Peace at last

The abyss laughs

When I tell it I'm ready

Steal the rhythm out from my heart

Your bloody hands will make a perfect start

Black sun on the horizon

Turning tricks to tear our senses apart

But I like it

It's just a little frightening

To lose everything, at once

Into the sun our memory return

Spirit bombs explode

Are you ready to know everything

—

GUNSHIP - Black Sun On The Horizon

Jumbled-up masses, the weights of dreams turned into nightmares; he resisted the terrible stresses of memories, which turned them into jagged fragments. He refused, he refused, he refused. The friction between two contrasting wills made his mind and body fevered.

Down the road in the driver's seat, the lure of relief, worry for Vim, hope to make it far enough, cavalry — drones — en route, ambush around a corner, explosion, the crashing rocks, everything goes to shit, down the terrain, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling…

Nothing he wanted to live through again! Out. Beyond it. To the end.

But he proceeded right through it, anyway.

Ham-Up, muscles rippling under tattered clothes, standing on the top of a ruined, sideways vehicle, the most badass woman to ever live, cramming a ripped off, blessedly surviving 30mm cannon into the backseat compartment to brace, firing off the last rounds at the pursuit of the demons down the ravine they fell into, she's holding them off, she's yelling orders, Screamer is screaming for her in Jack's arms, a broken arm, a broken leg, she's crying and begging not to leave her, but they leave her-

They leave her.

"No! Please!" Whose voice?

Into the cover of a forest, Jack and Major Rockingson, burdened with two Nons, the cries and screams of battle behind them, the screams and cries of Screamer with them, they run as much as they can, they just keep going, going, going, straining under weight, gritting their teeth, soldiering on, hoping for daylight, hoping for- but there's the sound of a grenade in the distance — silence descends, after…

Just stop it!

The final turn around, the final stand, the screeches behind them, two standing with meager weapons, a third given a pistol with one good hand but too morose to lift it, here's where they'd die like soldiers, Rockingson says, "Let's spit in their eye on the way out, son," — before they even fire a shot the drones come surging past them in a gleaming, steel horde, autoguns blazing to deafen their ears so, so sweetly with leaden death, a dozen firing, still moving, a dozen more stacked on top, firing, firing, firing, endless flashes, stopped on a dime, rotating drums, the alien bastards are cut to ribbons, heads turned to pulp, body parts severed under the hail, a surreal panoply of hyper-violence lighting up the night, one masked girl laying at their feet and sobbing, crushed, retreated inward…

Broken.

Major Rockingson yelling and laughing, thrusting his rifle up. Muted to Jack's damaged ears, he calls, "Take that, fraggers! Haha, take Momma's Hot Lead Stew right up your damned guts, hahahahahahahahahaha-"

The laugh, the mad glee, the relief so thick it became pain, seemingly never ended in his head. On and on it went, haunting him. Jack had felt nothing, felt hollow and empty in that moment, which forever disturbed and worried him. He stared, his gun ready, his eyes peeled, scanning, waiting for the next horror to jump out-

"Wake up, Jack." Mini-no, Memoria in his head.

Jack shot up in the bed, sheets twisted all around him, his body sweating. He made a guttural noise as his eyes flung around.

And there she was. Sitting in his bedroom chair, suited up sharp, one leg crossed over the other, one hand with a cigarette leaning over a chair arm. In the wee hours of the morning, there she was, and for a moment, he wondered if he was hallucinating.

Then, he figured he wasn't, and got annoyed. "Wh-what the hell are you doing here?!"

She just crooked an eyebrow at him. Puffed on her ciggy. "Here, I thought you'd be grateful to be woken from your nightmare."

Jack, still bewildered, fixated his gaze on her cigarette. He thrust a finger at it accusingly. "Hey! You can't smoke in here!"

Memoria blinked, pausing suddenly in blowing out smoke. Her eyes slowly shifted to look at the ciggy. "Hrm. It is your house. Your rules." She shrugged, and the cigarette burst into flames briefly, quickly completely disintegrating.

Jack sat up, thankfully with his sheets somewhat covering him. Though he supposed he shouldn't really care. "Answer my question, Mother, or my other rule is for you to get out!" He pointed to the door emphatically.

Memoria grinned lopsidedly at him, apparently amused by his attitude. "Fair enough, Slow Riser. Would you care to help me with something?"

Jack blinked a few times, and his hand slowly dropped onto the bed. "Help? Like a… mission?"

Memoria nodded slowly. "You're cleared. 'Advanced training,' we'll call it. I wouldn't risk you out on the borders, yet, son, even on a team, but you can handle what I have in mind. I think. But, well, it's… experimental. Experimental and important. But it won't be pretty, either. It's going to hit you in your guts, son. So, what do you say, hmm? Are you game?"

Jack didn't hesitate. "Of course. It's my job and my privilege." Ghosts of the recent nightmare memories flashed through his skull. "There's nothing I want more than to fight relevantly."

Her eyes on his were unreadable. "You have a bit of background information already."

"What do you mean?"

"The Phantasmal Reach. The Dreamer."

Jack's blood ran cold. "Shit. So that was deliberate intel dropped into my lap."

Memoria formed a dark little grin. "Yes. Didn't you detect that our oh-so-dry Agent Marrakech was suddenly less bored with his instruction? It was part briefing; necessary information delivery. Just like your clearance upgrade was necessary. Earned, technically. Clean on the books, soldier. Clean as a whistle. Just exceptionally quick on the ball for us, we'll say. So it'll look like privilege."

"Oh well."

"I want to test that little ability of yours, Jack. That touch of clarity Q-Loth claims to lend. I need to know if it can… clear what I think it can clear, where our few, precious psychics have found stubborn and frustrating anchorages. That boost is absurd by itself, and I suspect circumstantial amplifiers. One of our little encounters gave me an idea, Jack. So we test under a suitable connective foundation, first and foremost. If successful, we can see how wide the range goes from there. Make assessments about potential future extreme cases."

Jack met her eyes and tried to read her, to puzzle out what she was talking about. But it was too damned early in the morning. He shrugged. "Whatever you say, Boss Lady." And then his awakening brain picked out which ability, at least. "You mean Prey's Redress. Clearing mental control and such. Shit."

Memoria nodded. "Bingo. A potential defense mechanism against our dogged, hated foe. Mutually hated, unless I deem Neex deceived or a liar." Memoria uncrossed her legs, leaning forward with her hands interlacing, as she stared at him. "Things could soon be looking up, my boy. Imagine a dozen more running around with the same, granted ability." Her eyes, growing more intense, widened. "Like magical vaccine givers, healing and depositing hardened knots of resistance. On top of their individual abilities. Can you share my ambition, Jack? Can you share, then, my answering caution?"

He considered it. Copying all those granted abilities with more bonded humans? Powers granted to existing elites. Powers granted, also, to doctors and geniuses. But relying on Q-Loth was scary. Trust was supposed to be a slow thing, not a dark puddle you jumped right into. But there they were, at the edge, with enemies snarling at their heels. "It's… terribly inviting, isn't it, Mother?" She just kept nodding in response, so he continued, "I do share it, yeah. But you're the one with all the info. Is it a gamble? If it is, if our back is against the wall, do we take it and jump in?"

Memoria stared at him blankly for a long spell. Finally, she rose and straightened her coat. "Hurry your ass up and report to Containment in forty-five. You've got a special, new appointment." She began walking around the bed. "I'm glad you've taken us into these waters, Jack. Let's take a little swim into the unknown, hmm?" She flashed a smile his way. "If we chose wrong, at least we did the definitively human thing to the last."

She opened the door and departed, leaving the door ajar.

"That's the bathroom!" Jack called, but too late. Not a sound answered him, though. He snorted. Acting all cool and uses the wrong door. She's gone, regardless. Not like she uses the actual exit. "Damn. Containment again. Without a Neex, presumably." He sighed. "Here we go."

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

When Jack showed up in the Containment Department lobby once more, his guide was already there, this time in a basic uniform with a lab coat over it. He was carrying a clipboard and was maybe in his early forties. He had a serious yet soft demeanor about him, common to doctors.

"I'm Dr. Kimura," he said in introduction as he offered his hand. Jack took it immediately, and the doctor continued, "You'll be seeing one of my patients today. That is, someone suffering from severe PIMAD, particularly manifesting as derangement cases of hallucinations, delusions, bipolar disorder, and schizophrenia. True to PIMAD, it has stark and chaotic seesaws, and she had periods of full lucidity, albeit usually still quite depressed. Confused. You may have been fetched here this early due to one of these. Sorry about that."

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Jack shook his head. "No problem, Doc. I guess I'm supposed to give her a magic touch."

Dr. Kimura nodded. "Let's talk on the way." After he began leading Jack through the still-familiar offices, he said, "PIMAD is very resistant to typical treatments. Medicine is more effective for lighter cases. Meanwhile, psychics are better at targeting things before too much damage is dealt, or they risk feedback damage. Ideally, they only deal with one primary issue, surgically repairing it. Our patient has too extensive damage, essentially. Some may say she is too 'broken.'

"Nonetheless, we had someone try. It was a disaster. Another team had to rescue her, and then she needed extensive treatment. Thankfully, she recovered, but not without mental scars. A small nugget of PIMAD damage left within, perhaps. Needless to say, we have not pursued this angle again. An unfortunate state many are left in. I — we — have other, similar patients. Technically, even of such damage that we never tried a psychic. This one is just a special case."

"Holy hell, Doc. Uh, so… is this dangerous for me?"

The doctor met his eyes briefly as they went through another locking door. "I can't say. The idea seems to be that you have some special, classified protection. And healthy resistance. Supposedly, you aren't… how do I put it… 'going in' like most psychics do, especially to deal with something this extensive."

"Oh. Right." Q-Loth. I'm some kind of vessel for this. I guess. I'm about to find out…

They entered the familiar airlock as he had once before, on his way to see Neex. The door sealed behind them as they were scanned. Dr. Kimura said, "This is just protocol. There is no physical contamination risk, at least not with the patient. If you're mentally contaminated, well, that's going to be a whole different problem."

"Yeah," Jack muttered uncomfortably in reply.

The other airlock opened quickly, and they made their way through the maze of claustrophobic corridors like service tunnels made of steel. They came to one of the many airlock entrances in the maze and stopped only briefly before it opened.

Past the airlock were more pleasant-looking offices, but they went through another heavy, sealing door to a hallway painted blue, with many more heavy doors. It may have been slightly pleasant, but it was all still made of steel. Each door had a complex mechanism/compartment beside it, including vidscreens. They were all showing screensavers at the moment: a very old, very primitive 'maze run.'

They stopped at one, and the vidscreen came on instantly, showing from an upward angle. It showcased a padded room inside, with an equally padded bed. A woman in a gown was facing away, kneeling on the floor, staring at the far wall. Her chestnut hair was long and tangled.

"You'll be well-monitored within," Dr. Kimura said as he appeared to view biometric data. "I'll be right here, and there are automated security mechanisms ready to go. I doubt she's capable of hurting you, but just retreat if she attacks, and she'll be restrained. It's fairly rare, especially with the state she's in right now. She answers only to the name 'Kat.' It's short for Katherine. But don't use that. Or any other." He gave a significant look at this.

Jack frowned slightly, but nodded. "Kat. Sure thing."

"Alright, good. I'm opening the door. You may want to talk a little first. Do your thing however you like. Oh, and take off your shoes in the airlock."

"Noted."

The door hissed, pushed inward, and slid to the side. He stepped into a small airlock, and the door closed behind him; momentarily, the inner door repeated things, but this time it slid inward. Jack pulled his shoes off and set them aside as it did.

The woman did not react to the obvious noise, nor Jack's slow approach over the softened floor on his socks. He felt a bit strange to be doing what he was doing. It was out of his entire paradigm. Nonetheless, he wanted to help if he could.

This woman's suffering must be vast. If I can deliver the relief, I will.

He walked around until he could see her face. It was one of contained wildness. A young face with marks and scars on it. He was shocked by how young she was. Twenty, twenty-one? Maybe even younger. Somehow, it made everything feel worse.

Those eyes have seen more than most, though. Too much.

"Hey there," Jack tried softly.

She blinked. That was all. She kept staring at the wall, head slightly tilted diagonally.

Jack sat down, somewhat next to her, but giving her space. "I'm Jack. What's your name?"

She turned her head to him, quickly darting her eyes to take him in fully, and then locking in to stare him dead in the eyes. Hers were deeply, deeply haunted. And haunting. In a hoarse, damaged, raspy voice, as if having done too much screaming, she asked, "Why are you here?"

Jack furrowed his brows at her, getting a weird vibe he couldn't place. "To help."

Her eyes went vacant as she opened her mouth, then closed it. After a long pause, she said, "Water."

Jack cleared his throat and turned his head aside. "She wants some water!"

"Acknowledged," said a pleasant AI-type voice. "Stand by."

Kat scowled sourly. "Not from them."

"I'll get it for you," Jack assured her as he rose quickly.

Kat nodded slightly.

Jack proceeded more or less behind her back, as thankfully, she didn't turn around.

He looked up to see a panel sliding back into place silently, as a plastic sippy cup floated down to him. He took it and sat back down next to her, offering the cup. "Here you go."

She stared at it. "That's a sippy cup." She met his eyes incredulously. "Am I a child?"

Jack shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "This is all they had. People keep stealing the good ones."

She rolled her eyes as she took the cup. "Figures." She held it in two hands as she looked down at it. "Domo." Then she took a sip.

It took a moment for Jack to understand what she said. "No problem. You speak Japanese?"

She shrugged while still looking placidly at the cup. "Had a friend once… we used it together… I forget why…"

Jack's vibes were going nuts, now. Her voice was familiar — yet a lot was off, too. He didn't think he knew a Katherine. Damn, are they fragging with me? Internally, he queried Mini, "Hey, what gives? Do I know her?"

"I'm not privy, Jack."

"Then ask Memoria!"

"Sure. Sending request…" A pause. "No response. Busy signal."

Damn her.

Jack asked aloud, "Hey, um, is your name really Kat? You're familiar to me."

She looked up, frowning. "Of course you know me, Jack." She shook her head and sighed. "You're just another ghost come to haunt me. More pleasant than usual. More pleasant than the others… Vim… damn him…"

Jack felt like an icicle had speared him through the heart. He stared at that face and heard her voice echo in his head, warped with the modulation of the past. The mask. And he knew. All the dominoes fell into their fallen state of the horrifying, gut-wrenching reality.

"Screamer?!" Jack blurted, his voice disbelieving still, and cracking.

She immediately snarled, face contorting into a rictus as she tossed the cup and launched herself at him like a lightning bolt. Jack was too stunned — and unwilling to fight — to do much more than get tackled as she knocked him flat, straddled him, and balled her fists up in his uniform at the chest. Her face a mad, twisted rictus right in his face, she screamed, "Don't call me that, motherfragger!"

Jack just stared back, paralyzed. It was a whole new nightmare he'd never imagined — her in such a state. His failures, his fault, not delivering everyone out, not whole. And he had gotten off practically scot free.

Damn you, Memoria! Damn it, you knew, and y-you… but his blame puttered out. It didn't matter. She hadn't failed those people. Failed her. He had.

A twang resonated through him, a response, an echo from bodily contact. From across a vast divide, something shivered and caressed him, as if to comfort. Soft words oozed into him, as if from his own mind. She does not want this, yet she has been made to deny herself. I must not let her. I must reinforce the truth above all. I now hold that power before her. Impact. Sympathy. Will.

His panic and horror began to die before the freezing cold realization of what he could offer, and what she needed. He reached toward that clarity, and the fog dissipated. I am her anvil, her anchor; I am the steel hard and unyielding to lean on. I am the blade forged to cut clean like a razor.

Jack felt a calm surety as he stared back into her eyes. He could see deeper. See the fear, see the person he remembered hiding somewhere within. Q-Loth's words were backed by the evidence, and with that, a fire of determination grew within him. "It's who you are," Jack said firmly. "How your friends knew you. It never changed. Your name is Screamer."

Her face contorted again as she bared her teeth and growled, thrumming him slightly up and down into the floor with her grip. "Shut up! Stop it!" Tears welled in her eyes.

"Everyone's proud of you. I'm proud of you. All these years, never knowing what became of you, all too classified, but you were an inspiration. A hero. Screamer was a hero to all of us!"

She gave a pained cry and pushed him down. "Shut up!" She threw herself off of him and crawled into the corner rapidly, pulling her knees up and turning herself into a ball, holding her head in her hands as if it pained her. As if his voice came from inside there. She ignored him. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! That's not me!" She screamed, then, a sound that shook the room and pierced the ears. A nasty, supernatural echo felt in the soul.

Jack winced. Weak, technically, against his defenses. A shadow of what she could once do, no doubt. But Jack sat up and showed his hands. "You see? Who you are intrinsically. Evidence."

She hugged herself and shook her head emphatically, not meeting his eyes, muttering to herself incomprehensibly.

Jack hesitated as he felt a pang of sympathy for her pain.

I don't know about the blade part. Something is missing here. A sign-off on the surgery. I brought 'her' out to a degree, but that alone isn't good enough. A narrow window that can close… back into her endless loop, not connecting with those around her… and there is a right way and a wrong way to reach across that divide. I suspect others missed a certain subtlety in their clinical approach.

Jack stood and walked over. He leaned down so he could meet her eyes. She still avoided them. Jack said softly, "I'm sorry, Screamer. I'm not trying to hurt you. It's just the opposite. I want this to end. You know exactly what I mean. The demons and ghosts haunting you. I am not a demon; I am not a ghost. I'm someone offering a hand. I won't force you to take it. Like the ones that bring the medicine, like the ones that bring the mind games and questions, like the ones confining you, like the ones who don't know you, telling you what to do, like everyone else who's stepped in here, maybe. Sister, I've been there. Okay? In these confines. Quarantine. Playing the mind games. I'm not doing that, I promise you. I'm trying to offer you the way out because you're lost. You can't get out by yourself. And I know you. I've fought through the thick with you. I'm here, I'm really, really here… and I'm telling you I can help."

She calmed slowly at his words, her eyes gradually playing at meeting his. At his last few sentences, they did. Tears welled up in her eyes and fell down her cheeks, as the most lucidity he'd yet seen in her suddenly spawned. A window opened wider than it had perhaps since she'd closed off years ago, there at his feet in the forest, breaking into pieces in grief as the drones' autoguns spun. Where she'd apparently opened up to something else, as unendurable pressure gave way, and then closed off with it.

Hope was peeking and tiptoeing out from behind utter terror.

"How?" she whispered in disbelief, as she blinked back tears.

Jack held her eyes, becoming that steel of supreme certainty to her, and slowly offered his hand. "Take my hand — trust me — and I'll show you."

A long stare. Slowly — oh so slowly, as if expecting it to turn into a claw at any moment — she reached out and took it.

🐙 Patreon Link, Next Chappy — Chapter 61: A Rising Cry

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