Children of Terra

~Overseeing the raid~ ~Within a clandestine Militech base~ ~Once called Raven Rock~ ~Ipes, the next eldest of the Pseudomonarchy, Count of Inferno~ The liquidation was nothing but a colossal pile of fuck-ups from the start. Unlike most of his brothers, Ipes rather disliked the flagrancy and pomp of revelry. He like results. He liked being the second eldest -- and demonstrably the best -- among the brothers. This had its downsides, one of which was the offloading of what seemed to be an easy task up to him. Kill the abomination. The freak that cannot be dreamed. The unknowable variable that brother Vassago spent centuries wailing about.       All those tears and cries, and this assuredly-existential threat turned out to be, what? Some fucking lunatic dressed in granny's best Achilles cosplay? Ipes had never in his life been more inclined to defy Beelzebub and kill the 7th wastrel. What a revolting piece of shit. Just how good could his visions be if he couldn't see one guy?       That was Ipes' outlook when he sent a destroyer-blockade to Del Coronado Bay. Two problems. Diver-Detection-Sonar didn't pick up shit, which, how the fuck is that possible? Two, that nearly caused another Corporate War with Arasaka. He spent the better part of the next couple days having to kiss ass and navigate Lucifer's rage. Fucking. Pruflas. Fucking magic bullshit. Fucking whore mother. Fucking filthy incubus.       By the time he was free to take care of this issue, Pruflas' ID pinged in LA. What? It didn't much matter how he managed to get that far, because the trail went hot in LA. Confirmed sighting and encounter with the target. It was expected that the target would be at least near-Pruflas level of chicanery; it was not expected for Ipes to spend hours poring over the vid feeds. He clearly took the armor off by the time the scouts got to him. Had to have been some experimental carbon-weave RealSkinn. Had to be.       Because they got out. Ipes was getting a bit angry. Two for two. Fine. Pruflas always was as slippery as one of Sytry's best. Because they were on the road now, and he had the tools for that. Deployer-launcher rigs. Ground attack craft. Avoided the sky craft Pruflas was infamous for countering, since with the satellite overwatch, it wouldn't be too big a loss.       Still. Fucking. Nothing. Every team was either evaded like children, or killed. And that was just the first issue. None of the divinations worked. Not his own. Not Stolas'. Not Vassago's. It was as though this thing didn't exist. But how could that be? He was clearly recorded on the vids. Something had to have killed all those hunters.       This was still all excusable since he had sat-eyes. They weren't gonna get away. Roaming the Peninsular Ranges. So what? Made it harder for pursuit craft, that's all. Ipes found his temple pulsing when the target stumbled into a mine. Deep enough to block sigs. Fuck. Ipes didn't want to deploy a borg squad. They tended to be all cyber-psychos and barely controllable. He had them outfitted with blitz-gear and obtained clearance to activate the ELF frequency transmitters. Basically meant the only signals in or out were binary. 1 or 0. Maybe some alphanumeric, but Ipes knew not to fuck around with time. He deployed the borgs before they went rogue sitting in the transport rigs.       Ipes would've preferred to send an entire battalion, but Sytry -- to this day -- bitched about the last time he tried. What a fucking drama queen that guy was. But the point was clear; numbers alone were insufficient advantage against the duke.       The raid went well, more than well. There were five 1's to designate the team vitality. A 0 to designate primary target capture, and a 0 to designate Pruflas, the secondary target. When the second to last 0 flipped to 1, Ipes yelped in joy, heart nearly thumping out of his chest. He had cleared out the command room for himself, and none but himself echoed in congratulation. Then one by one, the first 1's flipped to 0, all of them. Ipes stared at the seventh 0. He stared at the useless sixth 1, since none of the borgs were alive to egress.       Ipes leaned forward over the command table, more focused now than just about any time of his life. He squawked to the secondary team. Same numeric setup. This time, the first five went in, and six did not flip to 1. This time, the five flipped to 0.       The Count of Inferno slammed his fist on the command table, and began to throw useless shit out of the way. "What the fuck?! Pruflas! Motherfucker!" He was in the middle of throwing a chair through the wall when Lucifer barged in.       "Ipes, my dear? Is something wrong?" The voice of Lucifer always drove Ipes' fear response, the way it rolled in smooth tenor off the tongue. Like a sociopath with a blade to your neck, relishing the scent of stress hormones.       There was little point lying. The screen was plain as day, just 0's across the board, with one mocking 1 in the center. "The team all died, my Lord . . . "       "You were drawn into a trap. An inescapable place where the Duke had all the control." Lucifer swept past him, staring at the rows of numbers. It always irked Ipes to hear his Lord speak of Pruflas, like there was some admiration there.       "My Lord?"       "Do you think either the target or the eldest have the means to wipe a full blitz squad of our finest?"       Ipes certainly didn't think so. Borgs had augmented reflex pathways. Not even the duke should be able to match in a game of speed. "No, my Lord."       "And if the first blitz tripped the traps too fast for the duke to reset, then what explains the second group's death?"       What? "I-I don't know, my Lord . . . "       "It is the speed of it that tells, Ipes. Too quick for large scale defense, otherwise the satellites would pick up geo-anomalies. We know neither can match a full team. Radiation won't kill a borg in moments. Chemicals. Chemicals or biologicals."       "But that would . . . "       "Already present before the duke showed up. You underestimate how deep the programs went. Not even the public release forms could fathom the scope. As soon as I saw Palomar, I knew, little Ipes. I have a team on standby. Give the order."       Ipes stared at the tablet Lucifer handed over. A simple screen button. Deploy. He hit it, and a new set of numbers showed up. Three 1's. Two 0's. After twenty minutes, the screen updated. The first 0 flipped to 1. 'Ingress and egress of target location. Primary target confirmed secure, secondary target evaded. Ping leads to discarded card, ID confirmed matching secondary target. No trail.'       Lucifer began a laugh. A low, heartless thing that was just as easy as sarcasm as humor. A weapon of his just the same as any projectile launcher. "He got away. Again."       Ipes paled, holding the tablet in his palms like a demure waiter with a snacking tray.       Lucifer walked out, before stopping in the doorway. He did not look back. "I'll see you in Dis tonight. We have much to discuss over." And he left with no further interaction.       Ipes didn't move out of shock. Just stood, breathing slowly in and out.       Please let it be quick . . . ~Months later, o'er New Vegas Valley~ ~Past the Streets of New Reno~ ~Home on the Wastes, Old Route 66~ ~Vykan~ He didn't have much memory from what happened. All he knew was that he died again. At least this time the pair found out what happens when such things occur: Pruflas follows. The demon had been stuck in Vykan's destroyed body as it regenerated over the next couple days, give or take. By the time Vykan came to, they were long outside Palomar. Pruflas described the experience as floating down on some intangible currents back to reality, where he took over the body for the meantime. Far easier to walk in one body than drag Vykan around. That and being in the cerulean ocean gave the duke some time to think.       Apparently, the duke had been mulling on why there was no significant hunt until after they hit Los Angeles. He suspected Vykan was invisible to the demons, and to test this he discarded the only electronic thing in his effects; his ID. Back in the mine, as one last thank you gift to his brothers. And viola, nothing. They had been traveling relatively peacefully since.       The world was quiet, in a requiem sort of way. The desertification hadn't quite gone so far as to make the US inhospitable -- that said -- dust bowls kicked back up at the drier climate. Now that Vykan had months to adjust, it actually wasn't too bad. You just had to appreciate nature in its quiet glory, every morning cool and fresh, and silence being more oft than not. The Old Route 66 was beautiful scenery once you got past the garish megacorporation hubs and into the country. It helped that Pruflas seemed to calm down in the silence as well.       Vykan was starting to get a read on the guy -- demon. Easy to overlook when . . . well, the things humans come up with are certainly depressing on their own, without contemplating further. Pruflas had the air of loss. He looked and thought of the past often. Too common for vagabonds, seeming. Out here, though, the demon brightened up a notch, setting up pleasant camps with comforting rest-a-ways, and really only spent his money on things like coffee.       Which was another thing Vykan felt guilt about. Pruflas discarded his ID and effectively all his wealth. On damn near a whim. For him. Why couldn't he care about something that much? The duke interrupted his thoughts with a brew of decaf. Vykan hated stimulants of any kind. Sugar, caffeine, and vitamins. He preferred relaxants like hibiscus. Another concession the duke afforded with nary a complaint. Why go so far? Vykan knocked back the bitter brew, looking to the new horizon. A breeze uplifted the pair, as the yawing view of the once-heartlands stretched before them.       Vykan hummed in thought before speaking through the moment. "Time for another discussion?"       Pruflas smiled to himself. He stopped counting how many times Vykan has hummed since they first met. "Might as well. Been a couple months now. What is it?"       "What's the east coast like now?"       "The Atlantic Federation is in the midst of a grand coalition last I heard. They have actionable plans to turn the entire seaboard into a single city. Mega-City One. If I had to guess by now, they might be 55-60% of the way there."       Vykan was in a good mood. He chuckled at the thought of it. "Humanity can do the strangest things sometimes." He nodded his head, mental images of what it would be like pinging around.       "Culture should be a bit different. I hear that judges act akin to sheriffs. They tend to do the whole 'judge, jury, and executioner' deal there."       "Yeah, I can imagine. A single city on an entire seaboard? Probably the majority of America's population anymore."       Pruflas hummed in agreement, stirring the coffee pot. Was now the time? Not quite yet. He let the sun lift the night cool away a little longer. Horizon buttes reflected the iridescent ball as shadows shortened along the rise-way. Once he saw Vykan was done with the decaf, he spoke. "Vykan. On the day we met, back in Night City; I killed a lot of people."       "I believe I killed a few myself."       Pruflas shook his head. "Innocents. Bystanders . . . children . . . "       "Intentionally?"       "No! But - "       "Hush a moment. This isn't a fairy tale hero journey. People will die. People must die. My entire caste -- we were thralls, we Korybante -- were slaughtered to the last. I included." Vykan let this thought play out before continuing. "The demons will use all manner of trick and deception to goad us into spilling innocent blood. So, you've been doing this, how long? And you just now are dealing with collateral damage? Pruflas, that is something I doubt I could ever accomplish." Vykan held a hand up as the demon began. "One last thing. You told me a bit ago about Johnny Silverhand, correct?"       "I-yes. I did."       "The motherfucker detonated a nuke. In a population hub. How many died?"       Pruflas never much thought of it that way. How many did die? And how many years after was the suffering? "Hundreds of thousands . . . "       "And he did really fuck all in the end, didn't he? Pruflas, this is the truth of the world. People die. Name for me one war. Just one. fucking. war, where no innocent bystander died. One."       Pruflas huffed a heavy sigh. No matter what the words were, it felt disgusting to have blood on his hands. Although, the little scholar in the back of his mind could name a few exceptions. But, that was the point. Exceptions. Vykan stood up, clasping him on the shoulder, but didn't say anything more. Just a grip, a nod, and a share of silence.       They had camp packed and on the road again when Vykan spoke up one more time. "I feel like I've known you at least long enough to know you don't go around massacring on a whim. Do you regret it?"       A switchback section of the Route navigated in thought, Pruflas finally speaking as they leveled to another valley. " . . . I do."       "Will you do it again?"       "I really, really hope not, Vykan . . . "       Vykan was in front, so Pruflas could not see the small smile on the Stygian's face. "You might not believe it; or care, but I do not think you are a bad person. I am far worse." Vykan shushed at the sound of Pruflas speaking. "I killed many people in Telkhine. I partook in what was likely a genocide. I was there to march upon the capitol of the enemy kingdom. I listened to the sounds of innocent people be raped. I gutted, and I hacked, and I slashed. And for this, I was framed for rebellion, and I witnessed all of my people be slaughtered like pigs."       Pruflas was silent. Vykan had never before spoken of this.       "That was the second death. When I awoke, I killed again. Again. This time the Telkhine. But not the warriors, nor the academics, nor the administrators. I killed people. Just people living in their land. I do not blame the low for the deigns of the mastermind. And yet I plunged the dagger regardless. I will reiterate, Pruflas. You have not done a thing as far as I. You regret in your heart. You let it pain your mind. You weep for the dead. That does not make you irredeemable. That makes you human. So many of us do terrible things. If anything, I am glad you exist."       Pruflas did not reply, at least immediately. They had journeyed father and farther, nearly another day in silence before that final statement needed an answer. " . . . why?"       Vykan looked to the darkening gradient horizon, as the wisps of dark clouds just peaked over -- those miles away. "Because that means the demons I hunt are real." ~Weeks later~ ~Underneath a cloud of smog~ ~And neon on the horizon~ ~Vykan, washed in blood aplenty~ The talk had gone well, in a strange, incommunicable way. Pruflas spoke far less, but his body language showed a much greater ease than before. He now had a better frame of reference for himself, once he could see the troubles of the man with inscrutable mind. It turned out that despite having nothing in his head but a vast, formless ocean; there was just a bit of human in Vykan after all. The Stygian asked about the smog now blotting the sky, visible days before hitting Mega-City One, and given the expected answer. T'was another thing entirely to crest over a hill, and behold a city so vast, so tall, that it blotted the entire horizon. North to south. One, solid mass of humanity. Grander than any skyscraper of the past. Thick, squarish hab-blocks that dwarfed anything Vykan knew.       Vykan's first words when looking at the monster-city were: "Why did they turn the Walmarts sideways?"       Pruflas replied with, "Necessity. Welcome to Mega-City One, Vykan. You might have called it New York, once. Before it encompassed the entire seaboard. Come on. We'll find a passage over the Atlantic somewhere in there."       Vykan's sarcasm bit. "And how many days will that take? To the coast?"       A smile backward. "Depends if we walk."       Vykan thought Night City was something else. A neon washed glam hub. This? Lord, what the hell did they do here? It was like a concrete swamp, let alone a jungle.       He changed his mind once they were even closer, if you could believe it.       His first impression was made miles away, when the scale of it was still unbelievable, but still within the ideations of his culture. Once they were within walking distance of the monstrous complex, and Vykan actually had to crane his neck up just to see the shortest of buildings here, he remembered how much he hated big cities.       He smiled to himself as he and Pruflas stood in an entry-line checkpoint. City-states. Who the hell made that literal?