Post by deepsky on Apr 23, 2020 15:05:29 GMT -5
((Hello! Introduction story here for an arc I'm attempting to unfold. A character that can be associated with The Dawn Patrol at first, and later organically join, if possible. Full character information and background HERE.))
The ambush went about as well as could be expected. Teralazzus lay in a smoking ruin, his days of plaguing the Ganehyde Resistance over and done with. Dax remembered the Captain from his days on the other side - a dour, silent man who did little else but war and play cards. He was better at the latter than the former. Fleeing for a time but bravely taking a last stand when he knew he couldn't, he had died without banter or so much as a grunt.
Not that more was terribly common amongst The Transmogriate. They hated him a great deal, a traitor to a glorious, multiverse-spanning cause. A 'murderer' of precious allies. But they couldn't hate like a Ganehydan could, couldn't ever know pain the same way. They didn't know pain at all.
Send your worst, Changer! I want to see it. See you take off your contemptible kiddie gloves! Will you ever?
He turned to see his compatriot Auvestine, code-named Shiftfaze, approaching through the trees. A reluctant partner in 'crime' on his self-made missions. Dax had tried to be rid of him a thousand times, with minimal effect. He didn't like the missions but went because he 'didn't want Dax getting himself killed.'
They had gotten separated in the battle, most of the entourage of soldiers and drones getting stuck with him, of which he obviously had no problem handling. Except . . .
"Your leg, Auvi," Dax said, gesturing to it. "You pull something?"
Auvestine blinked and looked down distractedly, before putting a gauntleted hand there. "Oh. Ye-actually, no - I took a shot. Huh. Must've forgotten about it in a-"
"What did you get hit with? A blast?" Dax frowned and craned to inspect the wound. "They don't use lethal force in these scenarios. You didn't run a scan?"
"No, I . . ." He blinked again, looking surprised. And out-of-sorts. "My comp is down."
Still frowning, Dax didn't say anything more and began running his own scan on his friend and feeding info to Sara, his own AI. Looking at the wound, it seemed like a slug-thrower, right through the armor. A dagger of worry stabbed at him.
Since when did . . .
As results came through from the scan, Auvestine's body suddenly jerked and he gasped, holding a hand to his head. Fear flashed through his eyes. "No . . ."
Dax went for his rifle but Auvi's hands jerked outward seemingly of their own volition and a gravitic force slammed into Dax, sending him reeling through the air before hitting the dirt, his rifle knocked free.
Damn it! The Changer's nanites, stuffed in a bloody bullet! He's compromised!
Auvestine held both his hands on his head with his body contorted painfully, his features bathed in horror. His entire form rippled oddly, like a distorted video signal. His powers. "I can feel them, Dax! I already know! I can- I can't get them out!" The ripple again, and then a scream, up at the sky. "Kill me, Dax! Do it now - you have to!"
Dax grimaced at the thought - Auvestine had some sort of remote conversion nanites infecting him, probably just enough to get him to bring himself in, delivered on a silver platter and already heated up for consuming. Was lethal force necessary to ensure that wouldn't happen?
Dax was leveling his rifle - modulated to non-lethal - but right before it was trained on Auvestine it stopped. Dax struggled but it was no use - he could lift it no further, nor move period, paralyzed by his friend's dimensional disruptions warping space around him.
"Auvi," Dax urged with contained frustration, barely able to move his lips. "Let me go. Its all going to work out."
His old friend was on his knees, shaking his head. He laughed, pitiably, hysterically, for several moments before grimacing, tightening his fists. Eyes focusing on Dax he managed to say, "I . . . can't . . ."
"You can't let him take you! For yourself, for us. For Ganehyde!"
Auvestine's features darkened. One of his eyes began to go black - one of the surefire signs of The Changer's influence. But in the other was determination. A decision made. "No . . ." His form began shifting, fluttering continuously. "Not . . . Ganeh . . ." The whole area began to shift and warp like it was a mirage unveiling, pulling inward, concentrating on Auvestine.
"Not Ganehyde!" With a last cry from Auvestine, reality seemed to fold in upon itself around him, imploding and pulling him and his immediate vicinity elsewhere.
Dax wasn't sure of the how or why of what he did next. Intuitively, he was unwilling to simply jump clear, to leave it at that, to abandon his friend to whatever fate awaited him . . . wherever. Somehow Dax followed: the hound, The Fetch across the starkest of divides and distance . . .
* * *
He found himself unceremoniously dropped onto the concrete of an alleyway. Sitting up with his back against a wall, his head spinning, he immediately began scanning with every sense available to him. No immediate threat. A vague trace of . . . Shiftfaze. But it was a vague energy pattern, dispersed across the whole city . . . a big, primitive city . . .
This isn't Ganehyde. He just knew. The feel of it, the smell of it, the bizarre feedback he got through his power. The things Auvestine hinted about. He had crossed universes. Something his civilization would have considered nonsense before The Changer came.
Dax sighed. In his head he said, 'Sara, scan for open networks - glean all useful info, priority to anything useful for finding Shiftfaze. Otherwise at your discretion.'
'Acknowledged,' the voice in his head chimed back. 'Network found. Scanning . . . downloading . . .'
He began perusing the info, consciously, curiously, as the AI pieced it all together and it filtered through. Earth, eh? Paragon City. Humans, early Digital Age, one planet. Beleaguered, fighting against alien invasions and eldritch things as well as the worst of their own. Utter starvation and bone-poor poverty in one region, White Chocolate Mocha Frappuccinos served with smiles in another. Grand. They had . . . magic? That was interesting. Still seemed like utter putty in the hands of The Changer, were he allowed to take root.
He felt the pang of conflict for the first time in ages. Once upon a time, he unquestionably served such a cause, even against a seemingly stable, generous society that had solved the greater horde of problems Earth faced. All to ascend to a supposed higher state of bliss and perfection. But what was worse here? The ongoing reality of rancid mud-holes of suffering contrasted to mansion paradises serving up every delectable morsel of decadence imaginable? Or the equalization of The Changer? An eventual technological utopia, hammered into shape by conquest and conversion. Service, unquestioned forever, to a god bent on chasing infinity, on conquering all reality and ending pain.
What does it matter. It wasn't his world or his decision. Ganahyde had a history with many parallels to Earth. Maybe one day Earth could succeed where Ganahyde had, perhaps, fallen. Maybe it was worth all the suffering.
Regardless, The Changer was his enemy. Good, evil, moral this, moral that, he didn't give a damn. He'd contest those interests just out of sheer spite. And currently, that interest on Earth was solely concentrated in his friend. A friend that didn't deserve what happened to him.
'Sara, begin programming the nanites for a counter-agent to the changerites, as well as an injector - T74Gray - capable of penetrating Mark 4 armor.' Stars provide I get to you soon enough, Auv-man. There's no choice though. I know it's what you would've wanted . . .
'Acknowledged, Daxillion. Are you ready for primary language integration? It is called English.'
Dax made a slightly nauseated sound and felt his stomach turn in preparation, but said, 'Affirmative. On your mark.'
'In three . . . two . . . one . . .'
I hate this part . . .
He nearly blacked-out as info seared into his brain in moments, most of the work of 'formatting' from data to brain-compatible memory already done by the AI. It left him with a headache, nausea and the distinct sense his brain was overloaded to the brim and capable of precisely jack-squat for the foreseeable future. Nonetheless, he willfully pushed through the mental cottonmouth as quickly as possible, because he didn't have time.
'Sara . . . oughf . . . mmmffff . . . ahh wow. Thonkming in alien langmaj is strankch.'
'What is your command, Daxillion?'
'Ugh . . .' He took a moment to formulate his thoughts coherently. 'Do you have anything on Shiftfaze yet?' The name was familiar and alien as he said it, the code-name already translated to English.
'The information is minimal. There is no record or indication of his presence or whereabouts. Tracking time estimated at six hours.'
'I don't think that'll hold up. He could be in another universe by then. Assuming he isn't already. But the . . . new him will want to let the conversion process fully complete. Few hours, maybe. And I need to get to him before then.'
'It is suggested we seek assistance in this matter. We also need raw pharmaceutical ingredients for the counter-agent. There are drug stores but you need the local legal tender. Would you like a list of potential emergency contacts?'
Dax squeezed his eyes shut and sighed at the heavens. Great. Even best case scenario, what was this going to look like?
He stood, using the brick wall as support for his wooziness. In the distance he heard a gunshot. Nice. Safe neighborhood in Kingsrow, then.
He 'stretched out' with his power, pushing it to the max into the bizarre 'energy' of his strange new world, getting a feel for the area, like dice rolling in his head, like all the component symbols of code that floated in his brain for the names of things and processes swirled around in a vortex. At the end, one symbol, one concept, one path stood out like a light bulb in the pitch black - one set of results came through on dice he had weighted. 4.
'Whatever number 4 is on your list, Sara. That's our destiny. Patch me through to their comm channel and tell me who they are . . .'