Taras Ramses: Guardian of Earth

Chapter 2: The Call And Escape

The investigator looked at me, her gaze sharp but detached, tapping her fingers on a sleek tablet. She wore a monochrome suit that seemed intentionally severe, her hair trying to escape some hasty attempt at neatness.

"How did you decide to become a space border guard?" she asked, barely looking up.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. The question felt like the edge of a dull knife, as if she were handling the idea without much care or thought.

I kept my tone even, neutral. "You don't really choose this line of work. The system picks you if you meet certain criteria. Desire isn't enough. It's more like a... condition."

She let out a short breath, her impatience clear. "And what's that condition?" she asked, her eyes narrowing, probing.

"You have to hear the Call," I said, feeling the weight of the word as it left my lips.

She rolled her eyes, skepticism hardening her face. "A 'call'? Like a calling?"

I tilted my head, considering. "Call, calling—whatever. Like a priesthood, maybe."

"Priesthood?" She blinked, caught off guard. "What century do you think this is?"

The strangeness of her question tugged at something in me, a faint warning in the back of my mind, but she leaned forward, pressing on. "Tell me about Veselka. Or did you forget about that project?"

The room morphed, and suddenly, we were in a distorted replica of my old living room. The walls were bare, the furniture familiar but slightly out of place, like the memory of a place you once knew well but no longer recognize.

"Veselka?" I echoed, picking my words carefully. "Veselka was my project. Specifically, Veselka-2. The first... didn't go as planned."

Her expression remained impassive, but I caught a flicker of something—a shadow in her eyes. "Didn't go as planned? Care to elaborate?"

I kept my face steady. "Everyone died," I said, watching her closely.

She blinked, her face giving away almost nothing, though a glint of something—maybe fear, maybe disdain—appeared for a moment. "And why 'Veselka'?"

I felt a faint smile at the edge of my lips. "Veselka. It means 'Rainbow.' The first project was named for Nikola Tesla."

"Tesla?" she repeated, her confusion deepening.

I looked up at the ceiling, noticing faint outlines of plants and glass. The room had shifted into what seemed like a greenhouse. "Tesla. The man practically created the twentieth century."

Her brows furrowed. "The twentieth century?" She looked at me, interest sparking. "You're from the twentieth century?"

I chuckled, though the sound felt hollow. "No. The twenty-second. But Tesla's work—his theories—they're timeless." Her gaze sharpened, her impatience growing.

She leaned closer, her voice soft but edged. "And in your free time? Did you even have any?"

Her figure blurred, morphing into something ethereal, and I found myself seated in a grand theater. We were alone on the stage, the darkened seats stretching out into shadows, filled with silent, still shapes that watched.

"Free time?" I repeated, amused. "When AI takes care of the routine, free time is all you have. We spent our missions deciphering space-time anomalies, exploring singularities."

She frowned, exasperated. "You mean to say...?"

I shrugged. "Nothing you'd understand. Just the theoretical stuff that keeps ships from disintegrating mid-flight. Small things."

The silence grew thick around us. She paused, glancing to the side as though waiting for something unseen, and then turned back to me, her face as neutral as stone.

"Want something to drink?" she asked.

Without waiting for my answer, she stepped offstage and returned, holding a small vial of clear liquid. "This will help you," she murmured, almost to herself. Her eyes glinted with something close to sympathy—or pity.

I looked at her, unimpressed. "And you are?"

"Paradise," she whispered, holding out the vial. "Drink."

A thunderous roar swelled from the darkened audience, like the rising pulse of a storm. I took the vial, met her gaze, and drank. The sound vanished, leaving silence heavy as stone. A single silhouette in the front row collapsed, crumpling forward.

"Better," she said softly, satisfaction in her voice. "Now, no more games. Tell me what you know about Project Wave."

My spine stiffened. So they knew about Wave.

Feigning innocence, I tilted my head. "Project Wave? Doesn't ring a bell."

Her eyes turned to steel. "Remember, or it will be the end of you."

"For me?" I asked, a dry smile tugging at my lips. "Or for you?"

Her face barely flickered, though her voice dropped to a warning. "For you. Let's not waste time."

I sighed, as if giving in. "Fine. Project Wave was... acquisition. A program to train resonance."

"Resonance?" she repeated, her tone hardening.

I nodded, looking away. "The body and mind, moving in harmony. Creating waves."

Her expression tightened, her control fraying. "And?"

"Nothing more than a first step," I said, feigning casualness. "The resonance lets you shift—between here and there."

She shot a quick glance offstage, as though seeking an escape from her own confusion.

"Don't worry," I said with a smile. "I'll see you... in Paradise."

And with that, I became nothing more than a ripple, slipping off the stage, leaving her alone in the shadows of her questions.