Omnium's Fables

Omnium 21295:The Red rain

The silence in the mech’s cockpit was oppressive, broken only by Jessie’s choked gasp. "Stop... what are you doing?" His voice came out with effort, a broken thread struggling to emerge from the Lone Soldier’s iron grip. The boy struggled, his fingers scratching in vain at the metal of the arms that imprisoned him. In his wide eyes shone a terror mixed with disbelief: the force crushing him was inhuman, as if he were trapped in the steel web of a mechanical spider.

Suddenly, the grip dissolved. The Lone Soldier's hands retreated, moved by a sudden reconsideration, and Jessie staggered backward, his breath scraping his throat. He clutched his neck, coughing violently, his face flushed and his eyes glossy with fear and anger. When he finally found the strength to speak, his voice trembled, but it was charged with a sharp energy.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he burst out, staring at the man who had almost suffocated him for no apparent reason. The Lone Soldier remained motionless, his eyes lost in the void, as if the name Jessie, still burning on his lips, kept him anchored to another time, another place.

The Lone Soldier did not respond immediately. His eyes dropped to his right hand, the one that had gripped Jessie's neck just moments before. He observed it as if it didn't belong to him, the fingers still slightly contracted, a weapon that had acted without his consent.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked, his tone flat, devoid of emotion, as if the inner turmoil that had shaken him in the dream had been suffocated beneath a veil of ice.

Jessie straightened up, rubbing his neck with a grimace of pain. "I was just passing by," he said, his voice still cracked with agitation. "I heard you shout my name. Several times." He paused, studying the man with a mixture of distrust and curiosity. "What happened?"

The Lone Soldier frowned, a shadow of confusion crossing his face. "What?" he murmured, as if Jessie's words were an enigma. "I was shouting your name?"

A heavy silence fell between them. He seemed to dig into his own thoughts, searching for a fragment of truth that eluded him, while the cockpit held their breath like a secret.

"Yes," Jessie confirmed, his tone becoming firmer, almost challenging the man in front of him. "You kept repeating Jessie! Jessie! as if you were scared of something." He hesitated, his gaze becoming more penetrating, digging into the Lone Soldier’s impassive face. "And also... how do you know my name? We've never spoken before."

The Lone Soldier closed his eyes for an instant, the name Jessie resounding in his mind like a persistent echo, a fragment of a puzzle he couldn't put together. "Jessie..." he repeated in a low voice, almost savoring the sound. A sharp pang shot through his head, and he raised a hand to his forehead, as if the weight of that name caused him physical pain. "That is strange," he murmured, lost in his thoughts, his face contracted in an expression of bewilderment.

Then, returning to the present, he looked up at the boy. "Are you alright?" he asked, the tone impassive, almost mechanical, referring to the violent grip from moments before.

Jessie scoffed, a bitter smile curling his lips. "I should be asking you that," he retorted, his voice edged with sarcasm. "And anyway, you still haven't answered me: how do you know my name?"

Silence fell again, thick and heavy with unanswered questions, as the Lone Soldier stared at Jessie, as if searching him for a clue, a shadow of the dream that had shaken him.

The silence of the cockpit was a tangible weight, broken only by the slight creak of metal under the Lone Soldier’s movement. The man did not reply immediately. He rose slowly from the mech's seat, the frame groaning under his weight. With a fluid movement, he dropped to the floor, the dull thud of his boots echoing in the oppressive silence of the hangar. He turned towards Jessie, fixing him with a cold, impenetrable gaze, as if the boy were an intruder in a world that did not belong to him.

"Excuse me again," he said, his voice devoid of warmth, a whisper that cut the air like a blade. "If there is nothing else, I would like to be left alone."

Jessie swallowed, struck by the intensity of those eyes that seemed to dig into him, probing his every vulnerability. "S-sure, alright," he stammered, taking a step back. He had climbed onto the mech to wake the screaming man, moved by a mixture of curiosity and concern, but now, under that icy gaze, he suddenly felt small, insignificant. "I'll leave you alone," he murmured, with a final nervous gesture.

Jessie took a step back, his heart still racing, ready to turn away. "S-sure, alright," he mumbled, his voice cracked with tension. "I'll leave you alone."

But before he could step away, a voice sharp as a blade tore through the silence of the hangar. "I believe I cannot allow that, unfortunately." The tone was severe, laden with an authority that brooked no argument. Captain Ross had entered, his presence bursting into the space like a sudden storm.

Jessie's and the Lone Soldier's eyes turned in unison toward him, caught by the Imprint, that palpable pressure that seemed to emanate from the old soldier, a weight that pinned them where they stood.

Despite his age slightly curving his back, Captain Ross advanced with a confidence that made him imposing. His stride was determined, the sound of his boots on the metal floor a metronome marking time. In his hands, he gripped a worn and simple wooden stool, an object that seemed out of place in that hangar of steel and technology.

Arriving a few steps from the two, he placed the stool down with a deliberate gesture and sat on it, the wood creaking under his weight. His eyes, hard as flint, fixed on the Lone Soldier.

With a slow, almost ritualistic movement, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the glow of the flame illuminating the marked features of his face for an instant. Smoke rose in thin plumes, a veil that only served to accentuate the tension in the air.

Captain Ross exhaled a cloud of smoke, his face partially concealed by the gray tendrils dancing in the stagnant air of the hangar. "Forgive me for sitting, Soldier," he said, his voice hoarse but firm, "but my knees aren't what they used to be." His eyes never left the Lone Soldier, who stared back with an icy gaze, a bottomless well that seemed to swallow the light.

An Imprint radiated from him, an invisible but oppressive force that made Jessie shiver. The boy, still shaken, felt his blood turn to ice in his veins, trapped between two presences that seemed to bend the very air around them.

Jessie swallowed, his courage wavering under the weight of the tension. "T-then I'll go, Captain," he stammered, his voice reduced to a fearful whisper as he tried to sneak away, far from that confrontation that made him feel small and vulnerable.

"Not so fast, boy," Ross interrupted him, without taking his eyes off the Lone Soldier. The words were sharp, an order masked by calm. "You can use the Imprint too, can't you?"

Jessie hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest. "Y-yes, Captain," he admitted, his voice uncertain, as if confessing that truth made him even more exposed.

The Captain nodded slowly, a gesture that left no room for discussion. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to stay too," he continued, his tone flat but loaded with an implicit threat. "After all, if this man refuses to answer my questions, I might need you to throw him off the ship."

At those words, the Lone Soldier's face transformed. His already cold gaze suddenly became sharper, a flash of pure menace that cut through the air like a blade. Yet, there was no anger in his eyes, no emotion: only a mechanical void, as if he were a machine ready to carry out a lethal command.

Jessie noticed it and felt his breath catch.

"T-throw him off the ship?!" Jessie exploded, his voice altered by panic. "What are you saying, Captain? What's going on?!" His words were a mixture of fear and disbelief, a desperate attempt to make sense of a situation that was slipping out of his grasp.

Ross did not spare him a glance. Ignoring the boy's protests, he took a long drag from the cigarette, the glow of the ember briefly illuminating his harsh features. Then, with a slow, deliberate exhalation, he finally addressed the Lone Soldier.

"Good," he said, his voice cutting the silence like a knife. "Let's get to the point."

The silence that followed Captain Ross's words was dense, an invisible wall separating the three men in the hangar. The Lone Soldier broke it first, his voice calm but sharp, like the edge of a hidden blade.

"To what do I owe this threat, Captain?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on Ross, a shadow of defiance hovering in his empty gaze.

Ross exhaled another plume of smoke, the gesture slow and calculated, as if he were measuring every word before speaking it. "Don't take it personally, Soldier," he replied, his voice firm, but with an inflection that suddenly became graver when he added: "It's just the required procedure when the Captain distrusts the identity of a crew member."

The Lone Soldier tilted his head slightly, an almost imperceptible movement. "I am not a member of this crew, Captain," he said, his tone flat but laden with a certainty that seemed to want to close the matter. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of adding something, but the words died in his throat.

"As long as you are on my ship, you certainly are," Ross interrupted him, his voice rising like a whip, sharp and unappealable. There was no room for rebuttal in that tone, and the Captain's Imprint seemed to pulse in the air, a reminder of his authority.

The Lone Soldier did not reply immediately. He remained motionless, his eyes fixed on Ross, as if evaluating the weight of those words. Then, with a slow movement, he withdrew his own Imprint, that icy aura that had made Jessie shiver until moments before.

"You spoke of questions, didn't you?" he finally said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Ask away."

Without adding anything else, he turned and approached his mech, his steps echoing in the silence of the hangar. The cockpit was still open, and he gazed into it, as if searching for something among the tangles of wires and controls, a gesture that seemed to exclude the world around him, including the Captain.

Jessie, still standing a few steps away, held his breath, his eyes darting between the two men. The hangar seemed to shrink under the weight of that conversation, every word a step toward a precipice he couldn't see.

Ross watched him carefully, his narrowed eyes following every step, every minimal movement of the Soldier, like a predator studying its prey. He crushed the cigarette on the stool with a sharp movement, the wood staining with ash, and when he spoke, his voice was low, but loaded with an intensity that filled the hangar.

"A little over two weeks ago, my crew and I were near Wasteland," he began, his tone becoming almost narrative, but with an undercurrent of suspicion. "We were ordered by our government to descend on the planet to pick up Officer Mana of the Venasian Government of Parvati. We stopped for a few days for supplies, and during those days we also received the order to pick you up, in the Leviathan Desert, near Lost City."

He paused, letting the words settle like dust. "I've been wondering for a while what you were doing in that desert, Soldier. And I want you to answer."

The Lone Soldier did not turn around. His gaze remained fixed inside the cockpit, his hands motionless at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was cold, mechanical, as if he were reciting a report.

"If you were ordered by the Government, you shouldn't doubt my identity," he said. Then, without changing his tone, he added: "But from your eyes and your heartbeat, I also understand that you have not slept adequately for days. Is it perhaps the V?"

The words were precise, sharp, as if he were dissecting the Captain with the same coldness with which he would examine a machine. "Asking me such questions could get you into trouble with the Government. You know that, right?"

Ross compressed his lips, a flash of surprise crossing his face before being suffocated by a harsh expression. "Incredible," he said, his voice dropping into a menacing growl. "Not only is your Imprint extremely strong, but you seem to have very sharp senses as well."

He leaned slightly forward, the stool creaking under his weight. "Then perhaps you can also understand that I'm not kidding when I say that if you continue to not answer my questions, I will truly throw you off the ship."

At those words, the Lone Soldier stopped staring at the mech. Slowly, he turned, his gaze meeting Ross's. There was no anger in his eyes, nor fear: only a lethal calm, like the silence before a storm.

"The Red Rain," he said, the words falling like stones into the hangar, blunt and heavy, without need for explanation.

Captain Ross narrowed his eyes, surprise briefly wrinkling his marked face. "Red Rain?" he repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity and caution, as if that name were an enigma he had not expected. "What are you talking about, Soldier?"

The Lone Soldier did not move from his spot beside the mech, his gaze still lost in the recesses of the cockpit, as if he saw beyond the metal and wires. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost distant, but every word seemed to weigh like a millstone.

"During those days," he began, "the unit I was assigned to and I were tasked with investigating a strange atmospheric phenomenon on Wasteland. A rain of red color began to fall over a village beyond the Leviathan Desert."

Ross leaned slightly on the stool, the wood creaking under his weight. "That rain..." he said, his tone dropping into a whisper heavy with suspicion. "Was it perhaps the Chaos?"

"Exactly," the Lone Soldier confirmed, without lifting his gaze. "As you well know, the Chaos acts through ways and forms unknown to us. That day, that rain devastated the village."

The Captain compressed his lips, a shadow of disbelief crossing his face. "I heard nothing about any red rain or any devastated village during those days near Lost City," he said, his voice becoming sharper. "What did you see down there?"

The Lone Soldier stopped. For an instant, his breathing seemed to slow, and his eyes lost focus on a distant point, beyond the walls of the hangar.

An image flashed across his mind, sudden and sharp as a blade: a red, monstrous figure, faintly outlined in the haze of memory. It was vaguely humanoid, but its form was distorted, enveloped in a scarlet liquid that dripped like blood, making it both alive and unreal. It stood in the center of a square, motionless, a scarlet shadow dominating the scene.

Around it, the villagers hurled themselves against each other in blind fury, their screams mixed with insane laughter and agonizing cries. Bodies fell, blades glittered under the red rain, and chaos reigned supreme. He was there, with his unit, witnessing that horror, his eyes fixed on that figure that seemed to observe everything without moving, an entity that inspired terror without needing to act.

The flashback vanished as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him back in the hangar, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the ship's systems. When he spoke, his voice had become deeper, as if those images had carved a furrow within him.

"You are asking me this because you felt its Imprint," he said, finally turning towards Ross. "Of course. For a user like you, it must not be easy to feel such a mad Imprint. So suffocating."

Ross did not reply immediately. The Soldier's words had hit the mark, and for an instant his right hand trembled, an almost imperceptible movement he tried to hide by clenching it with his other hand. The memory of that Imprint—a distant but oppressive echo, like a scream stifled in the dark—still squeezed his chest.

He swallowed, his face hardening to mask his disturbance. "Then I was right," he finally said, his voice low but charged with a determination that sought to stifle uncertainty. "I truly felt it. Is the Government perhaps keeping the matter secret? I have been questioning this ship's Phase for days, but no data has been recorded. How can such an Imprint not have been detected?"

His voice rose slightly, a mixture of frustration and suspicion. "Such information must have been erased!"

The Lone Soldier barely tilted his head, his face a mask of impassivity. "Unfortunately, this information is not in my possession," he said, his voice flat, as if reciting a memorized formula. "I receive the order and I execute it. Nothing more, nothing less."

Ross stared at him, his eyes narrowed, as if trying to discern a crack in that icy facade. "I understand," he replied, his tone softening only on the surface, "and I respect that. But for that very reason, you should understand me too."

He paused, the weight of his words settling in the air like ash. "I am seriously concerned for the safety of this ship, and my duty is to protect it."

For an instant, a shadow crossed his mind: a fleeting image, a dream that had tormented him in recent nights—a black, undefined shadow, with cold red eyes staring at him from the darkness, an echo of menace that squeezed his chest. He chased the thought away with a blink, returning to the present.

Ross rose from the stool, the wood creaking like a moan under his movement. "You spend a lot of time in your mech, don't you, Soldier?" he asked, his voice becoming lower, more penetrating.

The Lone Soldier did not respond, his silence a wall that seemed to defy every word. Ross advanced a step, then another, his boots resounding on the metal floor of the hangar. "And wouldn't you know it," he continued, "the Government, after a mission like that, ordered you to return to Osiris immediately."

He stopped directly in front of the Lone Soldier, their faces mere centimeters apart. Their eyes locked, a silent duel charged with tension: Ross's burned with suspicion and determination, while the Soldier's were empty, unfathomable wells.

"Tell me the truth, Soldier," Ross said, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper, every word precisely enunciated. "What did they ask you to retrieve down there? Are you perhaps endangering the lives of this crew?"

The air between Captain Ross and the Lone Soldier still vibrated with tension, their gazes locked in a confrontation that seemed on the verge of explosion. But before the Soldier could answer, a dull, insistent sound tore through the silence of the hangar: an alarm, a mechanical wail that echoed against the steel walls.