloro-fiends, even with their black hellfire chain curse. 
    My stomach growled, empty after having evicted my breakfast. Now wasn’t the best time to worry about this new magical aspect to my life, so I pocketed the card and turned to everyone. 
    “Pizza, anyone?”