DETOUR
—Ambush Clearing, Day 2 Early Morning—
As Copen returned to the Mantis, Kaminski opted to stick groundside with Bisenti and Kavarr - he was feeling rather tender after that close-call with the tackling brute. The HRUNTING/YGGDRASIL Mark IX Armor Defense System (more commonly called “Mantis”) was battered, plenty of its joints starting to unceremoniously spark, but it remained operational, by design. The mech was intended to function despite severe damage, and while it had certainly sustained quite the assault and looked loose for wear, all systems remained operational.
A testament to its engineers more than anything.
The escaped phantom would undoubtedly spell trouble down the line. Not only was it likely returning to the apex, but it would surely rally a greater contingent of forces to harass them soon, and if the Mantis was destroyed in that fight, it would make for quite the uphill battle.
Bisenti, Kaminski, and Kavarr hurried after the Mantis as it stomped its way through the forest, clearing a path for them in the darkness as they moved towards Arcturus Pit.
THE COURIER
—Arcturus Pit, Day 2 Early Morning—
Keyes stationed two marines, Willis and Pickens, to guard the blast doors and stay weary of any changes. The other six marines, Jackson, Evans, Toomes, Kirby, Matthews, and Myers, set about looting what they could from Banished corpses, as well as their prefibs in and around the pit.
The captain turned his gaze upward toward the clear sky. The faintest tinge of color seemed to be touching the overhead celestial bodies. He took that to mean dawn was approaching, and dawn was typically rapid in its onset in almost all the planets he’d been to.
They needed to hurry. Without the cover of dark, they were sitting ducks for the greater Banished forces.
Kazaaak wound his way back up into the trees overlooking the pit, passing by a few jackal corpses along the way. Yet as he retraced his steps back into the small hiding spot he’d last seen Guardian in, at the time with Keyes and Lorens, he found...
Nothing of the dumbfaced knight.
The immediate assumption was that they’d moved, maybe something had forced them back, but Kazaaak would be quick to notice something on the ground, and any small degree of investigation would reveal it to be Corporal Lorens. The woman had been covered by some leafy branches in a poor attempt to conceal her. She was clearly breathing, but also still out cold.
Claw-marks also seemed to be fresh in several surrounding trees.
There was no trail to follow, but it wasn’t difficult to put several pieces of the puzzle together.
(co-written w/ Cardboard)
Heavy footsteps echo through the darkness. Careful footfalls, deliberately taken. The cell is just as dark, but also cramped. The large torture machine takes up most of the space, filling the center of the cell. A one-way energy barrier covers the entrance. From the interior of the cell, it appears red, yet from the exterior it’s colored blue, signifying which direction you can step through, and which you cannot.
Someone occupies the machine, strapped into it with carbon steel braces. The machine hums softly, waiting to be used. The man within has already experienced what it can do, the entire prior day consisting only of pain.
The heavy footsteps come to a stop on the other side of the energy barrier. A tall figure stands opposite the machine-mounted man. His breathing is faint.
Silence falls over the room, lingering for several moments, before it’s broken by the deep, regal tone of the alien observing the captured human.
“Human.”
The man doesn’t move. His head hangs low, his breathing shallow but steady. He says nothing, so the alien continues.
“You have fought well. Hold your head high. This is no place to show weakness.”
The man is silent for a moment still, before his head slowly raises, as though he’s only just realized his interrogator was there. “Well, howdy doody to you, too.”
The figure watches on for a second, before he steps calmly through the barrier, emerging on the prisoner’s side of the wall. Dim light catches on the sleek armor of the Sangheili. His mandibles split open as he speaks, his golden eyes piercing into his prisoner.
“I am Chak ‘Lok. My roles within the Banished is torture and interrogation, both of which I find success and pleasure in,” he greeted, his tone remarkably polite and formal. “The machine you are in is known as a Defiler. It is designed to fry your internal organs, singling out individual cells within your body. One by one, you become atomized from the inside out. A slow process. Agonizing. Most humans would be screaming and crying, begging for mercy... not you. I appreciate that.”
“Huh...” the prisoner breathed. “Chak ‘Lok.”
He struggles to raise his head to look back at the elite interrogator, not really getting a good look in, the light too dim. He’s quiet for a moment, shared by his captor. Yet he seems to focus on something... before returning to the conversation.
“Well, Chaky, ah do aim t’please... Unfortunately, my body’s already been pretty well atomized. Overall, I’d rate it, eh... well, I’ll be generous. Four-point-five outta ten.”
Chak ‘Lok gave a humored chuckle at that. “Good. Then you will find more time within favorable, I'm sure. I had them cease operation an hour ago, we prefer to leave men like you in for days. But I wish to learn more about you, preferably before your brain is liquified. I know you are not UNSC. Judging from the technology you possessed when you fought the Warden's men... I would wager you come from a primitive world. Or... perhaps cast back? Your weapons are crude, modified, and old. You reek of radiation. Your world has known nuclear annihilation. One of our species has a story much the same, before they were uplifted.”
“Hey Chaky, your folks don't smell too fine yourselves.”
Chak 'Lok seemed humored again. “They aren't mine. I can forgive your ignorance... you haven't met any like me thus far. Do you bear a name? Or, as some humans I have met, do you prefer a title?”
The prisoner swallows, seeming to be regaining some of his strength as the conversation goes on. “Since you were polite enough to give me yer name, I guess I can tell you mine. I'm Blake. Where I'm from folks call me Courier Six, or the Courier. I figured you were different from the others. You sound different.”
He paused, thinking. “...Y'know, where I'm from, it's considered polite to look a man in his eyes when yer interrogating him.”
Chak ‘Lok’s hand reaches out, scaly dark claws of four digits, a thumb on either side of the hand, and two large fingers. The elite grabs his head and lifts his gaze, leaning in, letting his glowing golden eyes lock with Blake’s.
“Damn...” Blake blinks. “What do they feed you folks?”
Chak ‘Lok carefully lowers Blake’s head back down. “The other races would like to eat you and your kin, though my people have refined tastes. We use grains and spices to improve the appeal of our meats. We use smoke and fire to tender it, give it flavor and longevity. I personally favor grilled meat. Culinary interests are something my people and yours share.”
“Oh, nice. I think I've got a few good recipes you'd enjoy. Are humans your primary meat source?”
“We favor game, not man. There is a herd animal on my home planet called Colo. I find it most appealing.”
At this point, Chak ‘Lok began to slowly pace in front of Blake, eyeing him with interest. “The device on your arm. I am told it is attached to you. A cybernetic extension, perhaps?”
“What, this old thing? I suppose you could call it that.”
“So to dissect it, I will need to remove your arm, yes?” The Sangheili stopped pacing as Blake fell quiet for a moment.
“Ah... Chaky. If you want those recipies, you could just ask.”
The sangheili’s head tilts slightly as he lets out another small chuckle. “I have enjoyed our discussion, though I do still have purpose here. I would like to keep you alive longer. If the device can be removed without taking your arm, then your life won’t be stunted. If not...”
Blake’s return to silence told the alien what he needed to know. “I see you grasp the weight of this. I will perform the surgery myself, I can guarantee it won't be lethal. The pain and trauma cannot be helped, though you have proven to me you can handle such degrees.”
Blake maintained his silence for a moment longer, long enough that Chak ‘Lok seemed to find the conversation over as he turned away, the energy barrier flickering, turning blue in color and giving more light to the cell.
Then the cowboy began to chuckle, slowly at first, before he let out a loud laugh. “You’re a real son of a bitch, aren’t ya?” He laughs again, shaking his head. “I’ll give you this, Chak ‘Lok... you’re good at your job. A real artist. It takes real talent to hurt people, huh? But... you’ve got me backed into a corner with no other play to make...”
Chak ‘Lok looks back at him for a moment, and a beeping noise comes from the device on Blake’s arm. The Pip-Boy’s bio-lock deactivates, and becomes noticeably loose.
“It’s all yours, Chak ‘Lok...”
The alien approached Blake, grasping the exterior of the Pip-Boy and pulling it gently from Blake’s arm. He turns it over in hand, giving it a brief visual inspection. “I reward cooperation, Blake. Yours will not be forgotten”
With that, the sangheili turned and stalked out of the room as calmly as he’d entered. Silence, darkness, and loneliness settled back in from the cowboy as seconds ticked into minutes, and minutes ticked into hours. Then into days...
He was losing track of how long he’d been here... but at least they weren’t throwing on the defiler anymore.