Chapter 22-14 As Below…

Chapter 22-14 As Below...

They call them sanctuaries? Better term is processing plant. If you see what the Guilds are playing at here you’ll know what they’re saying is all godsdamned bullshit.

Voidwatch tries to help, but they’re crippled here. Omnitech’s keeping their eyes limited, and the machines they send down have problems. The Nether does things to their systems. Messes them up bad. We see them shipping more material down every week for replacements.

And even if they’re playing to the human rights charter whatever they call it, the other Guilds still need their death feed. Sure, the rest play by the rules on the surface. Hell, they even provide the basic dignities–food, shelter, basic healthcare, hell even public Nether access to curated information–but everything they give comes at a cost and lets them compile a list of people to let in.

There’s a reason why they aren’t targeting high-fertility populations. There’s a reason why males or females of “low genetic worth” are getting subliminal prompts stitched into their minds, driving them to accept contracts with certain smugglers and sign promises with Syndicates masquerading as special agencies.

The FATELESS are basically damned to be cattle from the start. There was never really any way out from them. No one to keep them safe. Hells, half of them don’t need much prompting to sell their lives. They’re desperate. The Sunderwilds have a good portion twisted of flesh, and they want a shot at that good life they keep seeing in the Nether ads, that’s streamed into their minds as they sleep.

They want into New Vultun’s risen glory, to climb the subterranean depths for all they’re worth and maybe earn a chance at the Tiers and lay their eyes on pristine skies for once in their lives.

But by the time they find themselves in the Crucibles as entertainment, or in the gutters as little more than slaves or indentured playthings, it’ll be too late.

We try to breach the censors preventing them from realizing the truth inside the city sometimes. We try, but it’s hell. If there’s one thing that unites the Guilds, it’s that they need death, and they need a constant stream of people to keep marching for greater yields.

These people are fucked, and I don’t know how to save them. Shit. I don’t know if anyone can.

-Mem-log of Junity Nevers “Humanitarian Necro” and Guild-Recognized Cultist

22-14

As Below...

+Essus. Essus–wake up.+

Coherence returned to the former refugee like a light flickering to life within his awareness.

Mere seconds ago, his mind was a tangled knot, invasive thoughts flowing through him, outside memories polluting his cognition. His sense of self was melded to a disfigured whole–a party to a twisted collective for a brief eternity.

All the world was disjointed. Disconnected. Dislocated. During those moments, he felt embraced by a nest, blended into the miasma of humanity.

Now, however, he was returned. Restored by a deft hand plucking away at all his remaining wounds. Wholeness spread out from the core of his ego, and all the sequences foreign to his selfhood came unlatched in unison.

As the last branches shrouding his mind from coherence were cut, he suddenly recalled where he was, who he was, and the creature that just saved him.

“Avo?” Essus croaked. His voice was hoarse–throat sore as if he had been screaming. Moving blurs danced along his perception as he pushed himself off the ground, beholding a mess of twitching bodies strewn around him.

+Yes,+ Avo said, sounding almost distracted. Essus could feel another presence inhabiting his senses. The subtleness of the weight was uncanny.

He had collapsed upon an open patch of dirt when the calamity hit earlier. The others around him fared no better, but at least most of them had camp bedding or tents to crumble upon. Long rows of makeshift abodes ran down an incline, leading into the open jaws of a tunnel lit by brilliant lights. On his left and right, holographic barricades formed a funnel, protecting them from the baleful skies over the Sunderwilds, preventing them from gazing at sights unsuited for mundane minds.

The infrastructure was installed and maintained by passing drones, a few now which lay buried among the waiting rows of refugees, gristle and viscera lining hulls of resplendent chrome.

Essus’ gut clenched at the sight. More dead. More dead for no fault of their own. Glitching holographs flickered as he swallowed, taking in the five-meter-long machine softly whining in the dirt, a small, limp hand protruding from underneath. “Artad.”

His god didn’t answer. But another did.

+Unfortunate,+ Avo murmured, displeased but accepting. It seemed that even the coldness of machines was not beyond the effects of the disaster. +Going to cast some memories into you. Get you up to date. Will access the FATELESS through you. Take this opportunity to spread.+

“Spread?” Essus' question was answered with a combustion of knowledge. Only then did he recount the fires climbing high from Avo’s mind. Essus himself did not burn, but new streams of recollection were smelted into place, flashes of incomprehensible struggle, of battles conducted by the others in ways that he couldn’t grasp.Fôllôw new stories at novelhall.com

Then, it all almost made sense to him. The unbalancing of his mind was Avo’s doing. An unexpected breach. Details about the Hungers followed, of the struggle against Thousandhand, of all the changes his monstrous friend experienced, and most importantly what the cadre intended to do.

A disbelieving chortle escaped Essus as a whistle sounded from above. From its pitched shriek and the vague counters, he guessed another drone was fast approaching. Maybe someone noticed he was recovered and wished to check. “Trouble is a lover to you, my friend. Every time we part, you shake the city. You turn the clouds.”

Avo replied with a grunt of amusement. +So it goes. Going to do it more. With your help as well.+ A faint distance slipped free of Essus like a finger of curling steam. He wouldn’t have noticed, but Avo tugged at his perception and guided his gaze. Soon, he saw the mind-wandering haze winnow through the skulls of his fellow refugees.

+They’re untangling. Slowly. Think it will take another few hours before they finally recover. Fine. Useful for us. Going to create Seances inside them first. You should keep going. Enter processing while they’re down.+

***

Ahead, through twelve junctions of checkpoints, chaining through another fifty-six thousand bodies choking the inner halls, Avo swept past the mag-rails running toward the sanctuaries like a quiet breeze.

He already spent about twenty-thousand ghosts creating backdoors and mem-cons among the incapacities FATELESS. It would make them simple to track. What pulled at his interest more were the hints of memetic tampering he found in some of them, likely Syndicate NEcros already making their pay.

As he cast his perception outward, he took in the first of the many enclaves, a dome tipped by satellites and encircled by landing pads. Glints were descending from the reach of the sky as Calvino quipped about punctual supply deliveries. Avo’s focus was more on other things at that moment, namely the pseudo-districts where Essus and the refugees were to be housed.

The sanctuaries were built with three ideas in mind: modular, simple, and familiar. They weren’t so different from most enclaves, but the administrative drones inside were strict on compliance and cleanliness, with protocols for quarantine and near-constant shuffling of populations. The defining structures were mass-produced modular housing, each around ten square meters, with indentations along their outsides designed to be clenched by a drone’s mag-clamps.

They came together to form densely packed communities in clusters and columns, the flatness of their tops making them easy to stack and detach at a moment’s notice. With the constant influx of refugees, there was little space unoccupied, and a war was being waged between the disorderly populace starved of purpose, wasting away in stasis, and Guilder drones meant to keep things clean and, ostensibly, keep their subjects safe.

Of course, of the Great Eight, only Voidwatch seemed to truly care for human rights, while the others played evasive games, creating environments where things were unbearably livable. Featureless environments. Constant brightness. Tight proximity.

To an easy place for the human animal to live.

+Feels more like a prison than a community,+ Avo said

{I think that’s the point,} Calvino replied, sounding disappointed. {They’re fed. They have some public access to information. The ones with severe health problems are given just enough to keep their ailments forever at bay, but they don’t have any reason to live here. The food is nutritious but bland. And they can’t get more whenever they want. Entertainment and information is curtailed, and the most entertaining or interesting among the refugees are taken inside and offered to the city before they can do anything to improve the lives of others here.}

Through the air, a thoughtcast played: +Fighting is strictly prohibited in the sanctuaries. For those caught making infractions against community guidelines, a penalty of delay will be placed on your waitlist for the city...+

A chorus of voices scoffed inside Avo’s mind as Draus’ template–midway through scalping one of the new Regulars–made their displeasure known.

+This is a place of survival,+ Avo said. +Not a place for life. Designed for boredom. To wear down on someone’s mind.+

{And make them risk life and limb once more with the smugglers,} Calvino summarized. {Yeah. So. Technically, it’s not the Guilds doing it.}

+Why not put more pressure on the Guilds? Or just make the enclaves better yourselves. Expand.}

{We do. But our direct assets don’t last very long down here. We are expanding the enclaves, but “unexpected anomalies” can cause the strangest of things to happen, leaving things damaged and in need of a rebuild.}

Corner let out a sigh. [Fuck-fuck games across the board.]

Avo understood and spread even more splinters. It wouldn’t take long for him to isolate the Necros working here, to climb the chain and hunt down their points of contact for the Syndicates, and to compromise all the major criminal organizations in the gutters, but he still needed to play things subtle.

The killing of the Instrument earlier was as much an act of catharsis as it was an experiment–to see how sensitive Veylis truly was.

As things stood, direct thaumaturgy and drastic alterations made to the paths drew enough attention. But spreading his splinters into other minds and infesting them remained a silent act.

Such would be to his advantage. With a bit of patience, he could create enough openings and sessions for him to burn millions or even billions of minds at once.

Or, if he desired to create more dilemmas for the Guilds and establish an umbrella of safety for him and the cadre, he could feed the mem-data he collected over to his Paladins and have them dismantle the gangs and Syndicates.

Either way, this was a foundational act of shaping. He would start by encircling the New Vultun. Securing these sanctuaries for himself, penetrating their lotteries and systems in case he ever needed points to siege the city from the outside, and slowly, quietly, deprive the Guilds of their much-desired deaths.

To that end, he continued nursing his infestation on vulnerable minds, the odorless taint of his mind wreathing itself into the knotted skeins that were the populace.

When they recovered, he would be with them. And when the smugglers made contact, he would be waiting.

And as he proceeded deeper into the sanctuaries, another facet of himself was crawling higher through the Tiers via his newest subverts.