Omnium's Fables

Omnium 21295:Jessie's desire

The Lone Soldier's Avion passed through the main door of the hangar, the still-hot metal hissing in the depressurization chamber. With a precise movement, he set down the battered remains of the Larry Owl WF-8 on the floor, the bluish armor reduced to a twisted wreck, scarred with cracks and burns.

The silence of the hangar was broken by the frantic arrival of the crew: a medical cot, IV bags, and instruments materialized as a lifesaver for the injured pilot. Ron and Gabe rushed towards the destroyed mech, fire extinguishers spraying foam to tame the hellish heat of the metal. "Quickly!" Ron yelled, his voice hoarse with urgency, as he fumbled with tools and levers alongside his son.

With a joint effort, they managed to force the cockpit open, the hatch yielding with a wrenching groan. Inside, a scene of devastation: blood encrusted every surface—the floor, the walls, the now-dark Monitor. Jessie lay lifeless, his body slumped, violently disconnected from the mech's neural system—a trauma that could leave irreparable scars on his brain.

"Let's get him out!" Ron shouted to Gabe, and with quick but gentle movements they extracted the boy, laying him on the cot. Dorothy and Lem rushed to take charge, pushing the cot towards the infirmary with a haste that betrayed the gravity of the situation.

Meanwhile, the Avion's hatch hissed open, and the Lone Soldier emerged, his imposing figure silhouetted against the bright red of his mech. But he was not unscathed. A gush of blood escaped his lips, staining the floor as he descended. The Avion's sniper rifle, a weapon from the feared Pain and Gain line, had amplified his Imprint at a terrible cost, draining his body like a tribute exacted by a cruel god. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the gesture mechanical, devoid of emotion.

Captain Ross was there, waiting for him, his face marked by worry lines that betrayed the weight of recent events. "Are you alright, Soldier?" he asked, his voice tinged with a rare humanity.

The Lone Soldier stared at him, his eyes empty as always. "Yes," he replied, his tone cold and mechanical. "The damage caused by the rifle is minor. It will not interfere with my performance."

Ross remained motionless, studying the man who stood before him, the blood still visible on his chin. Then, with a deep breath, he lowered his head slightly. "Thank you for what you did," he said, his tone softening, almost an admission of guilt. "Especially after the interrogation earlier."

He paused, as if searching for the right words. "I couldn't continue my investigations anyway, and we are close to Osiris. It wouldn't be worth it. Furthermore... I now owe you a favor."

The Lone Soldier barely tilted his head, a silent, wordless acknowledgment of understanding. He turned, heading toward the residential sector, his footsteps echoing in the chaos of the hangar. But Ross's voice stopped him again.

"That time," he said, hesitating for only an instant, "you mentioned a unit that was with you on Wasteland. What happened to them?"

The Lone Soldier froze, his back rigid. Slowly, he turned halfway, his face impenetrable. "I killed them all," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, as if listing a factual detail. "They had been infected by the rain."

Ross swallowed, a shadow of distress crossing his face. "I see," he murmured, his tone heavy. Then, almost as a last attempt to grasp a fragment of truth, he added: "How did you avoid the rain?"

"I wouldn't know," the Lone Soldier replied, his gaze distant. "Luck."

Without adding anything else, he turned away definitively and walked off, his figure vanishing into the corridor, leaving Ross staring into the void, the weight of those words heavy on his chest.

Ron, his hands still dirty with grease and ash, stared at the spot where Jessie's cot had disappeared, his face marked by a worry that carved deep furrows. He turned to Gabe, the son standing beside him, and his voice broke the silence, low but charged with an urgency that betrayed fear.

"You see what happens, don't you?" he said, his eyes seeking the boy's. "You two are not ready for Osiris, Gabe!"

Gabe stiffened, his face twisting into an expression of pure anger. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white from the force with which he closed them. "This story again?" he snapped, his voice trembling with frustration. "If you can't stand the idea of me doing my duty as a soldier, you could have stayed on Axis, couldn't you?"

Every word was an accusation, a sharp knife thrown at his father.

Ron's eyes widened, pain and anger mixing in his gaze. "Not even now, after what just happened to Jessie, can you understand?" he roared, taking a step toward his son. "Do you actually want to die, perhaps? You utterly stupid boy!" His voice was a mixture of desperation and reproach, the cry of a father who saw his son running towards a cliff.

Gabe, however, did not hold back. "I've had enough of you!" he yelled, his face flushed, his eyes burning with a rage that seemed to consume him. In that instant, an energy burst from him, a slight but sharp Imprint, charged with a fury that vibrated in the air like a shockwave. It wasn't truly powerful, not like that of an experienced user, but for Ron—an imposing man, but incapable of manipulating the Imprint—it was enough to make him take a step back. It wasn't true fear, but an instinct that rooted him to the spot, a shudder that told him not to pursue his son.

Gabe turned his back, his heavy footsteps echoing on the metal floor as he walked away from the hangar, leaving Ron alone among the wreckage and the ship's hum. The father remained motionless, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes fixed on the figure of his son disappearing beyond the doors, a mixture of frustration and helplessness weighing heavily on him.

Lem and Dorothy ran along the dark corridors of the Vienne, the cot with Jessie jolting with every step, a fragile shadow in their hands. The residential sector, with its infirmary, was still far, and agitation squeezed their hearts like a vise. Husband and wife, their faces distraught, pushed with all the strength they had, the clatter of the wheels echoing in the ship's depths.

But fate offered no respite. Suddenly, Jessie's body was shaken by violent convulsions, foam drooling from his mouth, his breath choked in a desperate gasp. Lem and Dorothy stopped abruptly, panic nailing them to the floor.

"No!" Lem cried out, his eyes glistening with a sadness that broke his voice. "The violent disconnection from the mech's neural system must have damaged his nervous system!" He knew, with a certainty that weighed like lead, that this type of damage was often irreversible.

"What do we do?!" Dorothy yelled, her voice cracked with terror, her hands trembling as she sought a solution.

Lem shook himself, his face tense but determined. "Get the LGH from the first aid kit!" he ordered. Dorothy quickly pulled out a vial of green liquid, filling a syringe with unsteady fingers. She passed it to Lem, who with a quick gesture injected the contents into Jessie's arm.

For an instant, the convulsions seemed to intensify, the boy's body writhing as if possessed. Then, slowly, he calmed down, his chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. Lem and Dorothy exchanged a look, wiping the sweat from their brows, and resumed running toward the infirmary, their hearts still tight with anxiety.

Reaching the small medical room in the center of the residential sector, they connected Jessie to a series of machines, the cables intertwining like artificial veins. A monitor lit up, registering the boy's heartbeat—a weak, intermittent sound that seemed on the verge of fading.

"Damn it, his heart rate is weak," Lem snarled, frustration wrinkling his face.

"Poor boy," Dorothy murmured, her voice heavy with sadness, her eyes misting with tears as she looked at Jessie's pale face.

But the drama was not over. Suddenly, as if moved by a primal instinct, Jessie grabbed Lem's wrist, who was standing beside the cot. The grip was disarming, an unnatural force that made Lem's eyes widen. Then, a scream tore through the silence, a cry so powerful it seemed to shake the walls of the infirmary.

The scream turned into a choked, incessant laugh, a sound that oscillated between madness and torment. "I don't want this! No! Stop! Get out of my head!" Jessie yelled, his face streaked with tears that mingled with that sick laugh, as if trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake up.

"What in God's name is happening? Jessie, calm down!" Dorothy yelled, panic pushing her to prepare another dose of LGH, her hands trembling as she filled the syringe.

"Let go of me, Jessie! Please, calm down!" Lem pleaded, trying to free his wrist from the grip. But before Dorothy could approach with the syringe, a final convulsion shook Jessie's body. Then, silence. The machinery emitted a fixed, flat sound, an electronic lament that announced the end.

Lem and Dorothy looked at each other, tears streaming freely down their faces, grief suffocating them. Lem's wrist was suddenly free, Jessie's grip loosening as his body went limp. Only then did Lem notice the sharp pain: the boy had broken it.

But before grief could consume them, a miracle. Another convulsion, sudden, brought Jessie's heart back to life, the monitor reviving with a weak but steady rhythm. "It's a miracle!" Lem exclaimed, his voice trembling but charged with disbelieving joy.

Dorothy, still shaken, approached the monitor, beginning to scan the data of Jessie's body and brain. "Look, Lem! It's incredible!" she said, excitement lighting up her eyes despite the tears.

Lem leaned in, his face lighting up with astonishment. "But this is impossible!" he murmured, incredulous, as he read the data. "It looks like his body has no damage... in fact, his parameters are better than those recorded when he came aboard two weeks ago."

Dorothy nodded, her heart lighter. "For now, let's report this to the Captain and let Jessie rest," Lem said, his voice soft as he placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "We need it."

They embraced, a moment of warmth amidst the chaos. After tending to Jessie—wiping his sweat-soaked forehead and connecting him to an IV drip full of LGH—Lem and Dorothy turned off the lights in the infirmary. The door closed with a click, leaving the room immersed in a silence broken only by the faint beeping of the machinery.

But that silence did not last long. In the darkness, a shadow manifested beside Jessie's cot. Very long silver hair caught the faint light of the monitors, and a metallic glove gently rested on the boy's face, stroking him with an unsettling tenderness.

A male voice, gentle but imbued with a diabolical madness, broke the silence. "I told you, my friend," it whispered. "You will finally be able to realize your desire. The war can end, and it is all thanks to you."

The voice grew more intense, as if trembling with suppressed euphoria. "The people of Axis and I thank you." The figure brought a hand to its face, a gesture that betrayed a feverish anticipation. "I can't wait to see it! Who knows what your web will show me!" it said, the euphoria exploding into an almost maniacal tone.

Then, as if it had never been there, the entity vanished, dissolving into the darkness, leaving only the faint sound of Jessie's heartbeat and the echo of those words laden with a dark destiny.