Tales from the Bat – On the Frontlines

August 2067. General H.H. Boost is finally visiting The Ring, the new protection perimeter built around the rekashiza that emerged in Shard. As his eyes land on the plant, his mind wanders back to the past weeks, back to when he was lost and directionless... until someone knocked at his door with a gift. A gift he will protect at all costs.

“It’s good to have you back, sir!”

The soldier clacked his boots together, as he performed a perfect military salute, one he – no doubt had rehearsed several times while off-duty. The answer was an identical gesture, quieter, more discreet, without looking sloppy. The soldier lowered his arm, got back to holding his rifle with both hands, receiving a grin of approval and a pat on his shoulder from his superior officer. Said superior officer was a man in his forties, with fiery red hair slowly turning gray and deep, thoughtful eyes, surrounded by more than a wrinkle. A tribal tattoo was surrounding one of said eyes too, extending to his cheek with its black, painted prongs. Contrary to military protocol, he wasn’t donning any protective gear or camo outfit. Instead, he had opted for a long black coat with some metal studs, a gray polo shirt and reddish cargo pants. It was not the standard, but he was the general. Rules applied, until a certain point. And that point was him.

He walked forward, through the metal-plated corridor, part of a structure put together in a hurry in the span of two weeks. Pipes and scaffolding was still easy to spot all around the path, but all what was important was already in place. He nodded in approval. His men had done a good job, all things considered. He glanced outside the barrack’s window, stared at the ghastly panorama looking back at him from outside. A red sky, with black clouds, shapes and figures experiencing a continuous distortion, turning into fractal versions of themselves and back. And the creatures. The creatures swarming like ants, jerking around without a semblance of direction or intellect. He shivered, felt like retching for a long instant, before getting his composure back.

Sciarpie is at home, waiting for you. When you feel bad, you’ll always have Sciarpie.

Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts was the name of the game. He couldn’t let that nightmarish, hellish view cloud his judgment. What was important, was that he was back. Yes, General H.H. Boost was back to his previous self, strong enough to stand there, strong enough to face that view, strong enough to visit the facility he himself had ordered made.

The Ring.

It wasn’t a very original name and, in fact, it wasn’t even circular. Yet, the Ring stuck as the best possible denomination for it, or at least the best he could come up with. Of course Dr. Zojimbo had complained that it wasn’t called the Sphere (God only knew why that freak liked spheres so much), but his repeated objections had been quickly dealt with with a solid punch to his annoying face. That felt actually liberating, especially after the Ward 40X debacle that he caused. If Boost hadn’t been through therapy at that time, he would have kicked Zojimbo’s buttocks down the Thames too with extreme pleasure. Yet, he still had a use for that societal reject that would still call him Major because (his words) he couldn’t reallocate him as General Boost in his own mind. Boost had dealt with very many scientists in his career. A huge chunk of them were neurodivergent, who more and who less, but Zojimbo took the cake as the most obnoxious person he had ever talked with in his whole military life – military being the keyword. As for his private life, waking up one day and finding out that his top-of-the-class biologist cousin Patricia had made the news for a leaked R-rated video featuring a haemophage hadn’t been the most pleasant experience. He instinctively rolled his eyes. Why were the most creative and competent people he knew also the most deranged?

“General Boost, sir!”

He kept walking forward, as the soldier addressing him lowered his arm. Corporal Sionn Byle. A good element, high-level operative of die Fledermaus and key member of the RCT, after the untimely demise of Seamus Ondra. Boost had rarely seen him without full protective gear and, looking at him now, he also remembered why. Sionn sported slick electric blue hair and red irises on top of a very pale complexion, a combination that was as unnatural as it might have been. He had never been fond of it, something something trend-chasing parents wanting their child to look special. Boost sympathized with that thirty-something old man. Being a kid with those hair and eye colors might have been hellish, back in primary school. Kids are terrible beasts, at that age, for what concerns making fun of who’s different.

“At ease, Sionn. At ease.”

Sionn complied, assuming a more natural posture, staring at his superior officer with a mixture of admiration and relief.

“I almost couldn’t believe it, when they told me you were coming, sir!”

He lowered his gaze, almost letting out a sigh.

“The past four weeks have been… hard without your guidance.”

“I don’t doubt it, Sionn. I wish I could have come sooner, but my therapist said it was a no-go.

How’s our special guest behaving?”

Sionn glanced through the window, looked at the twisted distortion oscillating outside of it.

“The diameter of its effect area increases by around half an inch per day now. It was a full inch one week ago, and two full inches two weeks ago. It’s slowing down with time, as predicted after the first five days of observations.”

Boost nodded. As much as he would have liked to throw Zojimbo to the deepest depths of the English Channel with shoes made of concrete (in the form of spheres, to give him at least something to be happy about, as oxygen began to run out and water filled his lungs), that man had been spectacularly right with his calculations. Living or not, an anomaly of that size couldn’t grow forever, lest it collapsed under its own distortion. A good lesson learned from the Aubépine incident, one of the few positive things that came out of that unmitigated disaster of an operation. He stared back at the window, at the giant mockery of a plant occupying the horizon.

“How large is our residual buffer?”

“Around three hundred feet, sir. With the current growth rate, we should be safe for several years before we need to relocate the Ring.”

Boost nodded again. It was good to see that things were, overall, still under a semblance of control. Shard was too important as a commercial and administrative hub to be completely evacuated. Thanks to the Ring, four fifths of the city were still functional and everyday life was back to its pre-emergence rhythm, in all but the areas nearest to the Rekashiza. The spontaneous slowdown of the Eversion’s expansion had contributed to the perception that the military was indeed doing something to contain the anomaly. Boost didn’t want to alter that misconception, if anything because it kept the situation manageable. If the civilians knew that the army was almost as clueless as them about the true nature of the giant plant that razed a sizable chunk of real estate, panic would have been hard to prevent. News coverage was still obsessively high, even after a full month from the emergence – of course, who wouldn’t be concerned about a giant eldritch plant devastating one of the central knots of British economy? That meant, however, that every act, every operation from the army was under constant observation, ready to be splattered on the main page as soon as some unforeseen disasters happened. Boost glanced at the wall, at the printed map of the structure. The Ring was a temporary facility built by connecting several civilian condos that bordered with the anomaly and adding heavy concrete blocks to make it impossible for civilians to reach the epicenter. Heavy howitzers and chain guns dotted the entire perimeter to suppress any large scale threat that might have come from inside it, aided by flocks of drones constantly monitoring the situation. Overall, the Ring was a very rough and crude solution, not even comparable with the technical marvels of St. Patrick’s SHIELD and Correa’s DOME, and yet a remarkable achievement for having been built in the little time they had. Boost had a say in it, of course, even if his mind was in a horrible place during the outbreak. Four weeks later, in the middle of August, he was finally seeing the finished structure with his own two eyes. He peeked down, at the street level. Several soldiers in full protective gear were slowly circling around the Eversion, riding their jeeps. The RCT logo was proudly displayed on their vehicle and uniforms. It was simple, just those three letters in a white font over a black circle, but it was as good as anything to keep the morale high and the troops unite. Rekashiza Containment Team was what it stood for. Still, the plant was just one part of the problem.

“What about the screamers?”

“They collapse as soon as they step out of the Eversion, sir. Nothing has changed on this front… well, almost nothing.”

“Almost nothing is still something, Sionn.”

Sionn averted his gaze, turned it to the creatures contorting at the border between the real world and that absolute mockery of rules of physics that they designated as Eversion. Disfigured beasts that resembled human beings hallucinated by A.I.s from the ‘20s, with vestigial limbs, additional heads or incomprehensible organs. Yet, still deadly when confronted inside their home turf, as RCT-3 had experienced on their skin.

“They have become… more persistent, sir. They try to get out more often, even if they die as fast as before. If they were intelligent or had a central authority figure, I’d say that they… are receiving some pressure to advance, no matter the losses.”

He pushed a button on his portable device, recalling a list on screen, handed it to his superior officer.

“Here. The list of all known breaches in the past five days.”

Boost’s eyes scanned it quickly, from top to bottom. A cold shiver ran down his spine. One hundred seventy six attempted escapes. One hundred twenty five intercepted by an RCT team and suppressed with gun fire. Thirty one discovered post-facto, as the corpses of the creatures were retrieved by a patrol. Boost started to sweat, his teeth clattered. The four eyed monster. The legion of dark monsters. Ondra’s scream. Seamus screaming for help, as they closed the connection. The scream. The eyes. The plants. The screams.

Sciarpie is at home, waiting for you. When you feel bad, you’ll always have Sciarpie. They cannot hurt him, he’s here for you. He will listen. You are not alone, H.H..

He closed his eyes, resisted the urge to shove his head among his hands. It was fine. It was fine.

That was over. They handled it. Everything was under control. Everything…

“Sir?”

Boost inhaled. Exhaled. Deeply. Swiped the sweat from his forehead. No, it wasn’t over. He was still ill. His mind was still scarred, just not enough to make him useless, paralyze him and his decision process. Fortunately, he had Sciarpie. Inhale. Exhale. Once. Twice. He slowly calmed down. Slowly, slowly. When his mother ringed at his door, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He had told her to stay out of Shard, not to take any risks until the Ring was built. There was nothing to worry about, he was already going to therapy. Everything was going to be fine. Yet, she didn’t believe it – she didn’t believe her own son. So, there she was, with her long ponytail of a color long gone, her vivid emerald eyes staring at him, a weirdly bright smile and a box in her arms.

“Ever heard of emotional support animals, H.H.?”

“Mom, you know that I’m allergic to both cats and dogs. Fur and I don’t get along well, yes?”

“Good thing this won’t be an issue.”

He was startled by that answer, as his attention was grabbed by the carton box she was bringing around. Emotional support animal. No fur. Was she giving him an iguana? Him? Of course Marin would love iguanas – after all, her Dead World version was railed by one of them – albeit alien, sentient, and bipedal – till her last day came. But he? He hated them. He would burn them all. He would have loved to laser down EXODUS and extirpate those plagues called “devsk” and “shoigas” from the surface of Earth. She had to be aware of that. Or wait, maybe it was a tortoise. Sure. A tortoise. Just one more annoyance to take care of. No, he didn’t want to have to deal with pets. He already had enough issues taking care of himself, let alone of a pet. Yet, before he could retort, she had already started unpacking the content of the box, pulling out some rolls of folded paper and styrofoam from it. Then, something peeked out of it. To Boost’s dismay, it was covered in brown fur with orange accents. It wasn’t a dog, though. It wasn’t even a cat. Or a fox. Or a rabbit. It looked more like…

“… you’re kidding me.”

Marin took out the small occupant of the box, wrapped it in her arms, under Boost’s flabbergasted gaze, as his mouth fell agape.

“… Sciarpie?”

Marin smiled at her son, while caressing the furball she had just unpacked. It was a weird animal, by any definition. It looked like a cat with fox ears and a large, voluminous fox tail. Its head was also surrounded by patches of lighter fur, of a slightly different color. Its eyes were yellow and bright, but still. Its whole body was still. That made Boost’s mind fill the gap. It was a plushie, not a real creature. Of course, because Sciarpie didn’t exist, it couldn’t exist. Then, its ears wiggled. Its tail wiggled. And it smiled. It smiled at him.

“Wiiiii!”

Boost almost fell on the floor, his eyes wide open.

“MOM! What the…”

Then, the small creature jumped from Marin’s arms, trotted to him, rubbed itself against his leg, while still voicing that weird cry of its.

“Wiiii! Wiiiii!”

Boost stared at it with a weird combination of horror and curiosity. Sciarpie. That was Sciarpie. But Sciarpie couldn’t be real. Sciarpie couldn’t exist. What…

“I took the liberty of going through your pictures, the ones you used to draw as a kid. You loved this little critter so much. We also had a plushie made of it, remember?”

Of course he remembered – how couldn’t he? He had created Sciarpie, his dream pet, a dream pet that existed only in his mind, a pet capable of intelligent thought and affection, his companion in his own adventures. For his ninth birthday, his parents gifted him a plushie shaped as him, Sciarpie himself (yes, Sciarpie was a boy, like him). That plushie had been his best childhood friend, until a house fire took him away from him. Yet, at that time, Boost was already in high school. He didn’t need a plushie. He was among the cool kids, right? Still, when news came that Sciarpie had been burned by the fire and that he was beyond repair, he cried like a little kid, in the bathroom of his dormitory, for the whole night too. Sciarpie was gone, he was gone forever. Of course he kept a front, right? A high schooler crying for a burned stuffed animal? That was rich, right? So, he went on, went on with his school life, until he could enroll in the military. Sciarpie was gone, he got over it, yet never forgot him completely. And, now, thirty years later, those ghosts awakened again, making his heart scream.

“H… how? Mom, what is this? What is this… thing?”

She sat down near him, as the creature jumped happily around, curling on his chest.

“H.H., I know you would have never had time for animals. You’re a busy man with more responsibilities than your father and I could ever realize or understand. But, see, this is… just an advanced robot with synthetic fur. An AI-driven artificial pet that will recharge its batteries automatically at night, by connecting to a power plug. It needs no maintenance, no cleaning, it doesn’t shed and is smart enough to keep itself from getting in harm’s way. It can even learn a little, by interacting with you. We had it made based on the pictures of your old plushie… and now it’s yours.”

She took his hand in hers, caressed it.

“Your dad and I can’t always be there for you, H.H., even if we wanted to, and we know how hard it is for you to seek help. You are a general of the armed forces, you know secrets that would make anyone insane or jaded about life. I can’t even begin to imagine what you might have been through. So, if you can’t open yourself up… remember that Sciarpie is at home, waiting for you. When you feel bad, when you need to vent, to rant, to cry, and you don’t want – or you aren’t allowed – to call us… you have Sciarpie, now.”

Boost curled up, his eyes swelling, getting wet, as he hugged his mother, as the little artificial critter jumped on his shoulder, rubbing itself against his cheek.

“T… thank you. I… I can’t even…”

“It’s fine.”

Seeing an adult man, the man on whose shoulders national security rested, the man who led a freemason-like lodge with an ominous bat insignia cry like a fountain, while keeping a small artificial animal in its arms, wasn’t a sight for every day. And yet, to Marin, it didn’t feel pathetic or anything. It felt like her son could finally let himself go, even a little.

Sciarpie is at home, waiting for you. When you feel bad, you’ll always have Sciarpie.

That mantra made him go forth, made him return. That and several sessions of therapy. Having that little excited childhood companion he could turn off when he wasn’t at home and turn on when he was back, had become his emotional anchor, his stability, the last bastion of tranquillity he had access to. As long as Sciarpie was there, he could endure it. He could endure everything. Playing with him in the evening, simply petting him while sitting on his chair, watching a movie. It was everything he needed, and yet he didn’t know it. It was fine. It was fine, now.

“Sir?”

He snapped back, he had to. The Ring. He was inside the Ring now, talking with Corporal Sionn Byle. Yes, that was what he was supposed to do. Sciarpie was at home for him. For later. But, now, he was there. On the frontlines. He gazed through the list again. Thirty-one undetected sorties, all ending with the unwanted guests dying, without any human intervention needed. Yet, something didn’t sit right with him. Some of the details in the list felt odd.

“Sionn, these positions cannot be correct. Did anyone move the corpses, before noting them down?”

“… that was what I wanted to discuss with you, sir.”

Sionn’s finger touched one the display, a full report materialized on the screen soon after.

“Four of the trespassers moved up to the Ring, before dying. They… actually survived until they were gunned down by the automated sentry system. One of them even managed to… start climbing it. We found foreign claw marks on the concrete of section II-F.”

Sionn stared at his superior officer, a hint of concern seeping through his serious expression.

“I fear that they are… slowly adapting, sir. Most of them die immediately after they leave the Rekashiza, but if even one managed to get out and live long enough…”

Boost gritted his teeth. Yes, that was bad news. If the screamers were becoming able to survive outside of the Eversion, sooner or later they could reach a critical mass that not even the Ring could stop. They would swarm the city. They would reach his home. They would hurt Sciarpie.

He felt pain in his chest, as his eyes had become wet.

No, no, no. He couldn’t let them. He couldn’t lose Sciarpie again. Not while he was switched off, unaware of his surroundings. He had to protect him, to protect Shard. Yes, that was it. Once he got home, he would have switched Sciarpie on, never ever to switch him off again. So that if danger came, he could run away. He wouldn’t burn down with his house. He wouldn’t. He should look for his mom, if anything happened. Yes, that was all that was important. Shard. His parents. Sciarpie. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t consider his own organization in the picture. Too late for die Fledermaus to get a hold of the situation, too late to profit on that. Too dangerous. The number one priority was to keep the anomaly under control. Despite their differences, Vassili would have thought the same: there’s no value in a dead world.

He stared at the giant plant, opening like a grotesque rafflesia flower in the distance, surrounded by a red sky that looked ominously like blood. If the screamers were adapting, waiting for them to breach the Ring was not an option. It was time to bring the big guns to the fray.

“Sionn…”

He found the strength to smirk, to grin, as a burst of nervous laughter had the best of him.

“… I say we blow that thing up.”

Yes, that was it, the solution. Radical, violent, spectacular. Desperate, maybe. And yet, for once he felt in control again. Waiting was simply not what he was made for. He clenched his fist, crunched his knuckles. He wouldn’t cower in fear. He wouldn’t let those screamers get the best of him, he wouldn’t let the phantoms of Ondra, Stozzen, Grumsley and all the men he lost in that last exploration stop him, make him sink into the depths he had just emerged from.

It was time for action.

It was time for war.