Chapter Text
“It appears we have a decision to make,” Chrome commented, standing still and regarding the bidirectional fork in the tunnel ahead. He regarded the splitting paths, one hand stroking his chin thoughtfully, the other hand brandishing a flashlight.
Wanshi threw him a look. “I thought you came through this way to get to me. You don’t remember which side you entered from?”
Momentarily, the captain appeared atypically sheepish before calibrating his expression back to its usual composed countenance. He shook his head slowly. “I made certain to keep careful track of the path I took. Yes, I remember the appropriate route. But the path appears to have changed. This fork wasn’t here before.”
The other construct scratched his head, mulling over the possibility of Chrome just being too proud by nature to admit that he was lost. This explanation seemed more likely than the tunnels shifting. But then again, after everything Wanshi had witnessed recently, was anything really out of the realm of plausibility?
He sighed as his captain frowned and glared alternatively down either path of the fork as though, through silent interrogation, Chrome might be able to coerce an answer out of the soil concerning the direction they should take.
“Oxygen levels are really low here,” Wanshi commented, leaning against the damp wall of the narrow cavern as another wave of dizziness overtook him. “They’re higher than where you found me, which is a good sign – means we’re probably closer to the surface – but still too low for my core to generate more energy. I gotta get out of here soon, Captain.”
“Yes, yes…” Chrome murmured. He nodded to himself and pointed a gloved hand towards the left side of the fork. “We’ll take this path.”
Wanshi cocked his head aside, squinting at his captain who was barely illuminated by the light that bounced back at him from the soil around the two. “Not to be rude, sir, but was that choice arbitrarily made?”
Chrome raised his eyebrows at the sniper. “I understand your skepticism and caution, but I have my reasoning. Pay close attention to the air. Tell me, what do you feel?”
The other construct stood still, closed his eyes, and tried to regain the mindfulness that usually would make him quite adept at sensing changes in the air around him. However, with his eyes closed the world seemed to spin around him and colors danced behind his eyelids.
Is this an effect from the drugs, still, or is it just the lack of oxygen? Wanshi thought, teetering. Lurching forward, he threw his hands forward to catch himself against the tunnel wall. Chrome closed the distance between the two of them and placed a supportive hand on Wanshi’s shoulder to help hold him upright.
“The air current,” Chrome said softly, answering his own question. “It’s weak, but it’s coming from the path to the left. That’s why we must go that direction.”
“Yeah, okay,” Wanshi replied weakly. He wiped at the cold sweat accruing around his eyes and forehead. “Let’s go, then.”
Chrome regarded his subordinate benevolently. “Do you need me to carry you?”
“No,” the other construct responded, immediately. “I’ll be fine.”
Wanshi pushed himself away from the wall. He stumbled a few steps before finding his balance and proceeding towards the specified side of the fork, desperately attempting and direly failing to appear composed.
“Are you certain about that?” Chrome remarked. “You’re walking like a drunkard. Let me carry you – you’ll reserve some of your power reserves if you refrain from walking.”
I’m the doctor here - don’t lecture me on how to deal with my condition, Wanshi considered returning before biting his tongue. On second thought, he found the comment to be unfairly derisive towards Chrome, who was simply trying to help.
Wanshi waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated.
But despite his assertions, Wanshi did not feel fine. His core thrummed erratically, his feet were so cold he couldn’t feel his toes and felt like heavy bricks in his boots, and a migraine pounded in his head. He was finding it increasingly more difficult to think clearly. He recognized that he was exhibiting symptoms of extreme power depletion and knew that if his hardware hadn’t been damaged when the ants had buried him, his interface would be blaring alarm messages at him.
Chrome stepped ahead of him and shined the flashlight into his eyes. Wanshi recoiled from the blinding beam like a nocturnal creature caught in headlights.
“You don’t look well,” the captain evaluated.
“Really?” Wanshi said, borderline sardonically. Chrome tsked at his tone.
“Your behavior is giving me reason to believe that the condition you’re in is affecting your judgement,” the captain said, his blue eyes narrowing. “I cannot be of sound mind allowing you to walk when you currently look worse off than a plague victim. As your superior, I’m ordering you to allow me to carry you.”
Wanshi rolled his eyes. “Plague victim? Very funny.” He attempted to step past the other construct but was blocked by a firm hand from Chrome.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me, Wanshi,” Chrome growled. “I said, that’s an order. Why are you refusing my assistance?”
Wanshi didn’t exactly understand why he was rejecting Chrome’s help. Perhaps it was because he felt guilty for being the injured one when it was his job to mend to the others. Maybe it was because he felt a deep-rooted embarrassment at the prospect of requiring another’s support, because it made him feel helpless. Or, maybe it was simply the drugs in his system or the hypoxia tamping the function of his combustion core making him stubborn. Maybe Chrome had a point, and his condition really was affecting his capability for rational judgement.
The white-haired construct didn’t step any further. He remained planted, swaying slightly, his captain’s outreached hand still planted firmly against his chest, preventing him from proceeding.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” he finally murmured. The words didn’t fully articulate all of the thoughts in his M.I.N.D., but they were all he could think to say.
Chrome sighed. He dropped his hand from Wanshi’s chest, clipped his flashlight to the belt of his uniform, and repositioned himself quickly, deftly. In one moment he was beside his team member, and in the next he was holding Wanshi’s hand with one of his own and, leaning over, snaking his other arm around Wanshi’s knee. The other construct, too exhausted and disoriented to protest, limply allowed Chrome to hoist him across the back of his shoulders. Although his frame appeared slender, the captain executed the lift with little to no sign of exertion.
Chrome shifted from foot to foot, momentarily testing his balance with the added weight on his shoulders. “I don’t think you understand what an order means,” he said, no trace of anger in his voice.
Wanshi exhaled deeply. Being carried this way wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was much easier than having to stand or walk.
The captain stepped forward, and the two proceeded down the path to the left of the fork.
Wanshi awoke gasping for air.
I’m getting tired of rude awakenings, he thought dazedly.
It took a few seconds for him to realize his whereabouts. Blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness from his vision, Wanshi tried to comprehend the voices around him. Words tangled together in midair, sentences uncoiling and recoiling before meeting his ears. The voices were much quieter than those from his recent dreams, and the one that had taken up residence in his head.
He heard his name mentioned a few times. Everything else sounded like it was being spoken in a foreign tongue.
Something warm and encompassing washed over him through the thin layer of cold sweat perspiring from his synthetic skin. Sunlight…?
Birdcalls rang through the air. A breeze pressed reassuringly against him, carrying on it the rustling pitch of leaves and the understated scent of floral oils carried from sources stowed faraway underneath blanketed canopy.
Wanshi’s breath hitched in his throat. The forest. I’m in the forest. Finally, above ground again. But…how did I get here?
Hadn’t he, just a mere moment ago, been draped over his captain’s shoulders in that subterranean labyrinth?
“Give him a moment, Kamui,” said a familiar voice. The words had come together suddenly in a language Wanshi understood, taking him off guard.
Another recognizable tone replied, “He looks super out of it. Shouldn’t we try slapping him, you know, like the lifeguards in movies do?”
Wanshi’s vision finally cleared.
Sunlight seared into his retinas. Wanshi winced. He tried to raise his hand to shield his eyes, but his arm didn’t cooperate correctly. He overshot his hand movement and whacked himself across the face.
A boisterous laugh broke the solitude of the birdsong and rustling canopy. “Looks like he went ahead and slapped himself awake, so we don’t have to!”
There was a tired sigh. “Can you be serious?”
Wanshi steeled himself against the glare of the sun and reopened his eyes. The forest canopy moved linearly above him. Or, was he the one who was moving…?
He swayed back and forth in a gentle rocking motion. A silhouette cut through part of his view of the leaves overhead. Wanshi realized he was being carried in someone’s arms.
What’s happening? he tried to articulate, but all that came out of him was a disgruntled groan.
“Sleeping Beauty’s becoming more lucid, I think,” came a voice that made the fibers of Wanshi’s frame tense.
Wanshi strained to crane his neck, and his muscles stiffly, reluctantly complied. His eyes fell onto a head of long, gray hair and the back of a pair of broad shoulders.
The construct who intercepted me before the sand worms showed up, he thought. The act of recalling details hurt his head. What was his name again?
After a pause, another question caught his attention.
Who’s carrying me?
Strong arms held him firmly ahead of a proud, black and white clad chest. With each step forward, a dog tag swayed against the white undershirt. It jingled softly in front of Wanshi’s face like the mobiles that hang over baby cribs. The way it placidly glinted sun off its metallic surface was comforting to him.
I recognize that uniform…
The figure carrying him looked down at him. It wore an expression of relief.
Wanshi blinked.
Chrome.
The captain looked years older than when Wanshi had last seen him. How could that be possible? They were both constructs. Constructs didn’t visually age, as humans do.
An ache panged in Wanshi’s head. He shut his eyes.
An uneasiness consumed him. Last he remembered before waking up here, he was with chrome in the underground tunnels. He’d been looking at the back of the captain’s uniform, watching Chrome’s weapon swing to and fro with each confident step forward, then- well, then…
That was all Wanshi recalled. What had happened? How had he ended up here, being carried by the captain? When had Kamui and the Forsaken construct joined them?
Wanshi fought to reopen his eyes. Chrome had returned his attention to the rocky forest path ahead of them. Wanshi watched, mesmerized, as Chrome’s golden hair bounced on his head, the wisps tossed by both the wind and the rocking of each footfall. The sunlight, which had shifted to a reddish, aureate hue, backlit his hair and made it appear as though he donned a fiery crown.
“Do you think he’ll snap out of it?” Kamui asked. Wanshi noticed his other sandy-haired teammate walking beside Chrome, looking at him curiously.
“We may not know until we get him back to HQ,” Chrome disclosed earnestly. He frowned at the thought. The crease in his brow made him look even older. “But I’m remaining hopeful, in the meantime. It wouldn’t hurt for you to do the same.”
“If oxygen deprivation didn’t damage his M.I.N.D. or critical systems, then he should be able to make a full recovery,” Watanabe chimed in from ahead of the Strike Hawk members. “But I’m no doctor, and the construct M.I.N.D. is complicated. I’m sure your friend would be able to tell you more if he were able to speak.”
Chrome was silent for a moment. He was finding it progressively more difficult to remain optimistic, despite the advice he’d just delivered to Kamui a moment before.
He also acknowledged that Watanabe had been quite astute with his last comment. Because, yes – if Wanshi were able to speak and assess the situation, he’d surely give them a calm and detailed explanation of everything that was going on, in the layman adaptation of medical terms. And even if the situation were as dire as Chrome desperately hoped it wasn’t, Wanshi would be able to deliver the news in a way that put everyone else at ease.
“I fear it’s not a good sign that he’s unable to communicate. That could mean neural network damage,” the captain said, after a lapse.
“There’s another possibility, other than that,” said Watanabe. “Before you arrived to Wanshi’s burial site, we found something else underground.”
Chrome shook his head at Watanabe’s crudeness. Burial site, he thought, repeating the other construct’s words in his head disdainfully. He’s talking as though Wanshi is already dead. There’s still a chance he can recover. He’s here now, with us. We can still get him the medical assistance he requires. We still have time.
“And – what was it?” Chrome asked.
Watanabe threw a glance over his shoulder at the Strike Hawk captain. “Some type of homemade contraption that dispensed gas. It was buried directly under Wanshi’s coordinates. Who knows if he inhaled the gas, or how much of it he may have breathed in? I can imagine it couldn’t have been very good for him.”
Chrome stared at the back of the Forsaken construct’s head. “You’re telling me he was drugged? That gas would have had to have been incredibly potent to have an effect on him, especially if its source was buried.”
The other construct shrugged. “Just an idea.”
Chrome thought about what Watanabe had said. The gas-dispensing device’s placement, in the soil directly beneath Wanshi’s post, raised alarm bells in his head.
“Are you certain about the gas being noxious?” Chrome inquired urgently. “I need to know that you’re certain of ill-intent, here, Watanabe. What you said has serious implications.”
Watanabe shrugged a second time. “I told you what I know. I didn’t hang around the device long enough to find out about what the gas does.”
Chrome’s jaw tensed. When he looked back down at Wanshi’s face, though, his expression softened.
“He fell asleep again? Shouldn’t we wake him up?” Kamui cried. “Isn’t it dangerous to sleep if you’re really injured?”
“Let him be,” Chrome advised. “What you’re talking about pertains to humans when they sustain head injuries, and it’s not necessarily dangerous for them because of the sleep, but because their cognitive abilities can’t be adequately monitored while they’re unconscious. Wanshi, not being human, should be fine.”
Kamui chewed his lip. “Wanshi finally just woke up. Can’t we keep him awake to, I dunno, make sure he’s lucid or something?”
“When constructs go unwillingly unconscious, it’s part of an internal emergency protocol monitored by software inside the frame,” Watanabe said. “It helps to conserve energy and protect vital systems. When his frame’s daemon registers that it’s once again safe for him to regain consciousness, he’ll wake up. It’s the safest bet right now to let him sleep.”
That is, if he’s not just willingly taking a nap, Chrome mused. He then considered that Wanshi, if he were able to control whether he was conscious, likely would not allow himself to drift off in front of his teammates without first letting them know he was okay. Assuring that the rest of his team wasn’t worried about him had always been one of Wanshi’s priorities.
Kamui’s eyes fell and glued themselves to the ground passing in front of his boots as he walked. He sighed. “We finally find him,” he said dispiritedly, “and I don’t even get to talk to him.”
The captain regarded his subordinate. “Cheer up, Kamui. Let yourself find solace in the fact that Wanshi’s in one piece.”
Well, just barely in one piece, Chrome thought, looking down at the white-haired construct.
When they’d found him, Wanshi had been tightly cocooned inside the mass of knotted, twisted roots. The roots had defiantly coiled themselves further around him as Chrome and Watanabe had carved through their rough carapaces, while Kamui used his good arm to rip the severed plant limbs from the prone construct. Whatever entity the roots originated from had put up a good fight against the others; the deeper into the mass they’d carved, the further the roots had slithered into the laceration they’d incised through Wanshi’s abdomen, like leeches under a fish’s gills.
Looking at the vital fluid-stained bandage that now was tautly bound around Wanshi’s stomach, Chrome hesitantly recalled the visceral image of the wound that had met his eyes once he and the others had managed to remove the outer layer of roots. The flap of abdominal skin, with the roots snaking underneath it, made him shudder. Under the thinnest, translucent parts of Wanshi’s flayed stomach, the roots were visible underneath, pulsing like blackish parasites.
Chrome remembered his time at the academy, when he’d taken a course on zoology. During the lectures, the professor had briefly described parasitism. One image in particular came to his mind, of a small, parasitic hexapod called a Strepsipteran lodged in between the sclerotized plates on a bee’s tergites, on its dorsal abdomen. The Strepsipteran female was a wingless insect that looked larval-esque even in adulthood and never left its host throughout its entire lifetime, which it spent feeding on its host slowly enough for the host’s tissues to regenerate just in time for the parasite’s next meal. Although the parasitism negatively affected the host’s energy stores and foraging capabilities, the parasite always made sure to feed conservatively enough to insure the survival of its food source.
Chrome grimaced. He wasn’t entirely certain what the roots’ intentions had been, but he couldn’t help but to draw a parallel between the roots and the Strepsipteran. The roots had been lodged within Wanshi, pulsating as though sucking fluid through a straw. The image had been uncanny and like nothing he had ever seen before.
Could those roots have been feeding off of him? Chrome asked himself. Did he only remain alive this whole time because he was a food source?
“We’ll be able to safely request a medical team to lift him back to Babylonia once we get to the encampment. For now, there’s not much else we can do,” Chrome said aloud, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group.
They’d chosen against requesting medical assistance at the site where they’d found Wanshi for fear that the signal would attract more enemies. Even though they’d cleared out many of the Corrupted in the area, they weren’t sure of how many more Corrupted might be present in the surrounding forest, and they were wary that whatever entity the roots belonged to might be watching them. They knew next to nothing about their newfound, root-controlling foe, and decided the best course of action would be to get as far away from Wanshi’s post as quickly as possible. The encampment was the safest and closest place for them to call in help from a team who specialized in medical transportation. Chrome and Yata had done a thorough job of clearing out the Corrupted around the encampment, and even if calling in the ship did attract more enemies, at least Yata would also be present to assist in picking them off.
Medical ships were light and compact, and the evac pilots who navigated them were skilled at maneuvering into tight spaces, unlike the cargo plane pilots who drove heavy, bulky vessels. Even if the encampment clearing was too tight for other planes to land in, Chrome was confident that a medical team would be able to carefully accomplish a safe landing.
And, as they finally neared the refugee encampment, Chrome found that he had been right to be confident. They’d cleared the thicket just in time to witness a med ship, gleaming dazzling white in the sun, hovering gingerly towards the ground.
Tree branches danced wildly in the sudden storm kicked up by the unrest of the ship’s propellers. Kamui and Watanabe each threw an arm ahead of their eyes to block out flying debris, but Chrome, who still had both arms firmly grasped around his unconscious team member, could only squint and hope for the best as they traversed forward towards the plane.
The moment the ship’s tires settled into the dirt underneath the vehicle, a medic, clad in an elastic white jumpsuit, hopped out. Most of their face was obscured by a tinted visor that reflected the sun’s glare dully. They procured a gurney from within the ship and rushed to wheel it over to Strike Hawk and Watanabe.
As Chrome and the medic worked to lay Wanshi gingerly onto the wheeled cot, a handful of refugees emerged from the encampment’s scattered tents. Among them was Yata.
“Look who’s home,” she called as she jogged up to the other constructs, waving one of her bionic arms behind her in greeting. Although her voice was playful, her eyes searchingly scoured the area for Wanshi. When she spotted him, splayed limply on the gurney like a ragdoll, she froze.
Chrome, strangely unresponsive to her salute, stared at his unconscious team member as the medic wheeled Wanshi to the ship.
“He’s just as handsome as the reports say he is,” Yata said, ignoring Chrome’s silence.
“Yep,” Kamui said, waving to Yata. “But not the most handsome guy from Strike Hawk. Hi, I’m Kamui.”
“And you’re not the most able-bodied member of Strike Hawk, currently, are you?” Yata returned. She pointed to his injured, dangling arm. The plasma burn seared into his shoulder was obviously raw. Yata cocked her head to one side, staring at the wound. “Shouldn’t you be joining your friend over there for medical assistance?”
“She’s right, Kamui,” Chrome said, finally breaking from his trance. He tore his eyes from the med ship into which Wanshi had disappeared. “You should go with Wanshi to the infirmary. I know they don’t have room on the ship for me, but they have to take you because you’re injured. Go keep Wanshi company.”
Kamui, in a rare instance of serious sincerity, nodded and hurriedly ran to board the plane. Yata, Chrome, and Watanabe watched his back as he hopped inside. When he was no longer in sight, Yata turned to the others.
“He’s a bit of a golden retriever, isn’t he?” she commented.
“What does that make him?” Watanabe said, nudging a thumb in Chrome’s direction. Despite the sincerity of the situation and his exhaustion from recent events, he donned a slight, lop-sided grin as his eyes met Yata’s. “A dog trainer?”
Yata shook her head from side to side. “No. I’d say he’s more of a dog dad. One who’s good about disciplining, from what I’ve heard.”
Watanabe’s grin turned into a smirk at the comment. He gave her a polite nod, deciding internally that he liked her. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Watanabe.”
“Yata.” She returned the gesture, flashing him a smile. “Are you that Forsaken guy?”
“In the flesh.”
“Huge fan of your work,” Yata said. “It takes a lot to get onto Babylonia’s shit list, but you pulled it off anyway.”
Chrome shot her a disdainful look. “Don’t push your luck,” he warned. “You might be one of Hassen’s favorites, but the higher ups wouldn’t be too pleased hearing you commend a criminal.”
Yata raised both of her own hands, accompanied by her bionic hands, into the air defensively. “It’s sarcasm, Captain. That’s all it is.”
“Sarcasm or not, I’ll take it,” Watanabe said. He ignored Chrome’s glare. “Thanks.”
The remaining group fell into silence as the medical vessel’s propellors whirled faster and faster, kicking up dirt from the ground underneath them. Eventually, the propellors accelerated to such a degree that take-off was once again possible, and the ship lifted off noisily above the canopy, its compact frame disappearing beyond the trees.
Silence fell over the remaining constructs. As the surrounding canopy settled in the wake of the ship’s departure, more timid refugees appeared from the corners of the forest. The late mayor’s son appeared among them.
“Mayor Albright,” Chrome said, doing his best to appear outwardly cheerful. “How have you and the others been fairing?”
The boy, seemingly much less constrained by his anxieties as he had been previously, waved a hand to the constructs. His eyes lingered momentarily on Yata, who gave him a grin in return.
“Much better, thanks to your help,” he replied. A trace of a smile graced his sunken features. “Having food and help from Babylonia has eased everyone’s mind a lot.”
As Albright came to a halt before the constructs, he fell into a brief, awkward silence. The others could tell that there was more he wanted to say, but that the young man was stricken speechless by exhaustion. The weight of his unspoken words hung on the air heavily, almost palpable.
Chrome tried to push the thoughts of his injured team members out of his mind and nodded his head at the mayor politely before smiling reassuringly. “It’s our pleasure, really – no need to say thank you. We’re happy that you and your people are safe.”
Yata nodded in agreement. “We’re also happy that we got to have a kickass workout, taking care of those Corrupted.”
“You should be safe for now,” Watanabe added.
Albright remained frozen, glancing between the constructs who had just spoken to him. Still, the words he wanted to say remained stuck in his throat.
Yata languidly stepped closer to the young man and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. One of the hands from her weapon attachment patted the mayor teasingly on his head, mussing up his already disheveled curly hair. “The refugees quit trying to get Mayor Albright’s head on a stake as soon as the resources arrived,” she told the other constructs cheerily. “But this whole situation was incredibly stressful for a new mayor, I bet. I can see Albright’s a bit tired.
Albright shrunk away from her touch slightly, his cheeks burning red-hot. He freed an arm and smoothed down the unruly curls on top of his head while clearing his throat. “Yeah,” he said, “Somehow, the Corrupted destroying our home and taking everything from us became my fault. If you hadn’t been here to help, then the others probably would have roasted and eaten me by now. Both out of hunger and revenge.”
Although the comment had been intended as a joke, Watanabe nodded solemnly. “You’d be surprised how common roasted long pig is. I’ve seen it more often than you’d like to know.”
Yata laughed at the remark while Albright shivered and Chrome shot the Forsaken construct a look of disdain.
A moment passed. Albright shook his head abruptly, forcibly clearing the haunting notion of cannibalism from his mind, then turned to Chrome.
“Who was the med ship here for?” he queried. “When I saw it, I figured the medics were going to stick around to help some of our injured, but it lifted off.”
Chrome’s eyes darkened. “I almost forgot – you didn’t get the chance to meet my team. My own people suffered injuries and required transport back to HQ. Their wounds were quite severe.”
“Oh,” the young man responded. “Sorry to hear that, Captain” He scratched his head. “I guess I just assumed that constructs never get badly hurt, since you all are so strong.”
“Anything that bleeds can die,” Watanabe said. “We’re no exception.”
Chrome nodded. “Unfortunately, he’s right. And I fear there’s still something in these woods that may be hunting us.”
“What do you mean?” Albright asked. His face appeared suddenly blanched.
The Strike Hawk captain sighed. “I don’t mean to cause you any additional worry, Mayor, but there’s something out there – we’re not sure what exactly it is, yet – that is capable of capturing and sedating constructs. It appeared to target one of my team members. So far, though, we have no reason to believe that it is hostile to humans. After all, it hasn’t harmed any of your people.”
“Yet,” Watanabe said. “It hasn’t harmed any of your people yet.”
“But don’t worry,” Yata chimed in, withdrawing her arm from Albright’s shoulders and punching his bicep playfully. “I’m gonna stick around here for awhile until HQ sends permanent support units to keep you all safe. Nothing’s gonna lay a finger on the refugees without first going through me.”
“Yes - Yata is quite an adept fighter,” Chrome reassured. “I have confidence that your people will remain safe under her care.”
Yata shot the captain a warm smile before meeting Albright’s eyes again. “We’ll call in another med ship for your people. I’ll request that they bring enough serum, vaccines, and first aid materials to hold everyone over until the next major shipment.”
“Thank you,” Albright replied, bowing his head briefly. He paused. Then, tilting his head to one side, he looked to Chrome. “This thing that attacked your team member… is it Corrupted?”
Watanabe made a tsk noise before Chrome had a chance to reply. “You like mysteries, kid?” he asked.
Albright, taken off guard by the question, considered his response for a few long seconds. “Uh, no, not really.”
“Me neither,” the Forsaken construct said. “But that’s what this has been for us: one big mystery. We’re not sure whether we’re dealing with Corrupted, humans, someone else or something else. We haven’t met our adversary face-to-face yet.”
“There’s a chance our adversary might not even have a face,” Chrome added. He thought of the roots that had entombed his comrade. The image of Wanshi’s abdominal lacerations returned to his mind and made him shudder.
“That’s ridiculous,” Yata said. “No face? What – you think the forest itself is against us?”
Chrome reflected on the notion. Even though Yata had suggested it dubiously, the idea wasn’t entirely dismissible. After all, the roots had seemed to writhe with a mind of their own.
“From the look on his face,” Watanabe said, his squinting eyes studying Chrome, “I think he might.”
Chrome frowned. Could Arborea Forest itself really be the enemy that had captured Wanshi? If the Punishing Virus had infected the organisms within it, it was possible that their behavior could have been affected. That would explain the roots, but it wouldn’t explain how the gas-dispensing device had ended up in the soil. Something humanoid – or at least, something with the resources of a humanoid – had to have been present to build the device and plant it strategically underneath Wanshi’s post.
Yata chuckled. “Next, you’re gonna tell me that the moon is trying to kill us. The whole forest can’t be our enemy. How would we even fight back? Burn it all down?”
“I don’t think the situation is as simple as that,” Chrome muttered, musing. “While parts of the forest were weaponized against Wanshi, it couldn’t be plausible for the forest itself to be responsible. That would leave too much unexplained.”
Watanabe’s expression had turned thoughtful. “Hmm,” he hummed, scratching absently at his chin. “Something out there is manipulating nature. Not just in this place, either - the strange behavior I saw from the vassago, on my turf, shows that whatever we’re up against is mobile enough to cross different territories.”
“Vassago?” Albright said, frowning.
“They’re big sand worms,” Yata informed him. “Not really fun to be around.”
The young mayor’s lips curled in disgust. “Every day I learn more about the world and wish I hadn’t,” he remarked quietly.
A sudden rumble, like thunder, ricocheted off the distant trees, south of where the group stood. Chrome swiveled to face the source of the cacophony while Watanabe reflexively grabbed for his blades. Yata, tilting her head to one side, let out a long, low whistle.
“The hell was that?” she remarked.
“Nothing good,” Watanabe replied, his voice terse.
Chrome quickly opened his interface and brought up his map of the forest. Radar showed two blue, stationary dots in the forest south of them. Staring at the names labelling the dots on the screen, the captain’s vital fluid ran cold.
Oh no.
Watanabe, who had moved to peek over Chrome’s shoulder at the projected map, said in a low voice, “Looks like our med ship just went down.”