Apocalypse II: Termination

"Kla-ki." Said the official. This translated into "Indeed."

With a look in his eyes that one could almost mistake for wistfulness, he took one last glance at the living room, then walked towards the hall. He following Circuit's footsteps in a precise manor, hands folded behind his back. As he passed the corner, he came round to an open doorframe. A slight hesitation came upon him, but he was swift to shirk it. He stepped inside.

The first thing that could be noted about Circuit's base of operations was that the air was somewhat colder than what had been noted for the rest of the house, and the humidity was rather low. Both of these things were typical in a room where computers were kept, as it helped to preserve and extend a computer's ability to function. What one would also note, however, was that there was surprisingly little dust floating in the air itself, and every surface was spotless, due to special air filters, and what was most likely a strict daily cleaning regimen. Circuit, despite her slovenly appearance, took very good care of the room where her equipment was stored, perhaps even preferring her environment to be clean. It was also noted that the long, panel-like modern fixtures hanging from the ceiling, neither cheap nor gaudy, produced a clean white light that made the room as bright as day, allowing much more capability to inspect the room.

It was noted that the walls and ceiling themselves were like any room in the house, the walls being coated in a faint eggshell off-white color, the color chosen to be neutral, but not pure white so as to resemble the room of a hospital. The ceiling was a darker slate grey, which had the curious effect of making the height of the ceiling appear much greater than it actually was. This, tied in with the white rounded box-like light fixtures, set in muted silver bases securely attached in key places on the ceiling, gave the room a vaguely contemporary aura. The room itself being a spacious size, there was much floor space to walk around, and the floors were covered in diagonally-laid ceramic tiles, which were a greyish color, and like everything else, spotlessly clean. White floor molding, simply done, but not completely without ornamentation, connected the floors and the walls, and the frame of the open door was white, with a muted silver knob which tied in with the rest of the neutral colors.

In regards to the actual furniture making up the room, it seemed slightly more like a classroom than originally thought, as to the right wall, there was an enormous slate-grey rectangle that spanned half the wall, bordered by muted silver pieces, the wall having been painted, framed, and thus turned into a chalkboard. The presence of magnets off to one corner suggested magnetic paint had been applied, allowing one to stick things to the wall without the use of glue, tape, or screws, a rather useful function. Off to another corner on this chalkboard, there was the sketch in white chalkboard marker of a very familiar symbol: the silhouette of a Jorro'kil hand with five digits instead of four, with a pattern similar to those found on a Circuit board carefully drawn on, perhaps even with the aid of a ruler, regarding how straight the lines were. A short distance from this board there was a low table like those found in a living room, having a rectangular shape with rounded edges, and overall, consisting of a muted silver frame supporting a tabletop of what appeared to be some sort of solid wood, possessing a color and grain that was nearly white in color, matching the walls. This little table had four small rounded floor-pillows that were grey in color situated around it, resembling small stones and serving as chairs; the table also appeared to have on top of it some sort of commonly grown vine that was well-known for communicating its needs for water and re-potting by drooping, this one in particular being rather large in size, with a great deal of foliage, and kept in a simple greyish-brown clay pot over a matching dish to hold water.

Aside from the lower-right side of the room, which seemed to be set aside for tasks other than computing, like recreation or organizing one's thoughts, the rest of the room consisted of technology. Aside from the presence of two tall, narrow windows that took up all wall-space above and beneath them, which had their white blinds drawn and lowered so as to allow in as much light as possible while making seeing inside the room impossible, the left wall was completely covered in technological devices that seemed to be functioning. From what one could tell, the machines and devices were interlocked and connected by some means that were beyond the understanding of an average person, although it suggested a system capable of processing a huge amount of data at a very fast rate, and also capable of storing a vast amount of information that might have been on par with a fledgling internet service. Upon closer inspection, a single set of devices to the far upper right-hand corner of this wall were a different color, most of the machines being a uniform black and silver stacked on matching racks, although these were white; these devices also appeared to be turned off, and one could spot a small number of disconnected cables. Circuit said nothing about the small number of oddly-colored offline devices, but the soldier would notice that when she saw the pieces, an expression of loathing crossed her features and she shook her head slightly, even though compared to the sheer number of the devices she possessed, it seemed very small.

At the very opposing end of the room, the wall was set up with six different flat screens arranged carefully in two-by-three rows, each screen identical, and uniform in shape, overlooking a wide desk that had rounded edges, and seemed to form an L-shape, conforming to the shape of the wall where the blackboard was not present already. This desk possessed a muted silver flame, and the top was made of glass. Off to either side, two more flat monitors stood supported on the desk itself, bringing the grand total of screens possessed to eight, although notably the screen to the left on the desk was turned off. Before this setup on the desk there sat a typical black Jorro'kil keyboard, nothing special, although the keys were more even with the board, versus projecting out as some buttons did, being more in the style of something portable, and a long separate black foam pad was at the base, acting as cushions for the wrists. There was a large black mouse-pad with no designs present, and on it sat a plain grey mouse with a scroll-ring between the two buttons, seemingly wireless, although off to the right on the desk, there was a small black box containing what appeared to be a mouse in possession of a wire, as well as fresh batteries.

There were other things arranged on Circuit's desk aside from the computer display. The part of the desk that ran along the right wall was stacked here and there with notebooks and textbooks: things for reading that may have had something to deal with educational purposes. There was also a silver desk lamp that had a sort of arm, and could bend and move to an extent, the light having a white cover over it to soften any glare. There were separate containers along the wall also containing pencils, pens, and other utensils for various tasks and desk work. The two work areas were tied together by the fact that there was a very large, thick clear plastic industrial-looking mat that was made for office chairs, clearly meant to be used, and of a superior quality and make, unlike the typical cheap ones seen that often became yellowed shortly after their purchase.

Circuit had taken a seat in the black leather office chair for her computer space, which was large, possessed arms, and like everything else in the room, chosen by an eye for decor that put her uncle Xekrat's decorating style to shame, as there were many tasteful choices for color, and everything was consistent. Circuit, in particular, didn't seem to fit the room she was in, and she also sat strangely, her right leg dangling off the chair normally, but her left folded up beneath her in a half cross-legged style. Her bare feet were prominent, then, but it also went without saying that unless they had been custom-made, shoes would not fit her with extra toes present. She leaned her head on her left arm, and regarded the soldier with an apathetic look that didn't seem to belong on the face of a person her age, as though she merely didn't have a strong emotional reaction to his presence. She allowed him to take in the room she worked in, as the home someone lived in could more strongly reflect their character than their appearance.

When she was finally done simply staring, she shifted, and sat in a more straight manner, no longer leaning on her arm, although her shoulders were still hunched somewhat, "I must confess that I generally keep the lighting in this room dim, and do not adjust it to full brightness until the early afternoon. Entering a dark room, as I understand for most soldiers, however, is a very unnerving feeling. Normally I adjust the lighting so my uncle does not panic when he walks in, he takes frequent naps in the morning, and is not fully awake until later in the day. Also, I tend to kill almost any kind of plant I touch, but for that one vine on the low-table, I have discovered that as long as I can tell when the plant needs water or to be re-potted, it can flourish under my care. I have kept it alive for over a year, now, so I am quite determined that it receives enough sun."

She began to twitch the toes on her dangling right foot, "Now, with that out of the way, if you are going to assess me, I think it would be best if you gave me something specific to do. There are two things I can demonstrate, one being breaking into security systems, and the other is cleaning out viruses. First of all, let me say that it is easy to purge the bug I sent to the Noble Hacks from a system, and they have probably already gotten rid of it, since it is generic scare-ware with a few lines of code to change it so that firewalls cannot stop it. I simply wanted to prove the point that I could get past their firewalls and other lines of protection; no harm has been done to any pieces of equipment, so at worst, they are only suffering a delay."

Raiko nodded to Viem and monitored some things on an electronic brace at his arm. He spoke as his mind was equally busy. "If it's Karthla, we need to get Bio-troops out here stat before the infection spreads. Best we get these bodies tested in case that is what we're dealing with." Raiko got a loud trabsmition from his helmet, which he quickly listened to and looked at Viem. "They just took down another team of those Kils, really closeby. We need to hurry."

As Raiko was speaking, unpleasant memories revealed themselves to Viem.
 
------ ------ ------
 
10,013 - S/I-XI
 
Darnil
 
Culture Center - Arts Facility
 
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
 
Viem sprinted down a hallway lined with ornate and elegant paintings. Unfortunately, several of them had been severely stained with blood. Jorro'kil bodies accompanied the purple spatters, whereas the corpses belonging to Karthla (which were rarer) were joined by a very deep emerald splash. The hallway itself was a marble, of turqoise, grey, dark brown and sky-blue, in an uneven mixture of color. Bronze pillars adorned the entrances to each corridor, and even these were a part of the display. Etched into them were thousands of lines of Jorro'kil war poetry, formed in a very ornate script. Some of these had splatters of blood on them from nearby corpses, most of which had been impaled or mutilated viciously. Typical Karthla.
 
As of yet no insects could be found crowding around deceased, as the overseers of this facility prided themselves in its cleanliness, as well as the absolute preservation of the various works and artifacts kept by the facility. Tourism had been an incredibly lucrative part of the gallery's success, and more than made up for the large expenditure of credits used to obtain the items which constituted the culture center; not to mention the time taken to find each item. The owner's struggles to establish it were well rewarded.
 
All of that had been lost in a day.
 
Viem's helmet's Head's-Up Display rendered his environment in a three-dimensional holographic representation. This could enhance his perspective on whatever he chose up to a certain distance; it also allowed him to target and inspect bodies and items for specific details, up to as many as were held in his helmet's database. Thermal emissions could also be scanned as a subfunction. With a single command, he could rely on thermal imaging alone to pick his targets, among other uses.
 
He approached the corner more carefully; a Jorro'kil lie against a pillar, bleeding profusely, his knee had been snapped and the lower part of his leg seperated from the rest. Viem thought him to be dead, but this notion was swept away when the victim let out a horrible moan. He began to crawl towards the Strike Trooper, pleading for help, his beak moving pathetically. Viem had no time to waste; his target, a Karthla Overlord, had been sighted running inside the Cultural Center. The rest of Viem's squad had been killed during a fight in the entrance to the Arts Facility. It was too late to retreat, and the military COMNET was too fragmented and unreliable at this point to call for reinforcements. He was in this alone. 
 
Even if he had wanted to help the Kil, it was too late, and in his subconscious he knew it. Almost immediately, changes began to take place, awful changes to his entire form. Viem held up his assault rifle, set the firing mode to ballistics in three-round bursts, and took aim at the head of his imminent foe. The intense mutation process reached its climax gruesomely, and what had once been a Jorro'kil now stood before Viem as a new being. Its leg was replaced with a new chemical compound of organic matter, and unnecessary parts of the host were missing, having been repurposed.
 
For a moment, the Strike Trooper considered simply leaving the abomination, knowing it would be mindless without an actual Karthla controller. A sudden and violent attempt at touch between the two prevented him from doing so, and bursts of gunfire produced a bloody spray of indescribable color. The mutation fell down, headless and nearly chestless. Viem switched over to plasmatic fire, the ballistic ammunition in his weapon's magazine having been almost depleted.
 
He continued onward, spontaneously wondering why the other uninfected corpses he had passed hadn't arisen and assaulted him; perhaps it was because they were intended for other uses by the Overlord.
 
Viem went upwards to the next floor, taking a flight of emergency stairs. He ignored the elevator, even though it would have been a faster route to the upper floor. Close contact with a Karthla was almost always fatal, and should one surprise him inside the elevator, it would not turn out well.
 
His power armor dimly reflected the dull, white light slats illuminating the stairwell.
 
His rapid upward journey brought him to a large metal door, labeled "Emergency Exit," which he cautiously approached. He passed through after signalling the corresponding ID slat with a burst from a small laser attached to the exterior of his helmet, ordering the door to open.
 
He caught a blur of something in his HUD's holographic rendering, and immediately raised his assault rifle. Nothing. He switched to thermal.
 
With severity, the Strike Trooper scanned the rooms and hallways for his objective. More paintings, and sculptures, passed him by, cold to the thermal vision. Then something. A large figure, standing in one of the chambers, growled at him. He turned to face it, only to observe it vanish after a few seconds. No light in the corridors, no light in the rooms, and if this Overseer was able to mask his bodyheat, his thermal view wouldn't be of much use either. If he could get to the power room, it would make his search much easier. Switching back to his HUD's primary holographic overlay vision, he started to sprint.
 
Bringing up known information on the building's architecture and planning via digital icons on his HUD, Viem was able to locate the room ahead of time, which gave him a much-needed sense of direction.
 
He brushed past several plastic screens unabatedly, and found the correct door. It slid open silently as he approached; inside he found the soft buzz of power. A master switch was on the wall across from him. He walked towards it briskly. It had been deactivated. Strange, most Karthla weren't intelligent enough to know to do such a thing. He took hold of the handle, and shifted it to the "on" position. A low, pitiful sound protested to this, and nothing happened. Behind him, gurgling noises interrupted the ambient humming of the room, and Viem immediately switched to thermal vision as he brought his weapon to bear.
 
There it was. His prize. The Overlord. But it was not alone. Why would it be? Other forms, grotesque forms, crept out of the shadows, as if displaying themselves to the Strike Trooper. The Karthla forms advanced upon Viem quickly, and it was only an ironically miraculous event which saved him.
 
An explosion from the far wall racked the building with severely loud noise, and gave it the power room an equally intense light. These lasted for moments, before subsiding into ripples of flame and cracking sounds.
 
Viem looked up, reverted his HUD to holographic overlay, and observed the chaos which had prevented his infection. A Jorro'kil dropship had crashed into the building, eradicating most of the monsters he had faced a moment before. Survivors were totally dazed, and most injured. He didn't see the Overlord's body.. anywhere. But he couldn't think about that. Not after staring in death's maws and escaping. The dropship was irreparably damaged, there could be no salvaging it. He decided to examine the giant hole in the wall created by the crash. Bits of metal and debris littered the zone, but outside, he saw something. A pond, just in front of the building. He could reach it by jumping.. but risk death. His shields would take only the brunt of the impact that they could manage, and his armor would only weigh him down more. But the risk of staying in the building outweighed the risk of death from jumping.
 
Viem Xarev walked backwards several meters, turned around, and ran towards the jagged opening in the wall with all the speed he could muster, and jumped.
 
For one serene moment, he was flying through the air. The room from which he had just leaped exploded behind him.
 
He hit the water.
 
For several bleak moments, he sank, unable to move. But his vigor returned, and he gathered the strength to swim upwards.
 
Viem Xarev reached the surface, alive.
 
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________
 
Present
 
-- -- --
 
Viem felt the guilt of leaving Darnil behind, of not pursuing the Overlord further, of running. He looked at Raiko, and with ardent severity, uttered in a low voice, "If this is the Karthla, then we will have to do more than hurry."

The Overseer laughed. It was sudden and almost harsh. "Noble Hacks." He said, repeating Circuit's words. "Did you coin that phrase?"

"I'm afraid it's rather errant." He muttered nearly inaudibly. Turning ninety degrees to his left, then to his right, he observed and scrutinized the machinery populating Xelkma's room. "Some of this is rather ancient. Did you inherit those pieces?" This was mere conversation, but he intended to achieve her collaboration.

Xelkma cackled a bit, for that was the only way one could describe her laughter, "I suppose some of this could have been inherited, as old as it is, but considering that the people who owned it disliked how their computers would constantly stall or become choked with dust, they were happy when I was willing to take it off of their hands. You may mistake them for quality vintage machines, because I have taken the care to learn how to dissect them, put them back together, and then upgrade existing technology. I took them, gutted them out, and replaced the damaged pieces with new ones. I inserted a large number of custom pieces, as well, because the simple fact is that I do not receive enough funding to make what was already complete, and assembling my own circuitry proved to be a fascinating past-time."

She waved her hand dismissively, "It takes up more space, but it is more the result of personal preference, than anything else. I am aware that advancing technology is allowing people to make things increasingly smaller in size, but in all truth, the larger casings on older machines allow me to fit more inside of them. In addition, by having multiple larger machines connected by a complex network of wiring, I can not only make a supercomputer of sorts that functions on par with something on a professional level, but I can also have more control over the entire system. When your Noble Hacks, or Internet Police, as most prefer to call them, attempted to enter my computer, I was able to disconnect the dummy computer the virus got inside of from the rest of the machines, and seeing as there were no wires attached, their virus remained trapped only in the parts of my computer I allowed them to be inside of."

Her beak wrinkled with a touch of disgust, as she took the dummy computer off of the rack and set it on her desk, where she began to take it apart, "I will not bother trying to explain my personal opinions outside of computers. People are unable to understand what they have not felt. I doubt you would be any different from my parents, my tutors, or even Uncle Xekrat. Why I coined the term Noble Hacks is not important to you, and I doubt it will ever be. You know the 'what' and the 'how', but you never care to ask why."

As she began removing bits of wiring and circuitry from the dummy computer, her eyes narrowed, and she hummed as she focused on the work before her. She was calm now, but her previously spoken words and behaviors, when carefully looked at, seemed like a series of mood swings, as though she were unused to conversation, and prone to rapid outbursts of emotion, perhaps a way of venting some sort of stress. She had begun laughing in a cheerful, lighthearted manner, but had suddenly turned dark upon the thought of having to take apart one of her machines. Perhaps it was because of the fact that Circuit had invested much of her time into customizing each machine, and had to pay out of her own pocket for parts. It also seemed, upon analyzing her previous statement, that Circuit was dissatisfied with the conversations that people would attempt to have with her, and may have felt more for her machines than other Jorro'kil.

A muffled shriek emanating from outside penetrated the walls, and the Kil turned to follow the sound with very twitchy movements.

"This conversation will have to be postponed." He said, and exited the room very briskly. As he back through the house, he took less notice of the odd ornamentations, instead waiting impatiently for Xelkma's uncle to unlock the door.

Outside, a Karthla slaughter was attended by Raiko, Viem and the Krathunian agent.


((Darkel, please post))

Bellum, gullum, gthzgurthurgul

There was a distinct coolness in the air. Eerie. The sun had faded and now night was just starting. The sky slowly shading out. The stars had not yet begun to peak their heads out, though. The Jorro'kil turncoat, infected, who caused the shriek, was down and out. Blood spilling over the street. Raiko pulled out his COMM device. "We need biotroopers immediately! Send out warning to the civilians."

Things were quiet, save for the crafts that blowed past on the streets. Raiko held his gun up, ready. He saw someone emerge from a house, the automatic doors having released them. They seemed dazed, walking as though intoxicated. The Kil looked straight up, as though examining the surroundings blankly, and then turned. With a heavy, tilted head. It looked at the soldiers. The eyes were pouring black puss and blood, the scleras had dimmed black and the irises gone dark scarlet. The pupils stretched out and became elliptical. The creature began walking, giving out heavy grunts and wheezes. Raiko raised his gun, worriedly. "Halt!" He said.

Another creature came out from the building. Skin blackened, but something else was different... Long, black spines protruding from the back and many hair-like follicles growing across the greasy body. The area where the heart was found was intensely swollen and looked hard. There was a rag over the head of the creature, with one eye hole and a hole for the mouth. All that could be seen was a skeletal, skinless, black and bloody snout protruding from the mouth hole, fangs shining brightly in the evening. A thick, red eye peered from the eyehole, black bordering it. A few drops of blood dripped from the rim of the eyehole and soon soaked the right half of the rag. It seemed coincidental that a rag made to carry food would be ripped in two ideal places and then stuck onto the head of the monster. Likely it was a desperate shopper trying to get away, shoving a rag into the head of a beast to blind them, only ripping it in the process.

The rag-headed creature had long arms, too long for any Kil to have. They were tipped with enormous claws that dragged behind it along the ground and gave grinding sounds against the hard material. Black blood poured for a few moments from the creature's mouth, dumping out into the street. A puff of steam, breath perhaps, blasted from the snout once. The black grease that secreted from the skin of the creature dripped along the road and the thick blood drizzled the road.

It gave out a low purr as other creatures of the same faction began to follow it towards the squad. Raiko repeated himself. "Halt! Halt!" Finally he shot, piercing the rag-headed creature in the stomach. Blood sprayed across the pavement, but it did not phase the beast. It only began to speed up...

Immediately beside Raiko, Viem had advanced along with the other troops to subdue the now-public Karthla threat. Raising his assault rifle, he fired in unison with the infantry officer, and the high-caliber rounds ejected from the heavy-duty barrel hit their target with frightening speed. The ballistics ripped through what Viem could only describe as the face of the beast, but even this didn't seem to slow it down, until it suddenly flipped backwards, dead. Unnatural and disgusting body parts littered the street where the Karthla fell.

Viem dropped to a crouch. "Combine fire, focus on the larger ones. Take down multiple enemies with explosives if possible." This order would have seemed odd for the situation, especially to the rookies in the squad, and in a street crowded with apartments. However, Viem knew that with the Karthla, over-the-top was hardly enough to deal with them. The last thing they had to worry about now was compensation fees, even if they did blow up a few vehicles killing the Karthla.

"Don't let them touch you. Not even your armor, if it can be avoided. The infection agent is extremely resilient and persistent; if it touches your flesh, cut the flesh out before it spreads."

The combat intensified as more Karthla forms departed from their initial residents. But then something else came out of one of the closer apartments. A Jorro'kil, uninfected, and wearing a high-ranking overseer's uniform. Viem recognized the uniform immediately. Black Ops.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Overseer stepped out to see the chaos on the neatly paved streets. Bloody cesspools of blackened body parts clogged some of the iron drainage pipes at the sides of the streets. On the nearer side, a group of soldiers defended a cleaner part of the street, but among them, a Krathunian agent was in their midst, helping them.

Interesting.

He turned around to see Xelkma's uncle standing in the doorway. "Shut the door, lock the windows, let no-one and nothing in. Soldiers will soon be dispatched." He said.

Gazing back at the troopers, he put his right hand to the join between his head and beak, lightly tapping a communication device positioned there. With a whisper, the order was sent to initiate a large troop movement. Removing his hand from the COM device, he reached down and touched a silver plate on his black belt. The plate readjusted itself onto his hand, spreading, until it became a fully-functional plasmatic handgun. Krathunian tech. The Overseer was equipped with nothing but the best.

The rag-faced Karthla-Kil had fallen, for a few moments appearing to be dead. But it sat up, looking at its foe and then came to stand. A loud, overpowering purr sounded from its throat and eye into a slit. It let out a horrendous shout. It was like a scream, a howl, a laugh, a growl, and a moan all in one. Hoarse and beyond imagination. Many had heard tales of the Karthla and their horrible nature, but the actual experience was unlike anything every uttered.

The heart area seemed to swell intensely and throb. It sprang from its muscular feet and jumped nearly four meters above, coming down on one of the soldiers and with its large claws it tore his head off. Raiko began firing amid the chaos, the fires began and the crafts along the streets scattered. Karthla-Kils were flooding the road by now.

Upon the beginning of the screams and chaos in the street, Circuit drew the blinds on her window. She grabbed a unique custom portable computer from a hidden corner, and walked into the living room, where her great-uncle was watching the Overseer in the street from his doorway, seemingly dazed, or, rather, suffering from a bad moment. It was no mystery that Xekrat was a sufferer of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, as he had fought in two wars, and seen may horrible things in his days as a soldier. Because of the wide variety of terrifying things he had seen, it was not strange that the dystopia of the street would remind him of something else. Circuit’s eyes widened with concern, but she herself did not panic, because doing so could mean her own death, and that of her beloved custodian. She walked up next to him, and took the door, looking at the Overseer, “Be careful, those things are very dangerous.” She said, her voice deadpan, but perhaps having the faintest hint of care for his safety.

She then shut the door, bolting it closed, and took Xekrat’s hand. She led her dazed great-uncle into his bedroom, where there was a rug spread innocently on the floor at the foot of his bed. She rolled up the rug, revealing a heavily-reinforced-looking panel, with a small keyhole in it. There was a reason why Xekrat had not used a fancy lock on his door, after all. Circuit’s parents had invested in it, mostly to soothe the fears of the chosen guardian of their daughter.

Circuit opened a drawer, set against the wall across from the bed, and withdrew a key, walking over, and sticking it in. She twisted to the right, and a handle popped free, allowing her to pull open the door, which was heavy and powerful, like a safe. The door revealed a staircase, and Circuit made her uncle go down first, closing the hatch behind her as she went, locking the door from the inside with her key, and thus causing the handle to withdraw back into the metal plate. They descended down, entering what could only be an underground bunker. It was the ultimate way that civilians who were unable to fight could survive something, although this did not fully calm Circuit’s fears, which began when she was no longer in immediate danger.

The bunker was like a small, cramped house. It had a main ‘living room’ area that one came into when they descended the stairs, consisting of a cold, hard metal floor covered with multiple messy rugs to make it more comfortable, with a sofa sitting in front of a television that was severely dated. It could connect to any sort of medium currently used, however, or any medium that was used in the past. There were no windows, and light was provided by fluorescent bulbs, of which there was an enormous store-room next to the television, whenever they were ruined. There was a kitchen area, where food could be prepared, and special pipes leading up to the surface of the property, fitted with special filters, kept air clean and safe. There were, of course, two rooms where Xekrat and his great-niece could sleep, and a bathroom was a must.

Overall, however, the bunker was small, uncomfortable, and somehow scary, without any sort of natural light, and the air, without the fans installed going, was deathly still, like a tomb. It felt like a prison, but it was the best way to deal with a threat, even though the bunker was built for atmospheric attacks from alien invaders. It did, however, have connections to the outside world, and there was the capability to obtain power from multiple sources, and media and connection to the internet was something within their capability. Circuit had made sure of this, by setting up her own touch of wiring in the facility. It would be bad to be trapped, with no one to come save them after all was over.

Circuit, with only one intention in mind, as she sat her uncle down on the couch to return to his senses, plugged the mobile device she had been carrying into a socket in one of the unforgiving metal walls, and sat down on a rug in the middle of the floor. She opened up connections, and, with a now-worried look on her face, used the IP she had already memorized, to track down one of the Noble Hacks she had caught trying to enter one of her devices. She used this to steal his e-mail, and with more complex processes, used it to force the e-mail into the form of a pop-up, which would appear on his computer, with the background of a five-fingered Jorro-kil hand behind the text, wherever he was. She regretfully began to type a message, as this was perhaps her only contact to the outside world:

“To whom this may concern,

You have sent an Overseer to my home, and this does not trouble me, for I have no trouble in agreeing to your terms. However, diseased monsters (You and I both probably know what they are) are now running amok in our neighborhood. The Overseer has left our house to go and fight them, and called for more assistance. As my uncle is a veteran, we have a bunker under our house, and you may check the financial records of my parents, if you wish to verify that it was built. I have taken the liberty of locking us inside of it, as it seems to be the most appropriate course of action.

My great-uncle is an elderly veteran from two separate wars, and I myself am not physically strong. We have neither the strength nor skill to properly flee, and locking ourselves away may not be the best course of action. I do, however, have your IP address, which I took and memorized when you attempted to trace me back to my main computer. I am hacking you from a portable device because you are perhaps the only meaningful contact to the outside world, so forgive me for turning this e-mail into a virus. I am begging you not to block me, because it is scary in this bunker, and you might be the only person who will know we are down here, unless you were to tell someone else.

Even here, I could still help you obtain information, which is valuable in urban environments, and much more prevalent. In return, I only ask that you respond to my messages. I want nothing more than for someone to tell us what is happening in the outside world, as the media will survive for only so long before it, too, fails, if this nightmare is truly what I think it is. Even if you do not wish for my own help, then please help us. Please help keep us sane, by not trapping us alone, all by ourselves.

This viral e-mail is an offer of services, but it is also a plea for help. The epidemic is strong in the place where we are, and monsters and fighting are on the streets. It is not safe outside of our bunker, and even then, I do not know how strong those creatures are. We are an ancient war veteran, and a young hacker prodigy trapped inside of a war-zone. Neither of us were ready to face this; my uncle Xekrat is in some sort of trance, perhaps brought on by some memory, and I am the only one who remains lucid.

I have considered myself more resistant to stress, but even so, I, too, need someone to contact at times, for being social, to some extent, is a need for Jorro’kil, as much as eating and drinking are.

Sincerely, Circuit”

It would have seemed that as soon as the fight had started, it had ended. Four dropships, all carrying their maximum cargo load, glided down towards the scene of combat. Digitally tracing their targets, the dropship's weaponry began to cut down the Karthla forms with high-powered ballistic autocannons, with plasmatic fire interspersed from secondary assault weapons on the front of the dropship. This rough and deadly array of fire killed any monster it converged with; mechanical precision ensured it converged with whatever its operators desired.

The Overseer watched the display with a fleeting satisfaction. He suspected more Karthla forms would soon appear, but any kill count was a blessing when it came to these horrible beasts.

Briskly he stepped down off of the quaint old steps which led up to Circuit's apartment. Unusual though they were, one could see them as not only reminiscent of other times, but perhaps of better times.

He approached Oraav first, just as the dropships began to touch down on the street. The dropships themselves were similar in shape to a rhomboid. Their outer shell consisted of a strong metallic alloy built for resisting anti-aircraft fire, and were equipped with jet engines to the rear, and an impressive metal wingspan on the top equipped with powerful rotary propellers for maneuvering. Their chosen color was a dull silver, with metallic blue highlights.

Viem turned to see the approaching Black Ops, and very audibly said, "Right in the fray, you'll find a slink."

"That's such a crude phrase, so unfitting for one trained like you have been, Strike Trooper." The Overseer retorted. Viem sneered underneath his helmet, but did not reply, and turned back to speak to Raiko. "You probably haven't worked with any of the Black Ops, have you? Too du'rakked new. They aren't du'rakked reliable and they don't share intel unless they absolutely need to. Du'rakked haphazard." The last words he muttered. 

Ignoring the unreceptive Strike Trooper, the Overseer went to stand by Oraav just as Biotroopers disembarked from the dropships. Each was clad in a deep purple, protective garmant layered over their power armor. This offered resistance to just about any disease on the outside, and so the soldiers took their name for good reason. They began to go about the business of retrieving the mutant bodies from the streets, nearly trundling through the muck of gore which covered the streets.

"Meanwhile, we will depart in one of these dropships." The Overseer said to the squad. Raising an arm, he gestured to one of them, just as two more arrived and set down, their wings creating a consistent whir. If it weren't for the fact that the street was now deserted of residents, a crowd would have gathered.

Oraav stood silently and observed the exchange between the Jorro'kil. Though he had fought as a member of their squad and determined that they were not, in fact, insurrectionists, he still had his trusty and occasionally damaging companions of paranoia and doubt. The appearance of the Karthla had only served to amplify this, perhaps only temporarily. Due to this, however, Oraav decided that he would not reveal his identity, retaining his code name of Seeker.

He looked towards the Overseer, clearly a figure of importance given his attire, air and tone of authority, and the fact that he had rebuked Viem moments earlier. "This current plan of escape is wise at the moment, though I hope your intent is not simply to leave this planet," Oraav commented, the voice sounding slightly artificial through the helmet. "These monstrosities must be contained... Quarantined, if you will. It may be intelligent to fight it with full, brute force in these early stages. When the Karthla become accustomed with a world and have settled upon it for a long time, the resistance against them becomes a struggle. While the current military forces of Sivoma may have a chance, it will deteriorate over time until the only remaining option is orbital bombardment, the ultimate containment, but the destruction of the usefulness of this system, for the most part." He stepped up into the closest dropship, the interior having the same general aesthetics as the outside. "I trust that you will come to the correct solution."

The Overseer gazed upwards at the Krathunian for a moment. The sapphire lights arranged laterally in the internal troop bay created a dull glint on his armor, adding to the imposing stature the agent possessed.

"Yes. For now, our best option is to start decontamination measures and trace the source of the infection back to patient zero." He said in response. "We must form a quarantine zone, and the Bio-troopers will be our intercessors. You, I trust, will allow yourself to be allocated to fighting this threat, instead of resuming your original role-" Just as he was speaking, Viem stepped over towards them, causing the Overseer to pause.

"Wait just a moment there," The Strike Trooper said. "Just what was your 'original role?'" He folded his arms, awaiting a reply he so felt he deserved.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Oraav hesitated, wondering if he should reveal his original mission, but decided quickly that, in the very likely event of a Karthla invasion, insurrectionists wouldn't pose a threat to him.

"If you couldn't tell already, I'm a special operations soldier," He growled, attempting to keep his voice down to a degree. "I was originally here to monitor insurrectionist activity in this system..." He trailed off for a moment. "It doesn't seem like it matter much anymore, though."

Raiko was entirely silent throughout the conversation. But now, he spoke. "We need to cut off all the roads before carriers can take the virus elsewhere," he said. He loaded his gun again and checked himself as well as the members of his squad for any scratches or bites. "We need to be extra careful."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

The room was dark and cluttered. Stacks of metal equipment liked around the room and tables were messily placed around the room, dividing it into various sections. There was a Jorro'kil sitting in the room, alone. He was rather old, his feathers showing age in them and bare spots here and there. His eyes were aged with gray and his beak was highly pale. He wore a gray, plastic-covered labcoat and black gloving material about his hands and feet. There was a hood attached to the coat that could zip up and make for a good bio-suit. But it was unzipped. The old Jorro'kil eyed various flasks of black syrum in front of him, all held on a metal rack. Another doctor entered the room, taller and much younger and with a slightly malnourished and pale-skinned fixtures to his body. "What did you find?" asked the younger doctor. The older one did not reply for a moment, before the younger spoke again. "Doctor Xaulur?"

"It's Karthla," the doctor said. "No pathogen exists that is capable of such perfect cell destruction and reproduction. At least, not that this galaxy has seen." He paused, itching his beak. "We should first begin with routine quarantine procedures. If a ninth of the population is infected, we'll take heavier action. Remove all the bodies of the infected ones and have them completely destroyed."

The younger scientist nodded and left the room. It was then that Xaulur got up from his chair, giving the flasks one last look at. He turned as slowly, with his crippled old legs, began moving near the end of the room, moving towards a narrow door on its end. Along the way, he slid his hand under a stack of utensils and pulled out a minuscule glass flask, capped and tightly shut. It was filled with darkness. The door before him was both opened and closed by his own hands and the room was empty again.

"I'll be able to do that manually once we reach the military Complex. We can shut off the infected roads with reinforced walls built into artificial cavities in the roads. They're completely hidden when deactivated, but they are very effective for containing areas. They're a new feature put in to help defend fringe worlds from unexpected threats.. " The Overseer said in response to Raiko. At the same time, Viem dismissed Oraav, annoyed for some reason, and mosied over to where Raiko's squad was standing. He waited for the Overseer to stop talking. The Strike Trooper was tempted to interject but disliked the Overseer's smarmy attitude, as well as the fact that he knew it was not respectful.. the former had more of an impact than the latter on his decision to wait, however.

"Raiko, were you transferred to this colony? Most of the soldiers here have been. I heard most of them have come from a successful campaign against a UFIAI stronghold."

______________________________________________________________________________________________________


Meanwhile..

The staccato rattle of gunfire echoed throughout the apartment complex. Blood spattered on the shiny, silvery walls and the various details of the hyper-modernist interior architecture. The combat was loud and some scenes were wretch-inducing.

The lack of soldiers tipped the balance in favor of the infected. Civilians rushed to their ballistic weapons, only to be impaled by the mutated appendages of the pursuing horrors.

Those that managed to take a stand and fight could only shoot down a few forms at a time, and were quickly overwhelmed and slaughtered, simple prey to the vicious predators. As confusion led to chaos, many Kils fled their homes, possessions, and relatives to escape the nightmarish assault. The fleeing Kils were themselves outrun, caught, and devoured by the infectious parasite that was the Karthla.

Oraav eyed Viem as he walked away, clearly slightly displeased with how the Jorro'kil soldier reacted towards him. He turned to the Overseer, sighing, then gestured towards Viem. "What do you think his problem is, sir?" He asked, somewhat annoyed.

Raiko shook his head. "No sir, I was merely trained and then deployed here as an infantry commander. I haven't had much experience against the other races, only local criminal threats." He kept himself in line, knowing tensions were heating between Oraav and Viem, in which he did not enjoy the thought of getting involved.

__________________________________________________________________

ENTRY NO: 953
CASE: 4

KIO-1
STAGE: DELPHIAN

ENTRY: At approximately 24:59:20 Sivoma Contagion Facility ICDC enacted emergency quarantine procedures in response to sanitation breech on level 19. Floors 17 through 50 have been sealed from the rest of the facility. Reinforcements have been requested.

Officers who failed to report are listed in the attached documents. Major disappearances include Doctor Zeshiga Xaulur and Doctor Xervind Shalperax. Xaulur was noted to have caused facility sanitation breech by injection of explicit substance K-117 into his own bloodstream, causing climactic evolution. Xaular proceeded to cause floor-wide destruction and random termination of personnel. The recorded terminated personnel are listed in the second attached document.

Xaular then repeated the previous events on levels 20 through 34. After an unrecorded amount of time victims of termination were reported by surveillance teams to have been revived of death state and began moving again as well as causing facility destruction. Phenomenon unknown and supposed result of K-117. Attempts to capture K-117 samples for identification (due to lack of documentation on the part of personnel stationed to K-177) will be scheduled at the emergency committee meeting.

**END LOG

"I see. Well, in that case-"

Viem was unable to finish his sentence, as a violent turbulence took hold of the dropship and threw it off course. Viem swore, and shouted back to the pilot, asking to know what had happened. There came no answer, and when Viem struggled up to the cockpit, what he found sent him immediately back to the troop bay. Before he was able to communicate to the others what he had seen, another violent crash rocked the craft, and sent it reeling through the air, slamming its occupants against the interior surfaces. Warning lights flashed and sirens blared but for a moment, and a third and final strike to the dropship grounded it. Those inside it hit the side of the troop bay as gravity retained its grasp on them. Viem's vision was blurred, and he staggered to rise from where he had been slammed against the bay door. Eventually, he did so, and with the help of one other Strike Trooper, he managed to open the other bay door, which was directly above them. The dropship must have landed on its side, Viem thought.

Daylight poured into the opening, and Viem was able to climb up and out of the wrecked craft, though still slightly groggy from the crash.

Outside, a giant, bloody tentacle writhed, and grotesque Karthla forms patrolled around it.


"Du'rakk." Viem said.