Children of Terra

~Day and a half after emerging~ ~Making good time to Los Angeles~ ~Leagues and leagues from Night City~ ~Vykan, who doesn't care about time~ The pair followed the cracked asphalt south from Night City, past the gas station rest stop, through the windblown dusting-byes and Joshua trees; all overlooking the once-beautiful Pacific. Well, in truth, it was still beautiful, but tainted. Water, water, all around. . . Vykan hummed. What a great way to shit all over nature's beauty. Pruflas -- on the other hand -- resolved for now to stay outside, the risk to his psyche still a little precarious. The demon followed behind the Stygian, thinking of all the doors now open. And quietly, to himself only, all the doors now closed. What he did two days ago was haunting him, and he would have to cope with it in a novel way. It turns out internalizing everything wasn't viable for the Duke in the end -- he would have to try talking to the Stygian, if just once about it.       They were making good time, all said. Neither needed fatigue-rest, mental stress notwithstanding, and both could in effect march for perpetuity. That would be the case, in theory . . .       Right now, they were stopped. Vykan was vomiting more by the roadside, blood and viscera emptying out with tenses of his core. He wiped his mouth, spitting, hacking, and spitting more. With a huff denoting a build of frustration, Vykan spoke. "I'm not looking forward to the crash when you seem to recover only to rot from within." He sighed, pushing off knees and back to walking. Slower gait this time.       Pruflas was a bit surprised. "How do you know about that? I thought McCarthy never happened?"       Vykan looked back over his shoulder, face paled under the helmet. "Chernobyl."       " . . . what does that have to do with anything?"       Vykan had to stop a moment, the mental tax making his head hurt. "The disaster? Before I was born, should still fresh in human memory?"       Pruflas furrowed his brow. He didn't consider himself particularly inattentive to things like that. How could he have missed - ah. Because it didn't happen on this Earth."As far as I know, nothing like a Chernobyl disaster ever happened. Just in case, when about did it happen?"       Vykan staggered, stopping. He sucked air before continuing. "Sorry. I'm actually rather ignorant of things. Late 80's? '86 I want to say? One of the consequences of being dead. I no longer care much about details." He smiled to himself in that marked way. "No. I'm excusing my ignorance for really just being an asshole. So, I'm trusting you, Pruflas, to keep me in check."       Pruflas nodded, eyeing the Stygian. He got a heavy dose. Probably'll keel soon. I wonder how his immortality manifests?"Nothing like that ever happened. Probably too much of a shift of history from the 50's to then, from the sound of it."       "I'll tell you about what I know sometime. Else."       And so they walked. ~A handful of miles outside Los Angeles~ ~Enclosed by concrete walls~ ~Memoir of the past~ ~Vykan, nearing his limit of life~ Every heartbeat thrummed against his helmet. Pulse after pulse. Shame the blessing worked that way. Also, he had to refasten his sandals multiple times on the long road from Morro - Night City. His armor, as balanced as it was; still presented a weight burden upon his shoulders of around 35 to 40 pounds. A bit more of a problem when suffering from acute radiation sickness. Ugh. Every breath caused the dryness in his lungs to burn anew, and every 5 minutes was a phlegm game hacking up a new blood clot.       Pruflas knew for his part that Vykan was rather stubborn. He didn't like being presented with solutions other than the most brutalist, most direct. Easy to glean from an id that headstrong. Still, this was just plain detrimental. He spoke up. "Vykan? I think it's time to ditch the armor. You stick out like a sore thumb. On a foot."       The Stygian leaned down, shoulders rolling. "But I worked so hard for it. It's my memento."       The Duke was ever the thinker. "I have an idea. Here." Pruflas took his dress jacket off, along with his slacks, leaving him with dress shirt and underwear. "Trade you for the gear."       Ordinarily, Vykan would have protested. He stripped down instead, relishing the cool wicks of wind on his flesh as he organized his arms and armor on the ground. Putting on the suit jacket and slacks, he now looked like a businessman on a 'coca-cola' trip. Complete with the sunken eyes. He watched as the Duke cast magic on the panoply, cleansing it before vanishing with the whole lot to inside the passenger seat. When Pruflas came back, Vykan asked about the idea.       "Ah. You've a space in your mind. In fact, it's arranged rather . . . simply. Most of it's a black, formless sea. Presumably the primordial id. Your ego, is like a spiral staircase of consciousness up toward the command chair -- that would be the superego up there. From my vantage, I have to look up to see you. Anyway, I simply put the gear in your id."       Vykan grunted. "So where is it?"       "Behind you." As Vykan began turning, Pruflas followed up. "Ah, no. Conceptually behind you. Not physically."       With a long exhale, mostly from the rad poison, Vykan nodded. "I'll leave stuff like that to you." He looked at the demon, with his pale thighs peeking from boxers. The demon insisted on a belt around his waist, with dress shoes, shin socks, and a swaying tie. He looked at himself, abs peeking between the suit lapels. The sleeves were longer, suggesting the demon was taller. Vykan was definitely broader, however. The suit was tight on his entire upper torso, hugging on his upper arms and shoulders.       What really drew the Stygian's attention was the juvenile. He stared pointedly at the obscene bulge in Pruflas' boxers, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Un-fucking-believable."       The Duke was an incubus. Well, quarter, but the phenotype expression was . . . well, unimportant. Point being, Pruflas thought in rather tame and prim terms. When he realized what Vykan was referring to, he had a hint of capillary blush dust his cheeks. "What's unbelievable is you being so hung up on it."       "Hung up on it, hm?" Vykan shook his head as though Pruflas just lost some invisible standing with him, turning away in drama.       "Hey! Are you being goddamn serious right now?" Pruflas paled. Only after saying it did he realize what he said. This fucking guy's id! He grumbled to himself as Vykan replied with more of the expected banter. Internally, Pruflas felt as though he was beginning to understand the mechanics of how exactly the Pseudomonarchy fell.       They had been walking a while more, reaching the very outermost layers of Los Angeles, before concrete -- shanties of outcasts -- when Vykan noted the pairs' attire with a huff. "I look like such a douchebag. Who the hell wears a business suit with no shirt or vest? Slacks with sandals for god's sake!"       Pruflas pinched his nose. "Is your culture seriously that apostate to speak like that?"       Vykan narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I-a demon is lecturing me on curse words? Eh . . . no. I understand. It actually does make sense a demon would care. Hm. Well, yes, actually. My culture is rather apostate from an Evangelical perspective. I could go into how we got so jaded, but there's really no way for me to explain it without sounding like a fucking douchebag."       Strange. In this timeline, people outright rejected their humanity. It seems though in his, they became disillusioned . . ."Right." They were walking through the shantytown, glares and eyes peering from all sides as the corrugated shacks became more dense, more stacked, closer to the entry point. "Why are they staring, Vykan?"       "I'm understandable. I look like a meth head. You, dear Pruflas, look like a dildo -- fucking walking around -- dressed like a CEO with no pants on. What was that saying you said to me? Like a foot with a thumb on it?"       It hit Pruflas then. Like a CEO . . . in a shanty of a megacorporation dystopia. He was sick with deja vu from the last time he was juxtaposed. Poor miners . . .       "Probably won't fuck with us, if you're worried about that."       "Why?"       "Irradiated." Vykan turned over his shoulder, fixing Pruflas with the pale stare and blooded nostrils.       . . . of course. Pruflas looked down in thought.       The pair continued in silence. Vykan, near dead. Pruflas, mind full of self-doubt. ~Tenuously~ ~Upon the entrance checkpoints~ ~The pair interrogated~ True to Vykan's gut feeling, the pair made it to the first checkpoint to Los Angeles without issue. Pruflas wasn't as grim-minded as the Stygian, chalking it up as any traveling group -- even a pair -- as far less likely to be accosted. That did not extend to a lack of propriety by the checkpoint guards, whose sensor arrays detected the Stygian yards and yards before the first corridor scanner.       One guard stepped out of the station building, rifle slung into low ready. With a casual demeanor of rote training, she called out. "Halt. Both of you need to be identified."       Vykan closed his gaunt eyes with a low, slow exhale. Pruflas looked sidelong nervously. Honestly, he seems like the type to fly off the handle . . . Shit.       The guard seemed used to psychos, and she walked up to Pruflas first. "Turn slowly, please. I'd pat you down, but . . . " She allowed herself half a glance at the attire of the demon. "I don't think that's necessary. Unless you admit to hiding something somewhere?"       Pruflas was in the middle of turning slowly, giving a soft, placating laugh. "Nothing like that, madam." Vykan nearly groaned, managing a nigh-imperceptible huff through a slit mouth.       She turned to the Stygian. "Alright, glow-stick. Take 'em off."       "Oh come on! You let him off with that, but I?" A thin trail of blood snuck out his nostril from the rise in blood pressure.       She flicked the safety off her rifle. "I will ask you again, civilian. Comply."       Vykan had one card left. "But I'm naked underneath?"       She waved the muzzle.       Vykan shot Pruflas a poison glare as he took the suit jacket off first. If he wasn't paled to shit from anemia, he wouldn't have too bad a physique. Telkhine did him well in some regards. Probably a hair between athletic and bodybuilder, but maintaining around 11-13% body fat. The main tells were the now-shrunken and whitened stretch marks -- crisscrossing nearly his entire body. Pruflas hadn't noticed before. He wasn't peering at the traveler last time.       The guard spoke up. "This isn't a fashion show. Pants."       Vykan snorted, accompanied by a fresh glob of blood. He unhooked the slack button, unzipping and letting the slacks pool around his ankles. The legs matched. Thick bundles honed from long experience. Of course, that wasn't the main attraction. The guard quirked an eyebrow, glancing between the Duke and Stygian.       "Seems to be quite a difference between you two."       Vykan wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the Duke, eye twitching. "I must have missed that." His temples were screaming against his skull.       The guard had her fill of entertainment for the day. "Okay. Go ahead and turn around." As Vykan completed his revolution, turning back to face, the guard nodded. "You may dress." She walked back to the station, giving a report likely, before returning. "We require you to lower your rad level before entering. For some reason, I don't think you can wait out the half-life, and we do have a decontamination arch with Rad-Away."       Pruflas saw where that was going. "But we have to pay. That's fine. I can pay for him."       She nodded. "Good. Next, we need identification."       Vykan was taking in a half-breath when Pruflas spoke up again. "Here's mine." He pulled from his breast pocket a small metal card, handing it to the woman.       She scanned it with a hip apparatus. Nodding, she handed it back. "How does a handyman get that much prestige? You contract for corpos?"       Pruflas wasn't too proud of using incubus techniques, but he was experienced enough for time and place. He shifted in a deliberate way, staring at the guard. "I get lucky with timing, you see."       Vykan audibly let out a groan, catching glares from both.       Pointedly, she asked. "And him?"       "Desert orphan. We met between here and Night City on an oil line job when we were accosted by marauders." The best lies are half-truths.       She sighed, rubbing her head before walking to the guard station. When she returned, she bid the Duke for his ID card. After he complied, she scanned it one more time. "I've updated it in our system to add the-" She looked at Vykan "-muscle freak. Any trouble he causes, you cause. Do I make myself clear?" She held out the card for the Duke.       "Very. Are we clear for entry?"       "Yeppo. The two of you may proceed. Welcome to Los Angeles. And enjoy your stay!" That last bit rung with practiced professionalism.       Vykan closed his eyes at it. What the hell.       The pair proceeded to the first decon hallway, which sprayed the pair down as they made for the end. It was bathed in UV.       Vykan noted how long it was. "Bit much for rad decon."       Ah. He didn't know about the viruses, of course he wouldn't. "There were viral outbreaks too. On top of the nukes." Good. The cameras would see an ignoramus. At least the story about a desert orphan would be believable.       "I'm getting fucking sick of this real quick, Pruflas."       A lot to unpack from that. Bad time to. Once they were at the next door, a side medical cabinet hissed open, and a baggie with some orange intravenous fluid flopped out. Looking at the Stygian, Pruflas apprised him. "Rad-Away. It'll bond with all those free-floating isotopes in you; but naturally feel like total shit for a day or so after."       Vykan barked a sarcastic laugh as he took a tube in his mouth, sucking the foul solution down. "Naturally. What else would I presume?"       Pruflas would've hummed if he didn't still think Vykan would clock him for that. "A second decon corridor?"       Right on time. A second decon corridor revealed itself as the first hermetic doors opened in front of the pair. "Ughhh." Vykan rolled his eyes as he blew blood-snot from each nostril, walking to be showered in the next hall.       There were other checkpoints with security, X-ray, and even some kind of psych test with a useless crank doohickey. Vykan rolled it with confusion as Pruflas stared with amused glint. The thing squeaked as the oiled ball-bearing spun in time. It was a minute before Vykan looked around. "Does this fucking thing do anything?"       "No."       Vykan shot a glance back, right as the final doors opened. He looked back to Pruflas, profoundly unamused.       "We passed. Good job, Vykan."       Vykan was entirely too fatigued to deal with this shit. He walked behind Pruflas as they beheld the first look upon Los Angeles in the new world.       It was a shithole.       Just as the Stygian thought. Some fucking things never change.