You state your intentions. Emma gives a dull nod. “If I’m needed, I will be at the Thornton Estate.”
“Thank you.”
Emma lifts a hand in a parting wave, leaving you to regard the church that still stands in the center of this battle-scarred town. You hesitate as you remember your supposed youth. Remember standing at these doors ages ago. Wondering if you should enter the hallowed grounds. That choice, and the meeting with that stern Mother after gave you everything you have now. Nicole gave you a name and the world. Her machinations brought forth the strength of the planet and delivered it right into your hand.
She’s a genius. Without her weaving her spider’s web, this world would be doomed. But as it stands, now we have a chance. You step through the doors. The smell of unwashed bodies assaults your nostrils. Your Crusaders lounge around heating elements or makeshift fires in the damaged building. The pews, once comfort to the praying faithful, now smolder in burn barrels or upon the prefabricated floors to provide another form of comfort. The pedestal that once held the orb of cog and nature combined, now bares a much smaller golden statue in your likeness. Your soldiers shift in confusion. Awareness dawns amid their fatigue.
The Crusaders snap to attention as you approach the pedestal. The figurine takes liberties, but there’s no denying that it is your visage they’ve replicated in the worthless metal. The Androgynous features. Seven great wings. A las-gun in a single hand. Missing arm. Someone has, however, taken great pains to carve cogs and bullets into the surface.
[19] You unbuckle one of your restraints. Iron twists free of the floor. You add a biomechanical arm – holding the spear you once used as a nuclear trigger.
“Mother Pheonix,” Begins a captain, approaching with a swagger, his coat folded over his arm. You snap your collar tight again, taking him in. He is young, but most of your Crusaders are now. He walks with confidence, with a bowed head and a gas mask hanging from his neck. A slug rifle is slung over his back, and, an honest to the gods metal sword swings at his hip. “To what do we owe this great honor?”
“I was wondering, is there a Brother John here?” You ask, looking away with disinterest. Are my people so poor we’re using actual metal swords now?
“There are three. Is there a last name?”
“No. He would have been here before the current occupation.”
“Ah.” He looks uncomfortable. “There…there was no one here before our occupation. Raider-trash held the church. We don’t know what happened to the congregation.” The Captain frowns and bows apologetically. “Was he a friend?”
“No.” You state. You favor him a warm smile – and leave without another word.
It takes you time to hike out to the outskirts. The remains of Doc Mitchell’s life have been picked through with a thorough efficiency. No useable metal is left. No scrap or appliance. All that remains is worn charcoal overgrown with dying weeds. Even the fateful incinerator is gone, the cement pad it was once perched on scrawled with graffiti and weathered by new growth. You step into the remains and pace to the place of your rebirth. No real emotion strikes you, and you make to return to the city.
[12][17] You notice it when you leave – a small safe, buried beneath rubble and overgrown with weeds. It sits bolted to the concrete. Sturdy and rusting, but secure.
[8][12] Guessing what your ancestors would want, you pry it open with a touch of Willpower.
A las-magazine, some Jade Outlander coins, and SEED credits are brushed aside as you rummage – you pause when another glint of gold catches your eye. A small golden picture frame highlights a colored picture. The colors are rudimentary, having been filled in after the picture was taken, but its those colors that bring you pause.
An older woman and a young girl hug a smiling Doc Mitchell. They beam as a family, smiling warmly, if a little stiffly, at the photographer. A golden band gleams on the woman’s ring finger, and another adorns Doctor Mitchell. The young girl sits upon Doc Mitchell’s lap. A perfect tableau of familial bliss. The happiness isn’t what surprises you, though. It's the hair. Both the mother and the daughter have blood red, shining hair that tumbles down their shoulders.
A genetic rarity, among the brunette children of SEED and the insular, consanguineous children of the Families.
You feel a little dizzy as you consider this discovery.
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Topic: McCreary's Planet -- (FINISHED) (Read 258483 times)