A God Called Eternity: Ch 1 [The Box & the Bodies]

​    I didn’t know how long I sat there watching her sleep. Her frail form, shrouded in a linen blanket, faintly rising and falling with shallow breaths. Only her face was uncovered; a pale and gaunt thing shaded in veil-like hair. The sickly sweet stench of sickness rising off her had only grown more intense since she stopped going to work, mixing with the smell of bleach and fresh sweat. Cas Cypher, my sister, laid dying on a yellowing mattress in an unfurnished concrete room while her brother did nothing but watch her waste away. There was a part of me that wanted to shout, to scream, to simply allow a moment of release. That’s all it was, though, a part of me buried beneath layers of fatigue and what might’ve been hope or desperation. I could help her, and I would. We had been through worse together and always got out alright; I just needed to do my part.

​    The wooden chair I sat on creaked with age as I pushed myself to my feet. Turning from Cas, I pushed through a rusting metal door into the only other room within Cas and I's bare concrete home. It was the dedicated kitchen, dining, and living room, but despite pulling triple duty, it was as sparsely furnished as the bedroom. An old, gas powered artifact of an oven was bolted to the floor against the wall beside a small counter. A torn leather couch sat in the middle of the room, draped in a thin blanket and stained pillow, and facing the furniture was a small television plugged into the wall, its black face reflecting my own tired visage. My shoulder length hair was the same raven black as my sister’s though hers had grown gnarled and messy in the time since growing ill. The tanned face beneath my cascading bangs was twisted into what most would’ve called a slight snarl. Maybe it was the sharpness of my features, but regardless of the conscious effort to keep my expression neutral, it always seemed to fall into the realm of disdain. I took a few moments to straighten my baggy tan jumpsuit and my hair in the mirrored surface before turning to stride towards the front door. After slipping on my heavy combat boots and black backpack, I passed through the metal entryway into the dark; falling rain awaited me as I emerged.

    The street I walked into was lined with bland rectangles identical to the one which my sister and I lived within, each held to their foundations by large metal brackets; these types of homes were common in the slums as they were easy to produce and transport throughout the Rim. Amid the endless rows of concrete cubes, large illuminated signs glinted in the night. Their bounding colors reflected and bounced off the water creating glowing puddles as I plodded along the cracking asphalt road. If Vince’s info was right, I was headed to the outskirts of town, slightly uphill against the rain. The water droplets stinging against my face were quick to wash away my exhaustion, and, reaching into my jumpsuit pocket to pull out a slim USB, I inserted it into the small metal box implanted behind my ear. The slight sting of the cybernetics scouring my mind did a good job of further clearing my head. A relatively new addition to my body, the apparatus was yet to acclimate fully to my psyche, but I may actually miss the sensation of my brain rejecting the foreign impulses. It didn’t feel right to grow used to anyone or anything digging around in my thoughts even if it wasn’t sentient. After a moment, the small machine beeped in acceptance, and the filaments of wire located in my left eye began to light up.   ​    “New job for you,” came the voice of my informant, echoing in my skull, “A shoot-out at the cargo yard. Some courier from the Interior was caught by one of the enforcement agency’s private hounds while trying to follow the riverbed out of town.” I found my eyebrows furrowing at the mention of a Hound; Golems were typically kept within the Interior. At the very least, that was an indication of the site’s importance.

​    “If you get out there in the next couple hours the janitors won’t be there yet. Oh, I already took the commission off your card, so don’t worry about finding Vanity. Anything for your convenience,” there was a slight pause, “Seriously though, you need to stop spending so much time with her; you're a bad influence, Nick. Ciya.”

​    There was a buzz and, following a moment of loading, the wires in my eye contorted into the rough shape of a map. After taking it in, I tapped the side of my implant and the image faded from sight quickly. I understood how this way of transferring messages was more convenient and safer for us both, yet I didn’t look forward to Vince becoming a recurring voice in my head. Still, she usually had good sources, and the higher the risk, the higher the reward.

​    I walked for several more minutes before passing the sewage plant; its numerous generators and miscellaneous machinery hummed while blowing ash-colored smog into the night sky. Even farther on, silent hotels lit up with failing neon signs, and the habitat cubes had thinned out when the imposing form of the shipping depot came into view. I reached into my bag to pull out a large flashlight and turn it on; its piercing rays illuminated the surroundings. The road I had been walking along extended into the night, and at the edges of the light, the already sparse buildings along the road gave way to the fields which stretched further into the darkness. Beyond that, the glowing white eyes of the Harvester mechs darted to and fro, never stopping their endless job of tending to the engineered plants that fed the entirety of Crater. Turning the torch to the left, it cast light upon the 12 foot tall wire fence that stopped my advance; the gate of which was chained shut. Past the barrier, rows of pitch black shipping containers and loose habitat cubes created a maze of alloy and concrete.

​    Taking a step off the asphalt onto the dry and cracking desert ground, I walked along the perimeter, running my hand across the enclosure and creating a rattling sound that echoed off the halls of the yard. As I continued along what I believed to be the correct route, I eventually caught sight of my target. The wire along the bottom of the fence was loose which allowed it to be peeled back to create an opening. I took my pack off and pushed it through the passage before falling to my stomach and worming under the wired barrier, doing my best to avoid tearing my jumpsuit on the reaching mesh talons. Reaching the other side without catching my clothes, I slipped on my bag once again and pushed myself up while brushing the dirt off. 

​    The only light, aside from the torch, was the moon and yellow ground LEDs meant to mark spaces for yet-to-be-delivered crates. These barely lit the warehouse that rose in front of me like a giant of old. A colossus of at least 100,000 square feet, it was built to house all goods that came into the city, the legal ones at least. 6 silos ascending even higher than the main building lined the storehouse, 3 on either side, and 2 roller doors were carved into its carbon alloy frame. Stenciled above the entrances in bold letters, Talos Corp. advertised the owners of the building. 

​    Tapping my earpiece again, lights danced across my vision and coalesced into a red box before displaying a set of schematics; it was a rudimentary layout of the yard I currently stood within with a bright red “X” somewhere within the looming building. Blinking away the directions, I advanced cautiously with my hard-soled boots clicking against the concrete lot; it didn’t take me long to notice one of the doors being held aloft by a red lift bar. A simple device, it consisted of two wedge bars which could be pneumatically folded and unfolded, but the only people who carried these around (besides the enforcers) on a regular basis were those who needed access to places they weren’t wanted (not too unlike the enforcers themselves). So far so good; Vince seemed to have pulled through again. Crouching down, I swung the light through the shadowy innards of the warehouse, but the dark swallowed the glow. Steeling myself against the dread of entering a fresh crime scene, a feeling which never totally faded, I entered the building.

​    There were several large windows along either side of the storehouse, but the moonlight didn’t reach the floor. Rows of shelves were stocked full of metal crates, and the humanoid shapes of empty exosuits stood with some of said crates within their metal pincers. Their imposing, four-armed figures shifted and moved of their own accord as the flashlight bounced across their matte gray frames. I snaked between the shelves, keeping my body low to the ground as if that would stop anything in the dark from spotting the torch’s golden beams. I brandished the light from side to side, looking for any signs of my target. I stalked forward for several more long minutes before standing up with a sigh.

​    This was utterly useless, and I was acting like a fool. I knew deep down there was no one here - Vince had reported that the courier had been killed in the incident itself. And I was the first to know about the incident, so there shouldn’t have been any other scavengers. And if the Golem was still there… I doubted I would’ve been alive this long. Striding forward with newfound and slightly forced confidence, it didn’t take me long to make it halfway through the building before stopping in my tracks again. 

​    There was a slight burning in my nostrils, the unmistakable scent of ozone like that which filled the Rim during the rare thunderstorm; the smell hung low around the area, unable to disperse in the enclosed space. Taking in the information as fast as possible, I snapped my shining sidearm forward to reveal that one of the many shelves had toppled, spilling its contents across the floor. A carpet of electronics, clothes, and other goods blanketed the ground, and the smell swiftly got more aggressive as I approached the site.

​    Reaching the fallen shelf, I clambered over it and saw signs of a fire-fight beyond. Casings lined the ground and bullet holes pierced the concrete in several places. Based on its pockmarked appearance, it was clear that one of the loose crates had been flipped over and used for cover. Unfortunately for the person behind the makeshift barrier, aluminum was not very effective at stopping bullets, and a greasy liquid was puddled on the floor nearby. I approached the glistening substance, but to my surprise it wasn’t blood. It was dark purple, almost black, and it smelled like a mix of chemicals and oil. Scouring the surrounding area with my light, I eventually noticed a trail of the solution continuing deeper into the building. Already committed to this train of thought, I followed it to the spot where it disappeared behind a row of shelves and concrete pillars.

​    Tracing the trail with the light revealed a scene of carnage. Lying in the middle of the neighboring row was a mostly humanoid figure, the shadowy ichor pooling around them. Not a human, however, I had seen enough of these things patrolling with the enforcement agencies or taking mercenary work in the Interior to recognize them. Its skin shimmered under the rays of the torch, and its odd-fitting clothing revealed an unusual shape; the cold corpse of the bounty hunter lay in front of me in all its mechanical glory. It wore a white nylon trench coat tied around its waist with a leather belt, and, inside the collar, a hood was sewn which framed the wearer’s “face.” It was a perverse corruption of a human visage; a smooth mask of shining metal facing skyward with its only features being two cameras located in its would-be eye sockets and speaker where the mouth would have been. The Golem’s otherwise spotless white coat was draped loosely around the form’s shoulders due to the massive hole where the Golem’s chest had been; the singed edges of the injury revealing its cause to be a close ranged blast of plasma. The torn nylon revealed wires and pneumatics between cracks in segmented metal skin. 

​    The thing’s sorry state didn’t inspire enough sympathy to stop me from picking through its pockets though. Anything useful or, more importantly, valuable was pulled from the body’s pockets and stuffed into my bag. A coin card, a silver watch, and an ammo cartridge. Not as much as would be expected. Golems tended to be creatures of excess; people didn’t  usually strive for mechanical immortality if they weren’t at least a little narcissistic. The real prize was the scorcher pistol I pried from its clawed hand. The gun’s exterior frame was painted the same blinding white as the trench coat, but the vertically aligned rails that made up its “barrel” glistened a metallic silver. It was a hefty weapon that could’ve served as a bat if it wasn’t built to deliver magnetically powered hunks of lead. I turned the piece over in my hands; Cas would love this. Tucking the gun into my jumpsuit, I turned to continue the search of the zone, though it didn’t take long. Lying next to an adjacent pillar was the disembodied arm of what I assumed to be the courier; it was torn from its trunk at the elbow by a scorcher round. The previously overpowering smell of burnt wires was slightly dissipated by the equally uncomforting scent of copper. An aroma that only grew the closer I got to the lone limb. Reaching the gory appendage, I turned another corner to see its owner looking up at me through glossy white eyes. 

​    He was leaning against the backside of the pillar curled around some type of black box. The man had undergone rigorous implantation; he had a metal jaw, metal struts from the knees down, and countless wires running to his bald head like worms feasting on his yet to decay flesh. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and a red sleeveless leather jacket unzipped over a white tank top. His once pristine shirt had been colored the same deep crimson as his vest by the 3 craters in his chest. The blood leaking from the injuries created puddles of gore and dripped onto his remaining fingers, giving them a glistening sheen. The man held the strange box tightly to his chest, and, interested by its seeming importance, I reached down to (perhaps disrespectfully) tear it from the carcass’s rigor mortis induced grasp.

​    The box was relatively unassuming, about the size of my head, and perfectly cubic; the only things breaking its smooth black surface was a small screen on one face and two cameras flanking the glass on either side. Written across the face opposite to the screen in militaristic font were the words “Project Pandora 012.” I had no idea how much this peculiar piece of technology would go for, but it felt innately valuable. Perhaps it was the simple fact that I didn’t recognize it. Maybe it was because its previous owner seemed to have given his life for it. The box hummed slightly, purred, and there was a slight shock where I touched it. It felt strange to zip it up in my bag, to shroud it in darkness, but I couldn’t afford to give into baseless mysticism. If it got Cas a bottle of pills, it was more than worth the risk.

​    Searching the corpse’s remaining pockets, there wasn’t anything else of value aside from a small pistol (tiny in comparison to the scorcher), the plasma rifle that had split open the Golem’s torso, and a slab of glass. The glass was spiderwebbed with underlying filaments, a makeshift electronic letter if I wasn’t mistaken. I tapped the screen, but the only thing that appeared was a glowing keypad asking for a password. Figuring it could still contain something of note, I stashed it away nonetheless. The backpack was beginning to grow heavy on my shoulders, and the telltale red glow of sunrise was just visible through the windows. It caused an odd warmth and beauty to grace the grotesque scene, scarlet dew on a rusting flower. Clicking the flashlight off I began to trek back to the entrance with haste, stopping only to pick through the fallen crates for clothes and packaged food.

​    Crossing under the threshold of the door, I tapped the liftbar’s sides causing it to fold up and drop the entryway with a loud crash that sounded throughout the early morning sky. I slipped the bar into my already stuffed bag and halted to peer around. The rain had stopped, but the pleasant odor of precipitation lingered. Breathing it in, I hurried across the still damp concrete, under my undisclosed access point, and onto the short walk back home. I wanted to be back before Cas woke.