[b][i]Mount Diaba, Guerrilla Territory[/i][/b] Dussan didn't know the flesh menagerie was still alive when he dragged it through the blast doors of Mount Diaba, its exposed kyphosis-twisted spine thrashing spasmodically from when he, on a routine patrol, stumbled across the fiend and with his two good hands ripped it in twine. He'd neither heard of nor even contemplated concepts such as swarm intelligence and adaptive bioteleiosis. Thus, he was justifiably proud of his victory over the demon. He didn't grasp the novel circumstances of the moment, perverted such that it instead portended the likely downfall of the Arcelisk to the Va'sall flesh horde. All for the incomplete execution of a mere scout to an enemy army he didn't know existed. As it had done so many months before, the electronic voice chimed from a speaker and greeted Dussan as he entered the subterranean complex, [i]<< What did you find today, Dussan? >>[/i] He glared at the carcass clutched in his left hand, his fingertips lost amid the morass of exposed tendons and musculature of what he presumed was its neck, and grunted, [i]"An [b]isolo[/b][sup](1)[/sup]. Wicked, weak. Preys on children like umdala[sup](2)[/sup] say. I kill."[/i] A group of spectators gathered, although they kept their distance. They were impressed by his victory over the demon, he could tell. Hushed whispers. His face lit up with pride at his accomplishment. Not smart, he knew, but Dussan was still a great warrior. The strongest in Diaba! Even with only half of its remains, the fiend was hideous, its semblance the flayed offspring of mosquito and man afflicted with gigantism. Its claws were sharp and wet with a viscous green substance, like smoothed malachite. It reeked of necrosis. [i]<< Please take it to ... >>[/i] the voice paused, atypically indecisive, then implored, [i]<< ... the incinerator. >>[/i] He took a step, then the doors all sealed shut, trapping him and the others inside the bay. [i]<< Belay that, Dussan. Don't move, don't put it down. Contamination protocol. Head Doctor Mpondo is on her way. >>[/i] Suddenly, although he wasn't quite sure why, Dussan didn't feel heroic. Shame tinged his ebony cheeks with crimson, but he nevertheless held his head up like the proud warrior he knew himself to be, even as the agitated crowd pressed back against the walls and maintained as safe a distance from him as possible. After several minutes, a harried Mpondo draped in yellow plastic burst through one of the theretofore locked doors, a flamethrower heavy under her arm. [i]"Everyone, please head outside and prepare to camp for the night. I am going to sterilize this area,"[/i] Mpondo breathlessly exclaimed while she inclined her bulbous head down toward her expediently selected utensil of purification, [i]"and then we will provide tents, food, and water to you all for the night. Dussan, stay here and use this pack of syringes and so forth to extract blood and tissue samples from, uh, that thing."[/i] She set the pack on the floor and slid it over to Dussan. [i]"It is an isolo,"[/i] Dussan insisted. She paused, briefly transfixed by the abomination caught in the big guy's grasp. [i]"It very well may be an isolo,"[/i] she eventually agreed. Then, to those who still stood shocked roundabout her, she insisted, [i]"Get going, get going. This is a precaution. The Mwongozo[sup](3)[/sup] does not know what this creature is so it suggested these steps to keep us safe. They worked very well in other countries to prevent sickness." [/i] She almost said [i]after contact with the Val'Gara[/i], but didn't want to alarm people with the thought that this, too, could be such an alien horror. Thus the hushed murmurs were difficult to ignore as people collected their things and filtered from the compound. Finally, when the last of them were gone, Diaba's AI -- what she referred to as The Mwongozo -- reassured her, [i]"Their reaction to you was very positive. As it should be, you were there when many of them were brought into the world and they trust you. As such, you have prevented a panic. Statistically, that is of the utmost importance in these situations."[/i] Doctor Mpondo didn't respond. The words hardly reassured her as she knew what her reaction would be to a forced excursion in the dark of night outside of Diaba's fortress-like walls. Not good at all. Especially when there could be more of these. Still, she went about her work. First she instructed Dussan on how to collect the samples. Then she unrolled a thin silver sheet, unfolded and unzipped it, and watched as Dussan dropped the corpse inside with special care to her instruction not to let anything touch the outside. [i]"Thank you, Dussan,"[/i] she said as she sealed up the bag, [i]"You go outside now and stand guard while I finish up, understood?"[/i] He grunted, turned, and stalked out with that slow exaggerated lurch so typical of him. With the blast doors closed, she pocketed the samples, ignited the flamethrower, and scorched every inch of the place as well as the bag's exterior. Soaked with sweat inside her containment suit, she was grateful when the AI indicated it was safe to stop. She panted, one knee on the blackened concrete floor while things cooled down, then she grabbed the bag by the handle and dragged it toward the incinerator. She imagined it was merely fatigue or paranoia when the screams reached her shortly after she dumped the thing in the massive kiln that served Diaba's crematorium and trash incinerator, bag and all, and observed through protective glass as it melted, blazed, and crumpled to soot. ---- [i]1: demon 2: village elder 3: guide[/i]