28 Apocalypse

Melanie didn't know how long it actually was but she actually spent a fair share of her time conversing in a friendly chat with Cynthia Starr.

Of course, she did spot the occasional glances from nearby passerby as well as overhear the murmurs of whispering bystanders but she ignored them as she instead decided to enjoy this moment.

She didn't know why, but she actually felt something different the more she conversed with Cynthia.

It was a warm sensation, one that could almost make her tear up not out sadness but something else entirely, she just couldn't describe what it was.

This feeling was alien to her, yet it was also vaguely familiar.

As if it belonged to a fragment of her past that she had long forgotten.

It took her short while before she figured out what it was.

It was happiness.

True, genuine happiness.

Not only did she 'feel' happy, but she also found that she actually smiled.

Not a fake, superficial smile meant to please her boss or to uphold formalities.

But a genuine, real smile while only faint, still symbolised the joy she held in her heart.

In just a short timespan, Melanie has found that she has grown quite fond of and attached to Cynthia, no matter what kind of monster she actually was or may turn out to be.

Even if Cynthia was indeed a monster or would grow up to become one, in reality, she really can't be that different from Melanie.

Eventually, whatever sense of hostility and suspicion she once internally held against the little girl melted away into nothingness.

There was no point in denying it, this was indeed the moment that Melanie had yearned for her entire life.

For somebody to see her as an equal.

For somebody to see her as a friend.

But alas, this moment of bliss couldn't last forever.

Cynthia eventually had to return to her dorm-room in order to prepare for their mission.

And Melanie had to do the same, returning to her private cabin near the ship's bridge after waving Cynthia goodbye.

There, she glanced at the sparseness of her room.

In general, P.A.I.N. operatives were free to customise their dorm-room as they wish as long as they adhered to confederate standard procedure and protocol.

Melanie was no different.

Yet her dorm-room was mostly sparse and empty, with only the bare minimum of furniture and decorations present.

Her mattress was bare.

Her office desk was bare.

Her closet and drawers were bare.

The only object of decorative value within her room was a single framed photo.

Although 'physical photos' have mostly become a thing of antiquity thanks to the advent of digital photography all those thousands of years ago, there were still people who used framed photos as a decorative object to this day.

Soon, she forced herself to turn her attention away from the photo and instead directed her attention towards the single large glass window that gave her a view of the growing surface of planet Viridi.

As she viewed the wastelands of Viridi, the image of the endless green tides of the barbaric orkks entered her mind.

There was no doubt that they were already on their way towards the nearest human settlement.

Their 'instincts' leading them to their next target.

As of yet, there was none within the I.T.C. or beyond who was able to explain this most peculiar aspect of the orkks.

Their inborn 'instincts.'

Orkks who were born to be warriors or as the orkks called them; 'battle bois' were born with the instincts required to handle both hot and cold weapons alike. Utilising their weapons with crude but brutal efficiency.

Orkks who were born to be engineers or as the orkks called them; 'tekk bois' were born with the instincts that gave them the ability to not only produce and repair the orkks' crude weapons and armours but to construct and maintain the orkk's ramshackle vehicles of war.

And of course, orkks who were born to be leaders or as the orkks called them; 'warbosses' were born with the instincts that allowed them to not only control their typically rowdy and barbaric brethren, but lead them into battle as well. Encouraging and rousing the already high fighting spirits of their fellow orkks, making the already threatening greenskin threat all the more dangerous.

The 'instincts' of the orkks, combined with their inborn desire to indulge themselves in ceaseless strife and conflict truly made them an inconceivable species.

It was most almost as if the orkk race itself was a species that specifically existed just to wage war.

But Melanie had no time to dwell on such thoughts.

She had to stop the orkk threat on Viridi before it could 'snowball.' If they were allowed to take a settlement full of resources or given enough time to breed and exponentially increase their numbers, then Viridi would surely be doomed.

While she had a detachment of 500 P.A.I.N. psionic operatives as well as the entirety of Viridi's garrisoned military forces, this paled in comparison to the kind of firepower and manpower that they had to face.

In the end, it was all up to her whether Viridi would be saved from the orkk threat, with its millions of citizens continuing on their day without even knowing that their very lives were in peril.

Or if Viridi would end up in ruin, all life other than the greenskins being all but wiped out with the planet itself being choked dry of whatever resources it may have once held.

Such a burden would normally be a tremendous weight on any normal person, even if that person was a psionic.

But stopping an apocalypse was nothing that Melanie hasn't done before.

...

Hours.

It has been hours since Timothy Stahl has done anything other than walking.

The only thing he had to tell the time was the sight of the sun that still lingered to the west, indicating that the day had yet to end.

He still had his rationed food but that tasteless yellow-white block known as an 'M.R.E.' didn't really do him any favours other than filling his stomach.

Thankfully, he had his light exo-suit equipped to relieve much of the stress off his body, allowing him to walk for miles on end at a quick pace without tiring himself.

Thankfully, He had now arrived passed at his patrol team's outpost.

But to his dismay, he found that the outpost was completely abandoned.

The MSV that was meant to be in the outpost's garage was absent while the outpost itself was stripped clean of supplies save for a few rations and personal belongings.

There was still a bobble head left at the computers terminal, a christian cross hanging on one of the dorm-room's handles and there was even a whole deck of cards left splayed out across the dining room table.

It was the deck of cards in particular that drew his attention.

"These are the sarge's collector's edition cards... he would never leave them behind..."

As Timothy muttered to himself as he surveyed the deck of cards that belonged to sergeant Armando Larimer, he couldn't help but feel a bad premonition.

Although the sarge was an individual who rarely spoke, that didn't mean that he didn't interact or have any friendly interactions with his subordinates.

He would often host a game of poker himself as he awaited the end of their shift. He didn't invite them into the game nor did he forcefully kick them out, he just simply dealt the cards and allowed people to join as they wish.

Although, Timothy held some resentment within his heart against his squad who left him behind with no means of transport, he also knew that they wouldn't just abandon him without reason, especially if they had to leave their personal belongings behind.

Nevertheless, he put these thoughts beside as he went to use one of the computer terminals.

Only for him to realise that it had no power.

"Huh?.. That's weird..."

That was when he realised that the only light he received was through the outpost's sunroof while the lights remained off despite him vividly remembering that he switched them on earlier when he entered.

A hint of anxiety began to grow within him as he took his loaded pistol and went to check on the outpost's power generator. There, he discovered that the power generator like the MSV and many others was also absent.

The only pieces of evidence left of the power generator were signs of scorch marks against the flooring which signified that whoever dismantled the generator either rushed the process or did a very poor and haphazard job.

Seeing this, Timothy's mind was instantly crowded with theories. [Was the outpost cleared out by bandits? No that can't be right, otherwise there would have been evidence of a fight. There was no way that my squad would just let a bunch of marauders clear out the outpost without leaving a trace.]

After he glanced around the outpost, he could only confirm that it was indeed not plundered by any bandits. After all, the perpetrators must have a hideout based nearby in order for them to move the stolen goods within a short time span.

And having a hideout out here in the wasteland was tantamount to suicide.

Thus, the most plausible explanation was that the patrol team was ordered to clear out the outpost of the most valuable supplies that they were able to carry. This much could be evidenced by the tracks left by the MSV which led towards the nearest military base.

While he did notice it when he first reached the outpost, he didn't really pay it that much attention. The tracks left by the MSV left a slightly deeper imprint on the ground than usual, which told him that the MSV was being weighed down more than usual.

Such evidence only disproved the original theory that the outpost was raided by plundering marauders and further reinforced that it was none other than his own squad that was responsible for the bare state that the outpost was in now.

He knew that they must have been ordered to clear out the outpost but what could the reason behind the orders be exactly?

Multiple theories that were almost immediately rejected manifested themselves within his thoughts as he tried to rationalise why his squad had to empty out the outpost.

However, as Timothy lost himself in his sea of thoughts, a low humming sound that seemingly originated from the wastelands drew his attention, bringing him back to reality.

Vrrrrrrmmmm.

It sounded very much like the engine of a car or a truck, except there was something off about it.

It sounded janky and unreliable, as if the engine itself was seconds away from exploding.

It didn't sound like a 'human' vehicle, or at least a human vehicle which belonged to this era.

Soon, the low humming sound grew louder.

Vrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmm.

But not only did it grow louder, but it was also accompanied by other distinct humming sounds.

Vhhhrrrmmmmm.

Vvvvvhhhhhmmmmm.

Vvvrrrrrrhhhhmmmmmm.

With his gun still in his hands, Timothy left the confines of the outpost to investigate these odds humming sounds.

Just before he could actually exit however-

Boom!

A large crackling explosion, launched him backwards and causing him to roll on the floor.

Although his exo-suit absorbed much of the damage, that didn't mean that he wasn't hurt.

Every bone in Timothy's body creaked in pain when he attempted to move them while his eyesight was still blurry.

In the end, he could only cough as he laid on the floor, attempting but failing to recover from his injuries.

For a split second, he saw a silhouette of a massive figure with green skin and donning rusty and ill-kempt armour running into the outpost.