We stand, four of us, alone in the wilderness. The wind is wild, and roars through the ripping wild grass waists. Grey-green planes beneath a wet, grim sky. The sound of waves crashing and frothing against the distant coast are carried on the airs, and the ground rumbles.
The low hill that rises from the ground before us starts to shake. "Guys," Boots mutters to my right, shifting. "What's happening?" We don't respond. This will be his first time down below. Boots, I mean. His first time seeing the subject. The secret of the isles.
Boots is not what the lad is actually called. It was so named for a moment of madness in his very first week here. For some inane reason or another, nurse, perhaps, or a poor attempt at a joke, he had complimented the boots of a passing officer. "Nice boots," he said, and the officer had come to a stop at once, only to stare at the young boy as if he was an alien from another bloody planet. The boots are standard issue of course, army issued. They are all the exact same. And, the name had stuck. Boots, was Boots from that moment on.
Trippze smiled. Must be scared. He thought. With a rumble, and the screeching of old, weathered gears unseen, the front face of the hill rotates around. A panel of fake grass slides to the right and out of sight behind the edge of the hill, revealing inside it a small, gloomy metal room.
Ryland and I step in. Ryland is the solider to my left. Further left still is a new guy I don't recognize, some kind of black and red dragon. Ryland has been stationed here for as long as I have, six months so far. He's alright, but of dick sometimes, ya know, but he's fine.
After a second of hesitation, Boots followed us in. The door grinds shut behind us. We are plunged for a moment into complete darkness, then a weak orange bulb attached to the upper rails of the room flickers weakly to life.
There is another low crank from below, and the floor begins to vibrate. Our stomachs lurch as we feel ourselves drop, and the rough earth and stone of our surroundings rises up all around. It's a lift, you see, and elevator. And, down we go. Down, down, under the ground.
I look ahead at the rushing rock, lit by the light faintly in orange. In the corner of my eye, I could see Boots shift form one foot to the other, then tense up. He starts to feel it for the first time. The waves of misery that emanate up from below, from the subject. Today it seemed stronger, as if there was fear in the mix. And they only get stronger and stronger as you get closer and closer.
I try to remember what it was like for me, on my first time down into the complex. "It's alright, mate." I mutter, "Just try to remember that it ain't permanent. It passes when you return to the surface." Boots nods, but says nothing. The lift rattles, and down we go.
The dark rock rushes by, and, after a while, we start to see other materials too. Steel bars and beams, rusty panels, thick painted glass, that allowed fleeting glimpses into old, starell corridors. The silhouettes of soldiers and scientists lurk in the background, blurred and anonymous.
The lift begins to slow, and the metal peeled back in a way like a parting curtain. The view ahead reveals us to be near the roof of and enormous, hangar-like cavern, and grants us a vantage point out and below.
People shuffle from place to place, far beneath like little toys. This is the center of the complex. And, it is vast. This... is where the keep the subject. Boots steps forward. He puts a hand on the rail, and peers put over the edge. It's weird, having him with us. It's like I'm seeing everything for the first time through his eyes.
"Holy crap," he mutters, bewildered. The edge of the hanger is shrouded in darkness, and stuck full of various computers and generators, all interconnected with cables and wires. Scientists pour over the data, they take endless readings. Soldiers march by, all shadowed.
But, the very center of the hanger is brightly illuminated, perpetually held in the glare of a dozens floodlights, all equally spaced and pointed down at the complex's centerpiece; the subject.
Trippze joined Boots at the railing, looking at the subject. "Hmm, well that looks fun. What are those generators for?" He asked. I looked to the new guy, giving a scowl. "Lots of things, mate. Do I look like a bloody scientist?" I replied. "Don't have to be a douche." Trippze said, looking down at everything. I'm going to have to isolate one of those scientists. He thought.
"...What is he?" Boots asks. "It." Ryland mutters. "It. The higher-ups insist. They want us calling it an it. " "But- I dunno, he looks so much like a-" "it. Boots, for goodness' sake, it's an it." Boots says no more, and returns his gaze out over the scene below. The subject, even as brightly lit as it is, is still quite far away from our current position, and it's features are not easily distinguishable. But, I've been up-close. I've seen what they're keeping down here.
The subject stands slightly taller than your average man. It's about 6'7 or '8. Held against a large white stone, the subject's wrists and ankles are bound in heavy chains of a black and unknown metal. They are pulled taught and connected to the enormous, similarly metal giant circle to witch he is held. The subject has the appearance and features of a dark brown wolf, with, strangely enough, horns and two huge scars on his back. His eyebrows are pure white, furrowed above a pair of eyes that are perpetually closed tight shut, sleeping. It's body is adorned with curious and intricate markings that looked like they went straight down to the skin, some in black, some in white. A circle had been drawn across his chest and upper torso, the circle has two great wings that burst from the top, and two that splay out from beneath them, spreading out across his rib cage. All down his arms are a series of open eye markings of various shapes and sizes, but all open wide, all staring. These are the only things I recognize. The only thing that anyone recognizes. No one had yet to successfully identify the ruins and symbols that cover its neck, shoulder, and back.
Behind the subject stands a tall, rectangular machine, a mechanical monolith ever grinding, ever humming. It's a generator of sorts, bottoms into a heavy tripod, and in its grip holds tight a burning shard.
The shard is glass-like, and white hot at the center. Mesmerizing patters one dangling yellow from orange flames ripple paradoxically like water across its form. The shard is plunged into the subject's back, and strikes out through its chest, always rippling, and always white, ever burning flamelessly. 'All quite necessary for his containment', they tell me. For its containment, I should say. It's really difficult to not think of the subject as a he.
The lift comes to a stop at the base of the hanger, clanking down against the concrete. The rail unlocks, and we walk on out into the complex. The waves of despair and this newfound fear are stronger now. I see Boots lifted a hand to wipe his eyes, though, I choose not to comment.
As we where level with the ground, I see another hand chained to the other side of the stone. "Wait, don't tell me that they found another..." I trialed off, and soon the other two follow my gaze. Trippze looked at the other side. "Holy shit, this is where they moved him..." He said
Boots looked to Trippze. "You know him?" He asked incredulously. I pondered this for a moment. "Come on, our jobs the same as always. There's just another thing to refer to." I said, trying to shut down my curiosity before my mind wondered to far.
Ryland nods and disappeared off to our station, and I direct Boots to were he needs to go with a pat on the back. I watch him head through the appropriate door, disappearing down the corridor. I shoot a glance over to the now subjects. I'll be needed at the station with Ryland, but there's no immediate rush, I figured. Time enough for a little detour.
I push through the door and ascend the stairs. I walked tall and confident as to not attract any questions as to where was my destination, and then ascended set after set of stairs through the sterile, peeling corridors. A few floors up I find her, more or less where I was expecting to find her. The girl I've been seeing, Taylor.
She's working on an enormous piece of weaponry, it's new. Wasn't there the last time I was here. It stands at the very head of the corridor, and is angled in such a way, as to point out and over the waist-high wall, down to the flood-lit center of the dome complex, aimed directly at the subject far below. I guessed there where more on the other floors going around, some pointing at the new and others at the subject I recognized. I call out to the lass in greeting.
"Loxford!" She says in surprise, her teeth shown white in a warm grin. It could well be the first time she smiled in days, it's brutal down here. She stands and pulls me onto a hug. She pulls back, pulling a strand of hair from in her face behind her ear.
"I wasn't expecting to see you down here!" She said. "Yeah, shift got changed. You know how the army is. And what about you? I thought you where due to return to the surface, like, two days ago." She shrugs. "You know how the army is." We share a laugh, a welcome sound in the gloom of these sterile corridors.
"So, how long are you down here for then?" She asks me. "Five days. It was originally supposed to be three, but captain screwed me over. Ryland and Boots are down here too."
"Oh," she muses. "Ryland's here too? How long are the guys gonna be down?" She asked. "Three days, same as I was meant to have." I shrugged, and she put her hands out in an 'ah well' guesture.
I nod to the enormous contraption she's working on. "What's this then?" She makes a noise of exhaustion, "This bloody thing is why I'm down here. The up-aboves don't want us to change shifts with the next lot until we've actually completed the workload on at least one of these bad boys. It would be easier if they just let us test it out a little more, but, well, they don't. Well, besides on that other subject that came in yesterday. Got shot right in the heart, but it's still kicking." She said.
"What is it?" I asked. "It's a weapon, right? What does it fire?" Taylor nods. "Yeah, security measures for the subjects. Take a look at this." She leads me just around the corner to a pedistooled and plexiglass container. Based on what's held inside, I'm assuming that the material was a little more expensive then simple plexiglass.
Held precisely, and carefully, on two narrow metal prongs was a long bullet. Made of the same shimmering, firey material as the blade imbedded in the first subject's chest. The bullet is ringed in two bands of what appeared to be dark and glistening wood. "Woah," I mutter, "Yeah," She replies, "No idea of how it was made, or even what's it's made of, but I'm sure it's expensive as all hell."
"Hmm." I mumble in agreement. "I don't get how this didn't take out the new subject. What are those things?" Taylor shrugged. "Beats me." She replied.
