Synthesia - A Mind for Violence

2 - A Synth Message

Not much time was left.

The acting general of the enslavement incursion had questioned his anesthesiologist first while the young woman escaped, giving Ulon the valuable time he needed to investigate her memory loss. He was lucky, he could have easily been interrogated first. Soon, the general would be on the move, ordering all the prisoners out of the ward.

"He expects me to be by his side," thought Ulon.

Avoiding suspicion was crucial. The slavers, the Ahillana, had always easily identified moles and plants and undercover agents. Ulon had no reason to believe that this time would be any different, even with new synth technology that, in theory, prevented others from tracking his thoughts and actions.

He knew better than to second guess the all-encompassing knowledge of the Ahillana: the order, indeed the very will, to which the acting general and his absent counterpart, the cruel general Véom Gren, pledged their loyalty and submission. Both knew their superior well, and it was this lord that Ulon feared could reach into his mind.

Ulon wanted to know the truth behind the captive who had lost her memory. Whenever he was honest with himself, he could admit that it was an obsession of his, and he knew the risks.

Walking down the hall of an abandoned building near the warehouse that the Ahillana incursion forces had made into a ward, Ulon came upon an incredibly old business suite still relatively well-preserved. He judged that he was far enough away to escape if the acting general were to discover an unauthorized communication.

He approached the door of a secluded conference room, walking inside only after taking in a whiff of rotted upholstery. The room was perfectly undisturbed, if it wasn't for the many, many years of dust and decay, and it allowed him to easily imagine ancient Réons talking and moving about, using their simplistic, wired communication devices.

Without really thinking, Ulon sat in the chair facing away from the single window, rendered opaque from a thick layer of yellow grime. He raked his hand through his shiny long, black hair, feeling his whole head so he could relax himself. He did not feel any protruding metal or acrylic shell. His synth was entirely internal.

Ulon sighed as he leaned back in the chair, flopping his arms down on the armrests.

"Activate Synthesia," he thought.

He leaned forward and crossed his hands atop the table while Synthesia's triumphant opening sequence surged forth, the trumpets swelling and the colors mixing.

"Welcome," spoke a rich and deep voice, a voice that reflected how Ulon viewed Synthesia: like a stately Réon man standing atop a hill looking into the sky.

Sending a message out or trying to establish communication might alert the acting general and the Ahillana as a whole. Though the Ahillana were jamming both outgoing and incoming communication transmissions, he had a better chance of success if someone from inside their order would come to visit him.

"Mulgen has his 'lord', but I have my prince," Ulon thought, imagining the current acting general, and then remembering the young man he was serving. Ulon reached out to that young man, a prince. He was somewhere in Synthesia. He had to reach out to his prince without thinking anything.

Ulon would have to make himself known in Synthesia. It was a delicate balance: restraining himself from articulating any conscious thoughts, ones which hostile sensors and synth operators might pick up on, while attempting to contact someone else. He couldn't just think aloud any thought that upwelled from the depths of his mind.

The door on the other side of the room rattled a little. The handle turned.

"I can't believe it. Mulgen found out about my comm this quickly?" he thought.