Fetzen
CircFollowing the capture of Merse Granstrum by Mobius Ops, the target has been brought to New Roswell to be interrogated by Operative Tartalo at the request of Apollo Amon.
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600km above the Northern Hemisphere, arcjet engines hiss hydrazine as the reaction control systems engage on a surveillance satellite. They discharge in short bursts at Tartalo's command, propelling the Survsat over the former Iberian Peninsula at a rate of 40,000 km/h. Variegated bands of the richest teal and crimson emerge as real-time observation capabilities came online.
The cold eye of the aperture adjusts itself and the resolution shifts, revealing the bands to be expansive pastures cultivated by automated means. Tartalo confirms the coordinates once more, a cold wave washing over him. Gone.
The crisp and clear waters of the Zubizabala Erreka rush between bare toes as two young boys play on the river's banks. A rich petrichor permeates the Otzaretta Forest as it blooms with life after a light Spring rain. The pair had spent the days in search of berries at the request of Patxi's grandmother. She'd promised the duo a delicious tart each if they could fill the basket they'd so carelessly flung aside at first sight of the water.
"I have a gift for you, Ortzi!" the boy squealed as he unearthed a wriggling worm from the loam. He rose with muddied hands and giggled at the screams of his friend who plunged headlong into the waters, a cold wave washing over them. Gone.
With the speed of thought, the Survsat adjusts its translation with a second engagement of its reaction control system. The feed suffers from momentary distortion before the image clears and Tartalo's heart plummets. Bilbao... Its history... Its culture... He leans against a graphene pane as the weight of memory threatens to overwhelm him.
"Ortzi, these are amazing!" The girl spoke between satisfied hums as she savored the rich combination of txistorra and talos. She bashfully wiped some of the grease from the corner of her mouth as he watched her, a smile plastered across his fine features.
"I spend way too much time here," he dabbed at her cheek with his thumb and she flushed, "to not know where the best flavors hide." He took a small bite of his own, turning away from her to marvel at the colors of sunset as they spread across the Bay of Biscay.
Heather and heliotrope hues gleam off the Guggenheim's edifice in a mesmerizing vista of phantasmagoric quality. "Sabine, am I dreaming? There are times when I find myself adrift with you, and everything takes on this... I'm sorry." He flushes, surprised at his own candor.
With a crack and sudden dispersal of EWG molecules, three Mobius operatives, target in tow, appear within the dimly lit chamber that Tartalo had requested within New Roswell's containment facilities. The Survsat relay is minimized to a fraction of his field of vision, the once familiar coastline of Bilbao now dotted with alien architecture.
Somewhere deep in his consciousness, Ekhi's voice notifies him that thaumic and psionic countermeasures have engaged. A second window affixed to Tartalo's sight finishes its analysis of the subject's retrieval footage as he issues further commands to the AI. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in observing the target being slammed into the Aldare, engineered from Red Technocracy tech and modified by Tartalo and Babazorro to meet his unique specifications. Restraints form from the Aldare's composite nanotech and pin the target's form to its slab.
The felinoid form remains immobile upon the austere fixture. Data floods Tartalo's vision as Ekhi confirms xenobiometrics have been quantified and catalogued within the Aldare's quantum drives. He inspects the new information with a keen eye as heavy footsteps outside of the chamber's only exit announce the arrival of the quarantine unit. A field of hard light appears as the airlocks hiss opens and expands to fill the space between the Q.U. and the three Mobius operatives. Their forms are engulfed and all foreign matter is contained within the construct.
"Boss isn't taking any chances, is he?" Sweat gave an exasperated whistle as he, Dex and Sarge were escorted out of the chamber, down the containment hall and into an adjacent cell where they would be observed and debriefed for an indeterminate amount of time.
The cell is plunged into an atramentous darkness with their exit, and an ominous silence fills the atmosphere. It hangs in the air, growing more oppressive with each passing second. The target continues in its ill-conceived ruse, unaware that its being was laid bare for Tartalo.
The rhythmic cracks of drums cut through the silence at the same moment 100,000 volts pass through the fettered subject. The notes snap with anticipation as another jolt is discharged. A disembodied voice lisps softly between dulcet woodwinds. "Tut tut, such childishness."
A third discharge, this time prolonged for several measures of the composition that swelled to life with the beginning of their exchange.
"We'll begin with your name."
The cold eye of the aperture adjusts itself and the resolution shifts, revealing the bands to be expansive pastures cultivated by automated means. Tartalo confirms the coordinates once more, a cold wave washing over him. Gone.
The crisp and clear waters of the Zubizabala Erreka rush between bare toes as two young boys play on the river's banks. A rich petrichor permeates the Otzaretta Forest as it blooms with life after a light Spring rain. The pair had spent the days in search of berries at the request of Patxi's grandmother. She'd promised the duo a delicious tart each if they could fill the basket they'd so carelessly flung aside at first sight of the water.
"I have a gift for you, Ortzi!" the boy squealed as he unearthed a wriggling worm from the loam. He rose with muddied hands and giggled at the screams of his friend who plunged headlong into the waters, a cold wave washing over them. Gone.
With the speed of thought, the Survsat adjusts its translation with a second engagement of its reaction control system. The feed suffers from momentary distortion before the image clears and Tartalo's heart plummets. Bilbao... Its history... Its culture... He leans against a graphene pane as the weight of memory threatens to overwhelm him.
"Ortzi, these are amazing!" The girl spoke between satisfied hums as she savored the rich combination of txistorra and talos. She bashfully wiped some of the grease from the corner of her mouth as he watched her, a smile plastered across his fine features.
"I spend way too much time here," he dabbed at her cheek with his thumb and she flushed, "to not know where the best flavors hide." He took a small bite of his own, turning away from her to marvel at the colors of sunset as they spread across the Bay of Biscay.
Heather and heliotrope hues gleam off the Guggenheim's edifice in a mesmerizing vista of phantasmagoric quality. "Sabine, am I dreaming? There are times when I find myself adrift with you, and everything takes on this... I'm sorry." He flushes, surprised at his own candor.
With a crack and sudden dispersal of EWG molecules, three Mobius operatives, target in tow, appear within the dimly lit chamber that Tartalo had requested within New Roswell's containment facilities. The Survsat relay is minimized to a fraction of his field of vision, the once familiar coastline of Bilbao now dotted with alien architecture.
Somewhere deep in his consciousness, Ekhi's voice notifies him that thaumic and psionic countermeasures have engaged. A second window affixed to Tartalo's sight finishes its analysis of the subject's retrieval footage as he issues further commands to the AI. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in observing the target being slammed into the Aldare, engineered from Red Technocracy tech and modified by Tartalo and Babazorro to meet his unique specifications. Restraints form from the Aldare's composite nanotech and pin the target's form to its slab.
The felinoid form remains immobile upon the austere fixture. Data floods Tartalo's vision as Ekhi confirms xenobiometrics have been quantified and catalogued within the Aldare's quantum drives. He inspects the new information with a keen eye as heavy footsteps outside of the chamber's only exit announce the arrival of the quarantine unit. A field of hard light appears as the airlocks hiss opens and expands to fill the space between the Q.U. and the three Mobius operatives. Their forms are engulfed and all foreign matter is contained within the construct.
"Boss isn't taking any chances, is he?" Sweat gave an exasperated whistle as he, Dex and Sarge were escorted out of the chamber, down the containment hall and into an adjacent cell where they would be observed and debriefed for an indeterminate amount of time.
The cell is plunged into an atramentous darkness with their exit, and an ominous silence fills the atmosphere. It hangs in the air, growing more oppressive with each passing second. The target continues in its ill-conceived ruse, unaware that its being was laid bare for Tartalo.
The rhythmic cracks of drums cut through the silence at the same moment 100,000 volts pass through the fettered subject. The notes snap with anticipation as another jolt is discharged. A disembodied voice lisps softly between dulcet woodwinds. "Tut tut, such childishness."
A third discharge, this time prolonged for several measures of the composition that swelled to life with the beginning of their exchange.
"We'll begin with your name."
are there any established orthodoxies? considering a cleric on pilgrimage.
As the archway above and behind her bursts with the sudden impact of crushed lead, her resolve strengthens with the explosive confirmation of her suspicions. If not a demon, it was still a creature of immense power in the husk of a man. Najwa wondered- how much power?
She recalled one particular lesson during her training with Asad. As a human in a rapidly changing world where geomancy or telekinesis were becoming the norm, his wits were his greatest weapon.
For now, she wouldn't reveal the extent of her own capabilities. Her movements carry her laterally while the first pebbles behind her strike the ground; she double-taps the trigger once more and aims for its center mass. The shots are timed just before she bounds behind a robed mummy. Her goal is to reach the creature's left flank while steadily closing the distance between them, using the myriad shrines as cover.
All of these motions had the appearance of a highly trained operative moving with tactical efficiency and a bit of good timing.
She recalled one particular lesson during her training with Asad. As a human in a rapidly changing world where geomancy or telekinesis were becoming the norm, his wits were his greatest weapon.
For now, she wouldn't reveal the extent of her own capabilities. Her movements carry her laterally while the first pebbles behind her strike the ground; she double-taps the trigger once more and aims for its center mass. The shots are timed just before she bounds behind a robed mummy. Her goal is to reach the creature's left flank while steadily closing the distance between them, using the myriad shrines as cover.
All of these motions had the appearance of a highly trained operative moving with tactical efficiency and a bit of good timing.
Gossamer pennons of fragrant smoke rose slowly from the occasional brazier scattered through out the wide chamber. She wonders if these mummified remains surrounding her are the victims of the slowly rising form. Its movements were strained, and its bones cracked like splintering wood. How long had it been there, waiting?
It spoke the language of her southern cousins with a voice like wind passing through gnarled roots. It gestured at the ground at its feet in invitation; to what? The longer she remained in this place, the more unnatural it felt. Not in the same way as Marange, where life flourished in fantastic fashion. This was a place of death.
The mtyholi were known for their treachery and spoke such sweet words to lull so many to their doom. She would not allow this. Two shots ring out and sand erupts at its feet. She makes a mental note of the remaining 8 rounds in her magazine.
"Return me now! I warn you, there will be consequences!" Her tone remains even as she takes a slight step to her left, repositioning herself so that she was provided partial cover by one of the mummies.
It spoke the language of her southern cousins with a voice like wind passing through gnarled roots. It gestured at the ground at its feet in invitation; to what? The longer she remained in this place, the more unnatural it felt. Not in the same way as Marange, where life flourished in fantastic fashion. This was a place of death.
The mtyholi were known for their treachery and spoke such sweet words to lull so many to their doom. She would not allow this. Two shots ring out and sand erupts at its feet. She makes a mental note of the remaining 8 rounds in her magazine.
"Return me now! I warn you, there will be consequences!" Her tone remains even as she takes a slight step to her left, repositioning herself so that she was provided partial cover by one of the mummies.
4-8-2039
Hamta Pass, Himalayas
A haze descends upon a lone rider as the sun falls behind the summit of Mt. Indrasa, muting the beauty of approaching dusk. Rhododendron stalks droop beneath the rain's oppression. The sound of hooves is lost to the surging waters of the Hamta river as the horse steadily climbs and a burlap sack fastened to the saddle sways. Three hours of hard riding behind him, with another two yet to come until he reached the glacier in Lahaul.
The rider adjusts the heavy shawl wrapped around his shoulders and jaw as he comes to a small bluff. A few reassuring pats and he dismounts, eager for the smooth terrain of the Shea Goru plain that lay hidden beneath a fog that obscured all but the highest neighboring peaks.
He rubs some sensation back into his legs and once satisfied begins to rummage through a saddle bag. Producing a wrapped bundle of beets, he removes one from the bunch and returns the rest. The horse eats eagerly from a gloved hand while insects gather round.
The man dismisses the insects with a wave and unfastens the sack from the saddle. It squelches as he pulls the burlap loose from the congealed blood and ligament of a severed head.
1-8-2039
Anatnag District, Jammu & Kashmir
Deodar cedars sway to and fro as a cool afternoon breeze sweeps through the Lidder valley. Seated outside Khuda's meazbaan, a man in light cotton clothing happily sips rose-colored tea. The previous two days in the hill station of Pahalgam had brought many delights; none more so than the cuisine. His contemplation of the tea's bold flavor is cut short as a woman's voice whispers in his ear.
"Target vehicles approaching from the south."
A week ago he'd been in Mumbai, investigating reports of increased activity amongst black market arms dealers. Now, he wasn't quite so sure what he'd uncovered. Two sleek SUV's came to a halt a few businesses from where the man sat, observing surreptitiously.
"Do your thing, Ekhi." His response came as he took another sip, his thoughts vocalized to the AI through sub-dermal implants. A stream of visual information blipped into existence, feeding him data on the vehicle, its occupants and their unique modifications. Heavily armed and enhanced, each bore a rotating briolette on their left temple; visible only through augmented reality. This was most definitely it. "Tartalo here. Commencing operation."
The man faded from sight, a handful of coins left beside the unfinished cup.
6-8-2039
Mt. Indrasa, Himalayas
Gales blast Tartalo against the sheer rockface as he chipped away with the adze of an ice-axe, creating some footing for himself. He engaged a haptic lock, removing all worry about his grip failing him at this dizzying height. Somewhere, an hour or two after his ascent he would reach his destination. All the intel he'd recovered led him here, grazing the world's ceiling.
He gave another swing, ice-axe passing through open air as he awkwardly shifted, suddenly weightless. Space distorted around him then came back into focus, finding himself surrounded by gleaming surfaces and bustling technicians.
"Que carajo? Where was my warning?" Tartalo fumed, picking himself up from the teleportation chamber's floor. Whether he addressed those around him or Ekhi was unsure. The uniformed figure of General Millheiser stepped forward as a dossier accounting the events of the last 48 hours since Allure touched down was fed to Ekhi.
"You've been reassigned."
Hamta Pass, Himalayas
A haze descends upon a lone rider as the sun falls behind the summit of Mt. Indrasa, muting the beauty of approaching dusk. Rhododendron stalks droop beneath the rain's oppression. The sound of hooves is lost to the surging waters of the Hamta river as the horse steadily climbs and a burlap sack fastened to the saddle sways. Three hours of hard riding behind him, with another two yet to come until he reached the glacier in Lahaul.
The rider adjusts the heavy shawl wrapped around his shoulders and jaw as he comes to a small bluff. A few reassuring pats and he dismounts, eager for the smooth terrain of the Shea Goru plain that lay hidden beneath a fog that obscured all but the highest neighboring peaks.
He rubs some sensation back into his legs and once satisfied begins to rummage through a saddle bag. Producing a wrapped bundle of beets, he removes one from the bunch and returns the rest. The horse eats eagerly from a gloved hand while insects gather round.
The man dismisses the insects with a wave and unfastens the sack from the saddle. It squelches as he pulls the burlap loose from the congealed blood and ligament of a severed head.
1-8-2039
Anatnag District, Jammu & Kashmir
Deodar cedars sway to and fro as a cool afternoon breeze sweeps through the Lidder valley. Seated outside Khuda's meazbaan, a man in light cotton clothing happily sips rose-colored tea. The previous two days in the hill station of Pahalgam had brought many delights; none more so than the cuisine. His contemplation of the tea's bold flavor is cut short as a woman's voice whispers in his ear.
"Target vehicles approaching from the south."
A week ago he'd been in Mumbai, investigating reports of increased activity amongst black market arms dealers. Now, he wasn't quite so sure what he'd uncovered. Two sleek SUV's came to a halt a few businesses from where the man sat, observing surreptitiously.
"Do your thing, Ekhi." His response came as he took another sip, his thoughts vocalized to the AI through sub-dermal implants. A stream of visual information blipped into existence, feeding him data on the vehicle, its occupants and their unique modifications. Heavily armed and enhanced, each bore a rotating briolette on their left temple; visible only through augmented reality. This was most definitely it. "Tartalo here. Commencing operation."
The man faded from sight, a handful of coins left beside the unfinished cup.
6-8-2039
Mt. Indrasa, Himalayas
Gales blast Tartalo against the sheer rockface as he chipped away with the adze of an ice-axe, creating some footing for himself. He engaged a haptic lock, removing all worry about his grip failing him at this dizzying height. Somewhere, an hour or two after his ascent he would reach his destination. All the intel he'd recovered led him here, grazing the world's ceiling.
He gave another swing, ice-axe passing through open air as he awkwardly shifted, suddenly weightless. Space distorted around him then came back into focus, finding himself surrounded by gleaming surfaces and bustling technicians.
"Que carajo? Where was my warning?" Tartalo fumed, picking himself up from the teleportation chamber's floor. Whether he addressed those around him or Ekhi was unsure. The uniformed figure of General Millheiser stepped forward as a dossier accounting the events of the last 48 hours since Allure touched down was fed to Ekhi.
"You've been reassigned."
Ayanda Nyerere - Leader and founder of NYUNDO, Ayanda is an extension of the land. She is its living memory and champion. After liberating Marange, much of her effort has gone into expanding their reach and help as many as they can across the continent.
Assad "The Lion" Moghadani - Commander of NYUNDO's military operations, Assad is a shrewd tactician that has overseen the training of hundreds in his 20+ years of membership.
Kengue Njuguna - NYUNDO's youngest active member, he is the reason for the organization's speedy response-time. Can bridge locations together via imperceptible portals.
Khethiwe Hlela - A former soldier and comrade of Ayanda, Khethiwe has found fulfillment away from the battlefield and helps the newly arrived to transition into their new surroundings. Associates frequently with Makemba.
Mshale Onyango - A powerful telekine, he was the first official member of NYUNDO and Ayanda's former bodyguard. Molded by the violence that was necessary to survive the early years of the Diaspora, he has withdrawn from the vibrancy of Marange. He seldom speaks to others, only confiding in Ayanda and Mwedzi, his lover.
Najwa "The Lioness" Moghadani - Once rescued as a child during a raid on a Xanathan Research Division lab, she is the most prominent operative in the newest generation of NYUNDO.
Eumelio "Nuberu" Loureiro - An exile from Mt. Diaba, Nuberu has been sent by Ayanda to assess the Glasslands and report any discoveries.
Takunda & Tatonga Gwinyai - Jovial and brave to a fault, the Gwinyai twins were soldiers during the earliest incarnations of NYUNDO. Tatonga fell in combat during the establishment of a forward operating base further up the Eastern coast. Takunda now oversees the logistics of Marange's daily operations.
Assad "The Lion" Moghadani - Commander of NYUNDO's military operations, Assad is a shrewd tactician that has overseen the training of hundreds in his 20+ years of membership.
Kengue Njuguna - NYUNDO's youngest active member, he is the reason for the organization's speedy response-time. Can bridge locations together via imperceptible portals.
Khethiwe Hlela - A former soldier and comrade of Ayanda, Khethiwe has found fulfillment away from the battlefield and helps the newly arrived to transition into their new surroundings. Associates frequently with Makemba.
Mshale Onyango - A powerful telekine, he was the first official member of NYUNDO and Ayanda's former bodyguard. Molded by the violence that was necessary to survive the early years of the Diaspora, he has withdrawn from the vibrancy of Marange. He seldom speaks to others, only confiding in Ayanda and Mwedzi, his lover.
Najwa "The Lioness" Moghadani - Once rescued as a child during a raid on a Xanathan Research Division lab, she is the most prominent operative in the newest generation of NYUNDO.
Eumelio "Nuberu" Loureiro - An exile from Mt. Diaba, Nuberu has been sent by Ayanda to assess the Glasslands and report any discoveries.
Takunda & Tatonga Gwinyai - Jovial and brave to a fault, the Gwinyai twins were soldiers during the earliest incarnations of NYUNDO. Tatonga fell in combat during the establishment of a forward operating base further up the Eastern coast. Takunda now oversees the logistics of Marange's daily operations.
"A few minutes longer and I am not so sure escape would have been possible. You were foolish to risk being captured, habibi." The old man sat, absent-mindedly picking at a cuticle of his wooden prosthesis. A heavy sigh and soft chuckle before he continued. "But here you are, and hundreds owe you their lives. You couldn't make me prouder."
Back turned to him, Najwa washed away the blood and ash of the previous 6 hours. The remains of the Xanathan uniform she'd expropriated earlier lay in a huddled mass by her father and commander's feet. Having completed her report, she stepped away from the alcove artfully hewn into solid rock and entered an adjoining chamber of her quarters.
She returned moments later, now comfortable in her fatigues and ready for further admonishing when her environment subtly shifted. Upon retrospect, she could never determine what exactly occurred. Najwa found herself in a dimly lit hall. Gone were the scents of Kethiwe's cooking. The sounds of tired and grateful villagers adjusting to the sudden upheaval of their lives once more.
Fingertips brushed against the cragged surface of a massive stone tablet, depicting a seated figure draped in many robes. Something... a fire perhaps? A cold gust of air sailed the corridor's length and on it danced the heady perfume of incense and mucidity. There... breathing?
Apprehensive at the alien nature of her arrival and surroundings, Najwa drew her pistol and readied it. Like her namesake, the Lioness silently approached the source of what she was almost certain was breathing, passing through several chambers before reaching the wide arch that gave way to an expansive hall. The mountains that broke through the thick haze beyond narrow carvings in the stone were unlike any she had seen across her homeland.
A few steps further and she was met with the locus of her unease. He... It- had its back to her and sat in the center of a pool of sand, neatly surrounded by the dregs of seeds and... what smelled like sap? The Gwinyai brothers told tales of mtyholi, devils of the jungle, that drew power from terrible places. This thing, that seemed to be both living and dead, must be one of them.
Najwa stood nearly ten yards away, weapon up and pointed at the center of its back. Finger on the trigger and alert for the slightest provocation, she called out in Xhosa.
"Did you bring me here? What is this place?"
Back turned to him, Najwa washed away the blood and ash of the previous 6 hours. The remains of the Xanathan uniform she'd expropriated earlier lay in a huddled mass by her father and commander's feet. Having completed her report, she stepped away from the alcove artfully hewn into solid rock and entered an adjoining chamber of her quarters.
She returned moments later, now comfortable in her fatigues and ready for further admonishing when her environment subtly shifted. Upon retrospect, she could never determine what exactly occurred. Najwa found herself in a dimly lit hall. Gone were the scents of Kethiwe's cooking. The sounds of tired and grateful villagers adjusting to the sudden upheaval of their lives once more.
Fingertips brushed against the cragged surface of a massive stone tablet, depicting a seated figure draped in many robes. Something... a fire perhaps? A cold gust of air sailed the corridor's length and on it danced the heady perfume of incense and mucidity. There... breathing?
Apprehensive at the alien nature of her arrival and surroundings, Najwa drew her pistol and readied it. Like her namesake, the Lioness silently approached the source of what she was almost certain was breathing, passing through several chambers before reaching the wide arch that gave way to an expansive hall. The mountains that broke through the thick haze beyond narrow carvings in the stone were unlike any she had seen across her homeland.
A few steps further and she was met with the locus of her unease. He... It- had its back to her and sat in the center of a pool of sand, neatly surrounded by the dregs of seeds and... what smelled like sap? The Gwinyai brothers told tales of mtyholi, devils of the jungle, that drew power from terrible places. This thing, that seemed to be both living and dead, must be one of them.
Najwa stood nearly ten yards away, weapon up and pointed at the center of its back. Finger on the trigger and alert for the slightest provocation, she called out in Xhosa.
"Did you bring me here? What is this place?"
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