CHAPTER EIGHT

Pluto pulled Dante to his feet, the excitement on his face palpable as he watched intently on the trajectory of the pylon. The blast Dante had shot off had been rather weak, but it appeared to be enough to send the pylon forward as it shook back and forth awkwardly as it determined whether or not the mere molecule of steel left propping it up was enough to keep it straight. Back and forth it rocked, and for a moment Dante worried that it would rock back too much and he would have to shoot it again at the top to send it forward. The pylon soon rocked so far back that the metal monoliths peak was no more than ten yards from Dante and Pluto, the sheer force threatening to crush them were it to continue forward.

“Here,” Pluto said as he yanked his weapon back without thinking. Dante wished to interject but before he could say anything Pluto pointed and shot the pylon twice, holding the pistol in only one hand, a feat Dante now had a reference for and knew to be a near impossible task despite Pluto making it appear so effortless.

The shots sent the pylon forward just enough to force it forward, and the plan was now in working order; the pylon had slammed into the Hell reactor, causing a massive eruption of flame that neither man expected. Pluto and Dante reacted, one throwing himself to the ground while the other stumbled and fell in shock and horror. Neither of these reactions would be enough to save them from a major disaster, but it was their reaction nevertheless.

As it stands, the Hell reactor was made from substances that no one had any information on save perhaps only the mysterious Mr. July or some such being as to be discovered later. This meant that while it had been knocked off its platform, out of its protective cylinder where the power it generated was sent across Mobius, it continued to generate power through its own recycling as if it were a real entity. Dante stared at it in awe as he attempted to rise from the ground. He had never seen the reactor in such a way before, not just due to its situation but due to his new perspective. For Pluto the reactor was a means to an end, a part of a mission he had set forth to carry out. But for Dante the Hell reactor was a place, it was where he would go to reflect and design the future of himself, by himself. It was his quiet garden.

And with one pull of the trigger, he had set his garden on fire.

“What’s going on?” Pluto asked no one, his eyes darting about as though he were searching for enemies.

Dante shook as he brought himself to his feet. “What do you mean? Isn’t this what we were meant to do?”

Pluto didn’t show a reaction but answered anyway as he continued to look in every direction. “Not exactly. From what we understood, the Hell reactor would cease its production the moment it was knocked forward. But just look at it.”

The ball of flame that was the Hell reactor looked wild. Without its containment field in tact, flames were spilling out of it in all directions, looking more like a virus than a sun with its plethora of tentacle pyres. The ball fell but remained where it was. From what Dante could see of it, the weight of such a thing should bring it downward, and yet it remained largely in place. Nothing flew towards it as previously speculated. It merely continued to consume whatever was too close with flames. Even the lights of the station remained on.

Now Pluto did show a reaction, one he more than likely wished not to show to Dante in such a critical moment. Pluto was frightened. “What should we do?” he asked himself, the towers of fire threatening to smother the sound of his voice.

Dante saw the worry in Pluto, and became desperate himself. He searched around quickly as if an answer might come to him soon but it was easy to see that none would, that they had merely wasted their time. Though the destruction the Hell reactor wrought was slow, if it weren’t stopped it would still destroy everything. So Dante grabbed the Hellwhip from Pluto without a second thought, stood as tall as he could, took a deep breath and changed the setting, clicking it past three, four, five, all the way to six. The hum of the weapon became loud enough to hear despite the noises echoing in that chamber.

Pluto looked at Dante with intense, wild eyes. “You can’t do that, you fool!” He went to yank the weapon back but Dante pulled away, nearly tumbling to the floor as he did so.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yes, actually,” Pluto said, his voice harsh. “Give me the weapon. You can’t handle the strength of it at such a level, especially right now.”

Despite this being a reasonable request, Dante shook his head, refusing. “You said I have to do this myself, and so I will.”

“Even if that means crippling yourself so that you can’t continue forward? Even at level four there’s danger of breaking your limbs. Level five would blast them off with your current strength. Level six, though? God, Dante, you’re basically sentencing yourself to death. There’s no way you’ll survive the recoil.”

But Dante shook his head, stood himself on legs like noodles, then pointed directly at the ball of flame. “You probably shot the thing earlier at level three or something. If I shoot it at full power, there’s a good chance it’ll be gone, right?”

“We don’t know that,” Pluto said, his voice grave as he made a slow approach. He knew that if he approached too fast that Dante would pull away again, and he worried that if the hurt Recorder fell he might lose his grip and the weapon might fall. “But I do know what will happen to you if you shoot that weapon as you are right now, and it’s not pretty. You won’t want to live even if you survive.”

Dante’s hands shook as he continued trying to level the weapon at the reactor. Pluto circled around, went behind Dante, and placed both hands around his, steadying him. A gasp came out of Dante’s mouth before any nervous tears did.

“Look,” Pluto said, “it’s not about whether you should do it all on your own, it’s that this is simply too much for your body right now. Maybe in the future, but even when I was a young kid wearing gear designed to reduce the recoil I couldn’t handle this. You’re already hurt. I’ll help you out here. Now keep steady, remember elbows bent.”

Then Pluto switched his grip to the forearms and nodded. “Right, now shoot when you’re ready.”

Dante wasn’t prepared. No one could possibly prepare themselves for the power of a level six shot from a Hellwhip, Dante thought. Then he placed his finger carefully over the trigger and pulled again, more deliberate this time compared to his initial shot. As Dante expected, the strength was completely different from anything he could have imagined. Even with Pluto bracing him, his arms were sent flying up over his head, both men launched backwards a few yards into the air as their vision was encompassed by the impressive beam in front of them. It was hard to imagine that such a blast could come from such a small weapon, but Dante could do nothing but believe it. After all he himself had just done it. There it was, a blast so large it was all he could see. The two men fell to the ground and without hesitating Pluto got up and began checking Dante’s arms, shoulders, back, and hands to see if somewhere in that chain of muscle and tendon something had snapped or broken in some way. Somehow it seemed as though everything were fine, though there was still time for lingering injuries to rear their heads when the adrenaline wore off. Both their vision were muddled by black spots. Dante thought he could hear what was happening but not understand it. Something had happened, he knew that much, as the noise had changed from the roar of flame to something else, more blunt and obnoxious in its loudness.

Soon the floaters cleared from their eyes, and the ringing of their ears died down, and they were able to stand and see what exactly they had done.

“Wow…” Dante said, mystified.

The flaming mass that was the Hell reactor was not completely gone, but it was a smoldering heap of ash. There had been twelve pylons before one had been knocked down to initiate the destruction, but there was no trace of any such contraptions ever having existed. In fact the walls behind the reactor were gone as well, and when Dante and Pluto heard a strange noise they looked through the massive hole and noticed that far off into the distance, the shot they had meant only for the massive ball of flame had opened a hole into space. They were far enough away that it wasn’t dangerous yet, but the sight was terrifying still for Dante.

Dante pulled his gaze away for a moment to find the Hellwhip, which had leapt out of his hands at the apex of the shot. It had skid across the ground a few yards away and after hobbling over to pick it up he yelped in pain. The weapon was incredibly hot, and the slight touch he had given it was already resulting in reddened skin on his palm.

“That thing is ridiculously hot!” he exclaimed in pain, blowing on his hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have something to make it easier to carry, would you? …Pluto?”

He turned and saw that Pluto was staring off. Not into the direction of the vacuum sucking things into space, a sight which should have commanded all attention. Instead he was looking in the direction of the elevator. When Dante looked to what Pluto had seen, he was stopped cold where he stood. A single Nano stood there, tall and dark with something wrapped around him in a way that was useful for nothing more than to appear sinister. Its eyes were bright red beacons of dark intentions, and it walked forward slowly with great, resounding steps that went thump, thump, thump. Dante wasn’t sure, but he thought this Nano was familiar despite never having met it.

Pluto made his way towards it.

“What are you doing?” Dante yelled out. “Come back here! That’s dangerous!”

Pluto turned around and locked eyes with Dante, and Dante knew that Pluto wasn’t coming.

Dante just stood and watched as he approached the Nano he thought to be the Executioner, unarmed and hopeless. Then there was a crash, and Dante saw that from all directions other Nanos were passing them swiftly so that they could seal the hole they created. Lights were flickering as the power was transferring from the Hell generated power to the back up power, giving the Executioner a greater sense of foreboding, something he didn’t really need Dante thought.

Against his better judgment, Dante walked closer to them, stumbling now more from energy expenditure than from the pain caused by his injuries.

As the Nanos repaired the outer wall and sound began to return to normal, Dante listened to the words spoken by Pluto and the Executioner.

“…not for this, right?” Pluto said, Dante hearing only the last part.

“No,” the Executioner said in seeming agreement, “but that doesn’t change things. What you’ve done here is unforgivable, Mr. Pluto. You cannot be allowed to continue further if your goal involves such destruction.”

A terse smile was on Pluto’s face. “Here I thought we all agreed that Mobius needed to end.”

“Ceasing its further production is in fact something we both desire, Mr. Pluto,” the Executioner said, his voice so deep despite its electronic origin. “However, the destruction of that which already is is prohibited. Without the Hell reactor in place and no suitable replacement, its probable that the entirety of Mobius from this strata downward is finished. Back up power will last for only a decade, a blip in time for Mobius. Within ten standard years there will be no power for 999 or below. The Nanos will cease production, the humans will die, this place will be a massive cemetery. Is this your desire, Mr. Pluto? To create the biggest graveyard in space?”

“Of course not,” Pluto said, his voice more serious than Dante had ever heard it before. “What you describe is something that I’ve already taken into account, and will only be the case if I’m wrong, which I highly doubt. No, I think that you and the Adjudicator, and all of his compatriots, I believe that they are wrong in their line of thinking.”

“Oh?” the Executioner seemed amused. “And how could such beings as they be incorrect about anything? They are housed within the greatest system in all the known universe. They are creations so perfect as to be infallible. And yet you disbelieve, why? What makes you think you have any greater insight than even the Adjudicator? Than the Albatross? Than even the great Abdallah?”

Pluto continued to patronize the Nano, walking in such a way as to be a strut in the eyes of Dante, though why he was being such a braggart was beyond him. Without the Hellwhip, Pluto had no way of defending himself, and who knew what sort of trick the Executioner held under his cloak.

“Everything can be wrong, Executioner. Even the universe has things about it which would make us question its infallibility. Parasites embedding themselves in children, destroying them from within in grotesque fashion; the life of a prey animal, spent in fear and tumult as it runs endlessly from its sworn enemy; the deadly virus, the unseen killer who takes all indiscriminately, killing us slowly and painfully; and of course there is death, the quiet unknown we have all decided against subduing and questioning, instead feebly attempting to sidestep through the use of crude boards and poor programming. No, I don’t believe the Adjudicator when he says that the destruction of the Hell reactor is creating a great cemetery in the abyss. I believe me. I believe that through my conviction I can save Mobius and its people through its destruction.”

The Executioner stared at him, the adjustment of its cameras simulating an evil glare. “Are you insane?”

“As insane as a man who is as well traveled as I can be,” Pluto said, balling fists preemptively.

Without any further discussion, they began their fight to the death. Dante scrambled back as their fight became as instinctual as it could be, with the Executioner placing its grip firmly around Pluto’s neck and the great captain placing fists on the red cameras in an attempt to cease their function. They rolled on the ground, Pluto getting the upper hand and attempting to restrain the limbs of the Nano. From under the cloak a third limb freed itself, and Dante’s stomach nearly turned to jelly thinking that a projectile weapon would be in its hands in a similar vein to the Hellwhip. Instead it brought forth a knife, and before it could stab deeply into Pluto’s chest he kicked off, creating distance between the two. But that didn’t help for long, as now the Executioner took its slow, deliberate steps forward, now swinging three limbs at the unarmed captain and keeping him on the defensive. Dante’s worry was so great that he couldn’t take it any longer. He had to help.

Dante ran back to the Hellwhip, tripping and rolling across the ground with no grace at all, before finally reaching the legendary weapon. It was still hot to the touch, so Dante tore off his sleeve and wrapped it around the weapon many times in hopes that it wouldn’t be too hot to hold. Unfortunately for him it was still like holding lava in his hands. He quickly placed only his finger tips on the slide and changed it to level five, then four, then three. Then with shaking, steaming hands he held the weapon up and pointed at the Executioner.

It had taken him too long though.

On the ground, the bladed weapon plunged deeply into his chest, Pluto coughed and sputtered blood from his mouth as the Executioner stood victorious above his prey.

Dante froze.

In no scenario did he expect that. He certainly worried that he would die, that everything would go wrong once he became involved, that the entire strata would be destroyed because of him. But he hadn’t worried for a second about the fate of Captain Pluto, a man he deemed unkillable, a man who had survived innumerable adventures across the grand station Mobius.

His mouth opened and no noise fled its grasp. Then he aimed swiftly and shot the Executioner directly through the torso, leaving only limbs and its head, the power flickering dimly before falling into the deep slumber that was its simulated death.

Dante then threw the hot weapon aside and sprinted as fast as he could over to his dying subject—his dying friend. Pluto’s eyes were glassy, and suddenly to Dante it appeared that the man who seemed so full of life, so carefree and young, was absolutely ancient. It was like he was seeing him for the very first time. Even when Pluto had been having his sickly fits of coughing, Dante always looked past it and was able to yell at the man, to call him out for what he was—a dirty, rotten criminal who deserved death.

“You ought to be happy,” Pluto said, his voice shaking with effort. “I was to be executed and now I have been.”

The Recorder shook his head. “No… No, you can’t!”

A look of regret appeared on Pluto’s face. “I was always going to die.”

“No!” Dante repeated, unable to formulate thoughts.

Pluto coughed up more blood before smirking. “I suppose I lied too much to you. Asking for forgiveness isn’t really my thing but… Maybe you can.”

“We can fight about it when you get better,” Dante said through tears, his eyes glancing for a disgusted moment at the gore below the neck.

“No, we can’t,” Pluto said. “But don’t worry, Dante. I’m okay with this.”

They shared something together then, something that Dante had never felt before. It was a moment he knew he couldn’t forget, one where all of his logic went out the window and something akin to spirituality or religious thought swept through him like a spring breeze. Then it was gone.

“Oh,” Pluto coughed. “I nearly forgot to tell you about… what had happened on 995.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Dante said with a shake of his head, tears now falling freely.

“No, it does,” Pluto said with a weak nod. Then he rolled his eyes to indicate the back of his head. “Retrieve the chip in my CMP unit. When you do that, I will be free.”

Dante wasn’t sure if he could, but Pluto gave him encouraging words.

“Quit being a cowardly asshole… Just stop this old man from suffering.”

Those were the last words that Pluto spoke through lips of flesh. Dante rolled the man over just enough to press a finger inward on the drive, removing the chip and placing it into his own CMP unit. Then there was a flash of light, brighter than even the shot from the Hellwhip moments before, and Dante fell unconscious.

While the CMP unit was something that was given to nearly everyone on 999, there were seldom few reasons to actually utilize such a thing. Connecting to the network was used whenever it was required, though it was mostly only something done by those higher up in the hegemony. Otherwise the unit typically remained useless, something installed and forgotten. Dante could only remember a few actual instances of its use for him, and those instances were situational and mostly done as for the needs of a Recorder. Before becoming a Recorder, for instance, he was required to wear a training drive so that he could figure out how to do his job correctly without the need of a physical trainer there. Another instance required him to wear a unit which allowed for him to utilize the network so that he could access a rather specific file to verify a criminal’s history, a moment which had left Dante feeling rather sneaky as that wasn’t something within his wheelhouse, instead being something he had done himself to help calm his nerves with a particular criminal. It had turned out that he was lying, and ever since Dante had held a silent trepidation within while dealing with criminals whose claims were too grandiose.

Pluto had lied about many things, but he hadn’t lied about the feelings of the drive within his skull.

When Dante had come to, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed; the area appeared largely the same, with the Nanos continuing to do their best to seal the hole made by the Hellwhip. The Hell reactor was still in shambles, but the smoke rising from what was left had dissipated, indicating to Dante that he had been unconscious for at least a decent amount of time, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes.

His sight was horrific. Black dots floated across his vision in a constant effort to make him blind, and there was an incessant ringing in his ears. Had Pluto described a ringing? He recalled the dots, but not a ringing. He wondered if he had left it out or if it was merely a personal side effect. Stumbling about, his hands in front of him to help see without his eyes, he did his best to find the Hellwhip that he had tossed to the ground. It didn’t take him too long. He was thankful that when he woke up the weapons heat had gone down tremendously, becoming more of a warm weapon than a burning weapon. Realizing there was no holster for him to place it in, he went to return to Pluto and remove the now useless accessory from his corpse, but when he searched he couldn’t find him. At first he wondered if it was due simply to the blindness he was experiencing, but after a few minutes of searching he quickly realized that where ever Pluto’s body had been, it was no longer there.

Dante began to worry; it had been obvious that Pluto had died, hadn’t it? The wound on his body was significant, and though he seldom indicated it with words the sickness that had been taking him meant there was little time for him to live regardless. So he had to have been stationary. Who would remove his corpse but leave Dante, who had been laying next to him? He looked at the blood on his hands, saw the blood that had pooled on the ground. It was hard to tell with his bad vision but it appeared as though no one had come for him. It was as if his body had been absorbed by the station itself.

A loud boom had taken him out of such thoughts. There was no time for Dante to be speculating on the fate of a dead man. If he spent more time there, he was going to be joining him.

With as much speed as he could manage without falling, Dante made his way to the stairway that would lead him to the LG shaft and up to a new strata. A new world for him to explore.

In that moment, it was as though the floaters in his eyes were making their way through his body, increasing his nervousness.

It took Dante roughly half an hour to make his way to the stairwell and go up a few flights of stairs. He had never paid too much attention to just how many stairs went up to the top of 999, but it was many more than he had ever used in his life. Dante vowed never to take the elevator for granted again.

His gaze would often deviate to the chaos below, and through his muddy vision he would try and see if anything was coming after him. It would take him a few moments before he would decide that he was satisfied, but whenever he was satisfied he would take a deep breath and talk himself through it, then continue moving forward. In those moments he would think of Giovanni, about the chaos below them, and he would wonder if Mr. July’s plan was a good one, or if it would only result in all of their deaths.

Or maybe that was the plan, he thought with a sour smile. Perhaps they were all meant to die for a better tomorrow on Mobius. He hoped not, but something inside him told him that he was correct. That Mr. July found them all to be expendable.

As he rose to greater and greater heights, he began to feel a sense of vertigo, something he had never felt before. Dante wondered if it was another effect of the drive in his skull, but he couldn’t be sure. He pressed forward anyway, now dealing with a feeling which told him to avoid looking down.

Dante had climbed nearly ten stories worth of stairs when he heard a loud noise from below, one that wasn’t in line with the patterns of noise he had become accustomed to hearing from the Nanos as they flew helter-skelter and fixed the wreckage of Mobius. He struggled with the idea of looking down, thought about it for a moment and decided against it. If something important is happening, he thought, his attention would be pulled to it regardless.

And it was.

The noise came again, this time accompanied by some shouting. A voice. A number of voices. Dante took a deep breath and told himself that nausea wasn’t real, that it was a byproduct of nerves playing a useless game in his gut.

It didn’t really work.

He stumbled over to the guard rail and rubbed at his nearly useless eyes.

“Dammit,” he swore in frustration. “I just want to see! How long do these floaters last for?”

Then he nearly tumbled over the guardrail from surprise, as a voice came clearly into his skull in a subvocalized manner, much like his own thoughts but foreign.

If they last for more than a week, you won’t be worrying about them anymore, Dante.

Unable to speak with his typical snide attitude, Dante yelped out in surprise, “Who the fuck are you?”

The voice in his head laughed, an eerie noise when he couldn’t find the source.

Come on, Dante. I thought you were such a smart guy? I told you about Poe, didn’t I?

He had, Dante thought. But of course it’s much different hearing about such things and experiencing them yourself.

“Yes, right. Then are you this Poe character I’ve been hearing about?”

No, buddy. It’s Captain Pluto, the one who you were talking to before.

Then Dante recognized the voice, knew that it was telling the truth. He still could hardly accept it as reality, but he nodded as if the voice could see his actions.

You were wondering about who is down there, right?

Again Dante nodded dumbly.

I’ve accessed the systems here and looked through some of the cameras. It appears that it’s Giovanni down there, talking with a man. It doesn’t look like a Nano to me, but it does look like he’s bad news.

“What do you mean?” Dante asked, worried now about his friend. He tried to see if his eyes could focus on the figures below to no avail.

I don’t know. It’s only a hunch. Nothing bad is happening now, they’re just talking. But I don’t like the guy. Whoever he is, he’s bad news.

“You’re sure he’s not a Nano?” Dante asked, finding the prospect of Giovanni speaking with anyone as Pluto was describing to be dubious.

Well… No, I’m not. He could be a Nano. It’s hard to tell. If he is one, I know that he isn’t a threat. Not yet at least.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dante stabilized himself and resumed his ascent upward.

“So then,” he said, trying to sound casual instead of exhausted, “do you remember dying?”

You always asked questions with a level of sensitivity, didn’t you Mr. Recorder?

“Just answer me,” Dante pressed, a smile forming on his face. It was strange to him later, but in that moment it felt as though Pluto hadn’t died at all. As if the emotional turmoil of an hour ago had never happened.

Of course I don’t remember, Dante. When you pulled the drive free, you pulled my consciousness with it. That means I wasn’t there to experience the death of my flesh. Were I a philosopher, I would question whether or not I had really died at all. But I’m just a simple man-turned-AI.

“Right,” Dante said, his steps slowing against his best wishes. “Wait, then I’m assuming you don’t know what happened to your body?”

There was a pause, as though Pluto had become uncomfortable.

What do you mean? Shouldn’t it be down there?

“When I resumed consciousness I went to find it, but I couldn’t see it. My vision isn’t so great right now so maybe I was wrong.”

Perhaps.

This was said without certainty, and Dante intuitively knew that his comrade was accessing the cameras again, searching desperately for his own corpse. For a while Dante was able to continue his trek upward in relative silence, though now he was unable to feel truly alone, a feeling he would miss very much as the years would pass. Loneliness, Dante would say, is a feeling often taken for granted once its gone but always cast aside as soon as possible once attained when instead it should be enjoyed to the fullest extent. As Dante experimented with his vision in hopes that messing with his eyes would bring back some of his ability to see, he was interrupted by Pluto.

That’s not good…

Dante knew what he meant without asking.

“Where do you think your body went?”

I haven’t the faintest idea. In all my time exploring Mobius, and I mean all of it, I have never once experienced the disappearance of a corpse in such a way. As I’m sure you’re familiar with, most strata deal with the dead through either the use of recycling their energy in specified chambers, or they are sent off into the void of space, either in the ancient rite of a coffin or merely as the trash we expunge from the waste rooms. Never has a body been absorbed or taken in such a way.

“Can you tell how long I was unconscious for?” Dante asked, becoming too interested in the conversation and halting his own progress.

I could, but because this all happened while I was being installed I doubt the reading would be accurate. Still, based on the progress of the Nanos ceiling the hole, I would wager you were out for no more than a half hour.

“That’s enough time for someone to steal your body.”

It felt as if Pluto considered this but didn’t seem to agree.

Having enough time and having a motive are separate things. Besides, considering it took this long for Giovanni and this mystery person to come up here to see what happened to the Hell reactor, I would say they have more than likely been preoccupied by the heavy Nano attacks going on below us.

Dante did what he could to continue onward but fatigue was overtaking him. Not only was all the physicality he had endured in the past few hours taking a toll on him, but the only sleep he had had for a while was that brief period of unconsciousness upon installing the CMP drive. Couple that with the nausea and the visual impairment and he needed to take a moment of rest. He sat down on the bottom stair of the next stairway, pulled out the Hellwhip and began turning it over in his hands. It was difficult for him to process any tool other than a recording device being his trade tool, but looking at the Hellwhip as he did then seemed to comfort him. Despite seeing it first hand, it was still hard for him to really understand how a weapon so small could pack such a deep strength within it. The fact that it came from so deep below, from even lower than 56 even, was truly remarkable. Though Pluto had said the weapon was recently serviced—by who, Dante could merely speculate—it still appeared to be worn out, something Dante had never truly noticed until then. There were small hints of entropy on the sides of the weapon, and dark marks on the handle where the palms would rest. It was a worn weapon. One he was already beginning to feel a faint nostalgia for.

Just as he was beginning to doze off staring at it, more odd noises arose from near him. This time he knew them not to be voices, so he searched about wildly before asking Pluto if it were possible to use the camera system again.

Already have. The noise you’re hearing is coming from the swarm of Nanos. They’ve finished sealing the hole we made.

Relief washed over Dante and he relaxed, leaning on the guard rail he had walked over to. He had been worried that someone or something might try to follow him and attack him, especially after using the Hellwhip as much as it had been used that day. He wasn’t sure how many shots it could do on a single charge, but with the strength a level six shot had in addition to all the shots Pluto had done during the search for Giovanni, he knew intuitively that there was not much left in that little gun. If someone came and attacked him, it could easily be the end of him.

And then his worries became real. Somewhat.

Dante was nearly finished catching his breath when a swirl of wind was felt in front of him, and he looked up with rapidly blinking eyes in an attempt to discern what was in front of him. Dante felt his eyes must still be ruined, for in front of him was a mass of Nanos that had seemed to come together to become one giant being, something which took up more space than even the Hell reactor had, overfilling the area where pylons had once stood and coming within mere meters of his face. It was hard to see details, but he knew that whatever the being was it was staring directly at him.

“The new and improved Captain Pluto, we presume?” it asked in a great, booming voice which threatened to take out yet another one of Dante’s senses.

Nerves getting the best of him, Dante said, “N-no! IamDante!”

A laugh emanated from the being in a way that told Dante this being could never truly understand humor.

“Dante? Is that what you wish to be called?”

Dante gave a feeble nod. The Hellwhip made a clattering noise in his sweating palms.

“Well, well, Dante. Then might I ask you if you are the one who now carries the most notorious drive in all of Mobius? Are you the one who overtakes the mission of Mobius’ upheaval?”

Tell him yes, if you’re ready to fight.

“You’re not helping,” Dante chided the mental being beneath his breath. “I carry the drive you speak of, yes, however as you can plainly see I have not claimed to be the next Captain Pluto. I am merely Dante. I go to 1000 because I was told to by my superiors here on 999, not because of something I’ve inherited by mistake.”

“There are no mistakes on Mobius, Dante,” the voice rumbled, sending a shiver down Dante’s spine. “You would do well to remember that.”

The being moved slightly forward, and the force of such a movement seemed to cause the air around Dante to condense and disperse in a way similar to breathing. It stared at Dante with such force he worried he could see Pluto living in his head.

“Dante,” he said in what was almost a fatherly tone, “you seem to me an intelligent man, one who would do well within the world of information, not of blood. It would be best if you put down that atrocious weapon and removed all thought of following that dreadful Captain Pluto. His mission is that of a fool, and you are no fool.”

Don’t listen to him.

Dante smiled nervously then. When Pluto had described Poe in his retelling of his stories, he would always sound so annoyed by the things he said. Now Dante truly understood that annoyance, as these interjections were making it difficult to focus on the conversation at hand.

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Dante said, his fingers subconsciously moving to the dial on the side of the Hellwhip. He wasn’t sure there was enough power for a level six shot, but he hoped there was.

“Hmm,” the being said, and the noise was so deep and powerful that Dante almost fell over from the force of such a baritone. “If you wish to call me anything, call me Azimob. For your sake I hope you never get the chance to greet me again.”

Filled with trepidation, Dante took a deep breath and weighed the benefits of shooting the great conglomeration of Nanos before him. He knew intuitively that there was no way this Azimob existed merely as this transformed conglomerate. Somewhere, it existed as an AI whose true whereabouts were unknown. And as far as Dante knew, there was no way to delete an AI from existence. As long as the files which housed its personality remained safe in Mobius’s system, Azimob could theoretically live forever. So the destruction of the Nanos in front of Dante would be more to make him feel safe than to destroy a possibly villainous being. In addition to this, he worried that the Hellwhip couldn’t do it on its current charge. Worse than this, if he did set the weapon to level six, destroy Azimob’s puppet, what then? Pluto had already pointed out that his body was far too weak to handle a shot at level six, and after experiencing it while braced by Pluto, he knew that Pluto hadn’t been hyperbolic when he said his arms might snap off. And what would such arm snapping accomplish? It might be better to just talk, Dante thought. Just talk until it leaves.

Dante did his best to control his breathing before quietly and unceremoniously placing the Hellwhip in his pocket.

“I should suppose so,” he said with forced agreeableness. “Is there more to why you speak with me now, Mr. Azimob? Surely you show yourself for more than just a simple warning.”

The being shook strangely, stray parts tumbling from its great body like drops of sweat.

“There is, in some way. Though I must confess, when I came to you in this way I assumed that I would come to visit Pluto, not you Dante. What I am about to tell you is not something I anticipated saying.”

His words hung in the air heavily, and Dante wondered what it was he could be getting at.

“I must ask you not to travel further than 1000. You must promise me this, Dante, or else I cannot hold back what dangers will come for you.”

He’s threatening you, Dante. You’re playing a dangerous game trying to speak with him instead of killing him.

Dante wanted to argue with Pluto, but vowed to do so later. “What do you mean, Azimob? Are you saying that you will keep me safe from harm if I stay only on 1000?”

“I am,” Azimob sighed, steam rising from the cracks between the Nanos which made him. “We anticipated that you would be Captain Pluto, and so we vowed to halt your progress here. But if you are to go to 1000 on business unrelated to the sacrilegious pilgrimage, then I will halt the progress of my army.”

Army, thought Dante. An army of Nanos is after Pluto? He had been aware that Nanos were after him, sure, but nothing so specific. There had been no leader to the attackers in Dante’s mind, only the senseless programming of Mobius and its innumerable creations.

“You have no reason to give me quarter,” Dante said to Azimob, his voice finally becoming its normal cadence. “My claims could merely be lies. Why allow for a risk such as that to me, Mr. Azimob.”

The great being laughed once more, the strange noise sounding something like “kwatz.”

“You may be right,” Azimob said. “But I am only letting you up a single strata. There is no danger for me so long as you keep your end of the bargain, and if you refuse what I am offering you then you will be the only one to suffer, for my army will follow you until you no longer exist here on Mobius. They never tire of the hunt, Dante.”

Those last words sent a chill up his spine.

Then the great being tumbled apart.

At first, Dante thought it was due to Azimob merely being finished with the conversation, however there was too much shrapnel, too many charred pieces of metal flying in all directions for that to have been the case. There was a flash, and Dante’s already bad vision became worse once more. He worried that his vision would never return to normal.

Just before his vision cleared—and by cleared, we mean that his vision returned to the poor state it was in after installing the Pluto chip in his CMP unit, not his original, perfect vision—a hand grabbed his, one that was small but heavily calloused and firm in its grip.

“Come with me!” came Cat’s voice, shrill over the sound of bouncing metal. Wordlessly, Dante followed the woman as she guided him up the steps.

You’re lucky she showed up, Dante. That could have gone very poorly.

Dante nodded, once more forgetting that Pluto couldn’t see him nod.

“Thank you for saving me,” Dante said meekly as he tripped up the stairs. Cat was pulling him without worry, allowing him to be as banged up and bruised as possible. Her only goal was to get him to the top, away from 999.

“You were taking too long,” she said, annoyance evident in her voice. “We were beginning to worry that you weren’t going to make it this time, Pluto.”

“It’s Dante, actually.”

He said it thoughtlessly. Cat had been hearing Pluto refer to himself as Pluto for as long as she could remember. To hear his new host refer to himself as someone else was more than she could have ever thought possible. Her hand pulled free of his, and she stood in silence for a second before regrouping.

“Well, Dante, start moving your ass. We need to get to 1000 as soon as possible.”

With that, Dante followed her, and they remained silent until they reached the LG shaft.

Dante had never been inside of an LG shaft. He understood the concept well enough. Each strata was separated by a shaft that acted as a connector, a link in the massive universal chain that was the Mobius space station. Inside of them you would float upwards or horizontally before entering the next strata. Part of why they were low gravity—as far as Dante understood, anyway—was that Mobius required power saving whenever possible and the creation of gravity was a difficult process. It also meant that, due to the mission of Mobius to continue endlessly, the use of LG shafts allowed Mobius to build everywhere and anywhere, in all directions. Strata could connect from any place so long as a shaft was able to be built there. Dante also knew that the shafts were rather simple to traverse between, taking mere minutes before you entered the following strata.

He couldn’t have understood what it all meant without experiencing it himself, however.

It was his first real lesson on his grand misadventure; the things he learned through his recording duties did not always translate to actual, real world knowledge and use case. Sure, he knew that he could kick off and float upwards to the next strata, that it would be a simple process. But Dante didn’t know that the feeling wouldn’t be like flying, like his nightly dreams becoming a reality. Floating was truly falling. His stomach turned for the first half of his trip upward, and he thought he was going to vomit, which would have been horrible to deal with in a low gravity scenario as the vomit would float with him.

“We’re almost there,” Cat called to him, an assurance he was certain she didn’t wish to give Dante.

The final seconds of feeling as though he were falling were agonizing, but once they reached the end of the shaft and they were able to dilate the door, enter the hall separating the shaft from 1000, then dilate that door once gravity was returned to them, Dante felt not only a sense of relief that it was all over but he was satisfied that he had done it at all. He was beginning to grow excited at the prospect of an adventure.

Don’t get too excited, Dante. It only gets tougher from here.

For the first hour or two that Dante was in 1000, the first new strata he had ever been to, there was so much going on that he was unable to really take in any of the new scenery despite his interest in the new surroundings. Everyone who had been in the band of outcasts that Pluto had assembled seemed to want to greet the new iteration of their captain individually, all wielding their personal reasons for following him with such vigor that Dante felt almost obligated to lie to their faces, to tell them that their captain they had followed was in all reality never returning to them—not as long as he had a say in it, at least. At first, Dante attempted to see the faces of his new comrades, to commit them to memory. But after many useless attempts and no end in sight for the greetings and well wishes, Dante gave up, knowing that his sight was hindered anyway and would more than likely muddy any image he attempted to memorize in those moments.

His first meeting was with Tom, but that meeting was one of mild importance, a mere instance of affirmation to the truth. It was only once things had settled that Tom decided to have an actual talk with Dante.

Cat had lead him to a place that they had selected for his quarters. It was difficult for Dante to see, but it appeared to be a sort of gazebo, something he had knowledge of due to his private research into Earth but never seen before. He wondered what 1000 was like as he was sat down in a comfortable chair, had his Hellwhip taken to an NRS that was nearby, and was served a drink, freshly made mint tea. Cat then placed a hand on Dante’s shoulder, a gesture he couldn’t begin to diagnose, before she left and allowed for Tom and Dante to speak privately.

“So,” Tom said, the voice still something Dante had to get used to coming from a Nano, “Captain Pluto is no more?”

This took Dante by surprise. He hadn’t said anything of this effect to anyone there save for Cat. He determined that she must have informed Tom at some point without his knowledge.

“In a sense,” Dante said, mulling the question over as he sipped on the hot drink. “Pluto’s personality—his conscious self—still resides within me. To say that he was gone is not completely correct due to this. But Dante—myself—have remained in control of my body. Therefore I would refrain from calling myself Captain Pluto.”

Tom nodded, then sat down in a chair opposite of Dante. This made Dante smile; the thought a machine like Tom would have any need for sitting as a human did was humorous in a way.

“So, can Pluto hear all of the things that I say?”

Before Dante could respond, Pluto did within his head.

Of course I can, Tom.

“Yes,” Dante said. “Anything you say is also heard by Pluto. Everything I see or feel is also seen or felt by him, and due to his current formless nature he is also able to make use of the many networks within networks that are housed in Mobius.”

Tom disregarded everything past yes. “Well then, Pluto. How does it feel now that you’ve reached this point? We always talked about what would happen were this to occur, but it must be different now that you’re actually in a situation where you are stuck within a body that is not yielding.”

Dante, you’re going to dislike what I’m about to do but don’t fight it.

Confused, Dante was about to speak before there was a sudden pull within him. It wasn’t a true feeling. The five senses were uninvolved. But what he would claim to be himself, the seat at the table as it were, was being cast aside as though it were never his seat to begin with. It felt as though his thoughts had become louder but they were in a soundproof room, banging and banging on glass to no avail.

“Tom, you and my friend here seem to have misunderstood what is going on.”

The Nano blinked a few times as though he were having trouble digesting what he was seeing.

“Is that really you, Pluto?”

“In the flesh,” he said with a grin—Dante’s grin. “As I was saying, both of you seem to have misunderstood what is going on here. Dante has a very strong personality, sure. And yes, my grip has grown weaker. Perhaps the next body will be the one that will be the last for me.”

Dante stopped banging on the glass and fell into himself. The thought that another body would come after his was extremely foreboding, morbid even.

“Then what are you doing, Pluto?” Tom was genuinely curious. The emotion in his voice was evident even to Dante, who questioned all that he knew of AI creatures.

“I’m enjoying my time in the backseat,” Pluto said, though something else seemed to linger under his words. “Dante was chosen for more reasons than any of the other bodies were. More reasons than even my original body, the body of Pluto. It’s more important that he interacts with the world than it is for myself to do so. Besides,” he added with a playful wink, “there’s always a chance that things play out better this way. They’d never expect that the great Captain Pluto would be dormant inside a weak, pitiful Recorder!”

Hey!

Dante surprised himself with his ability to speak subvocally as Pluto did, but Pluto was unfazed, sharing a laugh with Tom before returning himself to the alcove he had carved in Dante’s mind.

“Bastard,” Dante muttered.

Tom stood up and gave Dante a look he couldn’t quite see with the haze of the black floaters in his eyes, then he left without saying a word, leaving him by himself.

Dante sighed, and the seconds turned to minutes, and before they could turn further sleep stole him away, the struggles of the day overtaking any desire to ponder and reflect on the very same events.

To say his dreams were free of turmoil would be a mistake, however. It was only confirmed by Pluto after a long conversation upon waking up, but Dante dreamed a memory of Pluto’s. The memory of his arrival on 995. Were Dante to title this file, it would be titled:

S1121_captainPlutoReachesTheBeginning.wav

In the events leading up to 995, I, Captain Pluto, had come to learn a great many things about Mobius. The station was old and endless and housed many secrets. I knew of the grand AI who considered themselves gods. I knew of their goals, most of them primarily in a battle against entropy. Self preservation was of the utmost importance to them. That’s why they hated me. That’s why they began trying to halt my pilgrimage. I know that I told you before that I was never trying to reach the edge of Mobius, that I wished only to settle down and live a quiet, happy life. And while I won’t say that’s a lie, I will say that the longer my journey became, the more I began to equally despise the AI who wished nothing more than to stop me. Had they been less committed to my destruction, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to find ways to stop them. Maybe I wouldn’t have even made it as far as I did. Nevertheless, I walked into 995 thinking I knew everything there was to know about Mobius, thinking I was reaching an even greater height than before.

I was wrong.

Tom and myself had discussed what we were going to do prior to reaching 995. We had learned that a great community lived there and that there was a degree of local politics, something they referred to as the hegemony there. Knowing this, we decided it would be best not to enter all at once. If they saw a small army entering their domain, they might take it as a sign we were trying to attack them. With this in mind, I went alone so that I might scout things out, then Tom would come in, I would tell him what was going on, and then Cat would follow and guide the remainder of the army for us. Cat was adamantly opposed to this plan. She knew in her heart that something would go wrong, but I assured her that everything would be fine. Of course, as you’re aware, everything did go wrong. You just don’t know how.

I said my good byes and see you laters, then I made my way to 995 on my own. My Hellwhip was fully charged, I had eaten a surprisingly big meal on 994—the people there were agricultural and grew crops in strange fields that seemed to have been designed by the great Architect, an AI whose sole job was to compose the music that was Mobius—and I was ready for whatever would greet me on 995. I wasn’t worried about whatever would be on the other side of that door, however. When we learned of the governing body that was the hegemony, none of our intelligence claimed it was run by Nanos. In fact, it seemed that the hegemony held a distaste for the mechanical beings who created Mobius. If anything, I imagined that the people in the following strata would find my company amicable.

The door to 995 dilated and I stepped through. The cloak I wore about my skinsuit was tattered and ruined, but still kept me warm as I was blasted with the cool air of an open strata design. Such a design took me by surprise, as typically in well populated strata the designs were more populated by structures and hallways, often even being cylindrical in shape such as the one Cat hailed from where even weather systems were created in a way to simulate Earth’s environment. This design, one of great openness, was more a design I had experienced when finding strata which housed great and powerful things. Terrible things.

Nothing strange awaited me upon entering, however. There was a security Nano, which contradicted our knowledge immediately but posed no threat, merely identifying me and letting me through, but otherwise there was nothing to worry about. The walls were lined with great complexes, appearing to house the citizens of the hegemony, and in the center of the great emptiness there was a hologram of sorts who simulated night and day in the same way an electrical fireplace simulated the cozy structure of a real fire. Still, as I wandered the great ambiance that was 995, passing a plethora of security Nanos and poor, homeless citizens, I found there was nothing for us to worry about. I told Poe to send a message to Tom that we were ready to proceed, and then I found a nice spot to rest, something like a park where people would walk and relax under the false warmth emanating from the faux star above, great blue skies and all.

I stayed on that bench for an hour, watching the strange sunset above when a man decided to sit with me.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the opposite end of my bench. He was an unassuming man, but compared to what I had seen of those living on the ground in 995 I already knew that he was strange, subdued, and could not be trusted.

“Go ahead,” I said, looking at him sidelong as my hand fell to rest on the holster hidden beneath my cloak. This man also wore a cloak, one of great reverence. I figured he must have been important in some way, either in the hegemony itself or some great merchant. No, the patterns were too intricate for a merchant. A figure in the politics of this strata made more sense.

The man gave me a sidelong look as well, and I became increasingly worried about his identity.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, his deep voice sounding conversational and friendly. I couldn’t lower my guard, but he wasn’t making that easy.

“No,” I said, finally giving him a true look. “I’m not,” I continued to stare, taking in the face of the man. He was tall and lithe, his chin very square, his hair well kept but long, falling to his shoulders. Intelligence was clear in his dark eyes as he seemed to probe me, finding whatever information he could from my appearance—an appearance I had hoped would cause him more panic than interest.

“Well then, allow me to be the first to welcome you to 995,” he said with a grand gesture.

I merely nodded, gave him a quick smile, and continued to watch the sunset above. No one was walking near us anymore, and I wondered if it was a coincidence that this man had found me while we were absolutely alone.

“So what brings you to our humble hegemony?” he asked, still sounding pleasant in a way that made my skin crawl.

“Just passing through.”

“Ah, a traveler,” he said, rubbing the black stubble of his chin as though he had met many travelers in his time. “I was like you once, you know.”

I couldn’t help myself. “I highly doubt that.”

The man laughed, a loud gunshot of a noise. I smiled involuntarily, cursing myself.

“Well, then you must be him.” He said it with such firm clarity that I knew he meant me. He knew Captain Pluto. Holding out a hand for me to shake, he gave me the smile he had been giving me, but I knew now that it wasn’t a smile built on vivacity but political in nature, a smile meant for closing deals and signing forms. “You may call me Mr. July,” he said as I shook his hand, the grip as firm as mine.

“Pluto,” I said, unsure of myself as the sunset transformed into night time, complete with a false moon shed its light on us in its odd glow, one I was unaccustomed to and didn’t find myself liking.

“Captain Pluto,” Mr. July said, adjusting his position so that he was even closer than he had been before, “you come at a most opportune time.”

“I don’t do charity work,” I said, hoping that he would just leave me alone. Or that Tom would show up sooner rather than later. I don’t scare easily, but this man…

“Right, well allow me to elaborate for you so that you can see what you would achieve in helping me. You are notorious, known across Mobius as the greatest of criminals.”

“A lie, Mr. July. I am no criminal, I am merely the opposition. Someone whose true desire is to take down this station and allow for humanity to propagate once more in a healthy, natural manner. Children shouldn’t starve and be far from their families. We shouldn’t fear for our lives.”

“And I agree heartily, Captain!” Mr. July shone his toothy grin to me, and my hand gripped the handle of my Hellwhip. “You see, it is the goal of the hegemony—of me, really—to unite all of Mobius under one rule. To bring us together in great harmony. Humans, I mean. We were sent here to prosper not merely to survive, and I have seen what you speak of. The great starvation, the horrendous conditions, the horrible experiments which have been run on humans here. Were history being kept, Mobius would be considered one of humanities greatest mistakes, if not the absolute worst mistake since the eating of the apple.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand your allusions. And I don’t care about what you have to say, Mr. July. I’m here to do as I please. I have no interest in your politics.”

Mr. July seemed to enjoy what I had said, as though I were playing things out as he had guessed things would go. “You made a big mistake not bringing your companions with you, Captain. Maybe if you had, your posturing might be going a different way.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re at a disadvantage,” he said, seeming to return himself to the political master he was. “I have an entire five strata worth of people behind me, and yet you stand here alone like some fabled cowboy.”

“Again with the allusions,” I said with a shake of my head. “Look, what are you asking me? Just come out and say it.”

Leaning forward, his breath seeping into my nose due to proximity, he whispered to me, “I need you to destroy the strata below us.”

My Hellwhip was in his face faster than I could think. It was naturally set to three, where I usually kept it at idle, and the barrel was planted so deep into Mr. July’s cheek the skin was bent underneath.

I didn’t expect any retaliation, however.

I didn’t expect a weapon of his own to be in my face.

A Hellwhip of his own.

“What!?” I yelled, and Mr. July held a finger to his lips, obviously enjoying my reaction.

“Not so special after all, are you, Captain?”

We both continued to press the weapons into each others faces, but I knew it was useless. I knew we were at a stalemate. This was the first time I had ever encountered a weapon of any similarity to the Hellwhip I carried. There were many pistols, rifles, guns of all shapes and sizes. Some held traditional ammunition, others used energy in a fashion not so different from the Hellwhip, but none were of the same ilk. None were like mine.

Except his.

It was obvious to me without needing a second glance. I had carried a Hellwhip for so long it was hard to imagine life without one. Seeing another was strange but easy to identify, with the extra long barrel for a pistol, the heavy dial on the side with a selector for one through six, and the hum, the everlasting vibration of its ceaseless energy creation was there, something I had never heard in any other weapon besides my own.

Without words, we simultaneously lowered the weapons, myself giving him an intense look of surprise and anger, he merely smiling at the punchline of his own joke.

“Do you like it?” he asked playfully. “I made it myself, you know. Long ago.”

“Impossible,” I said, my voice becoming someone else's as the emotions took over. “I found this on Stratum 56. That’s so far below, so early in the lifespan of Mobius that you couldn’t have possibly—”

Mr. July began laughing loudly then, and I stopped and asked him what was funny.

“What’s funny,” he said between laughs, “is that you’ve traveled so far and still don’t get it. You don’t know where you are, do you?”

I knew exactly where I was, but I decided to humor the man in front of me. I asked him where we were.

“We are near the very start of Mobius. You believe the first strata is 1, don’t you? What a fool. The very beginning of Mobius, the original space station, is not 1 but 1000. We are only five strata away from the origin of the grand, universal dilemma.”

My face was growing red with embarrassment and anger.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said more to myself than him. “That would mean that strata would eventually—”

“Go to the negatives?” he said more than asked, a curious shrug coming from the man. “No, of course not. Had you gone backwards instead of forwards, actually, you would have reached strata 1, a place that—so I’ve heard, at least—is a glorious hellscape meant only to create not only extremely experimental Nanos, ones who are more powerful and intricate in their design philosophy, but it is also a place where the great and powerful AI are made. It houses a great—”

My Hellwhip was back in his face, and he laughed at me as though it were a joke.

“Well, out with it,” I barked at him. “Tell me why you need the strata below destroyed. Tell me, dammit!”

“Take it easy,” he said with a grin. “I understand your anger. But it’s for the greater good, Pluto. If we remove everything beneath 995, burn the chaff as it were, then Mobius will be much easier to unite.”

“You idiot,” I said, the Hellwhip shaking despite my best efforts. “You think if we destroy all of that, burn away millions of lives, send a ridiculous amount of waste into the vacuum, that Mobius will not continue to run its programming, to rebuild below and start anew?”

Mr. July looked insane to me then, even more than before, his eyes glistening beneath the false moon above us. “Why Captain, I’m counting on exactly what you say to happen.”

It didn’t take me long to understand what he was getting at. I nearly pulled the trigger then but he winked at me and I saw that his own Hellwhip was aimed at my torso, the setting level four based on the hum I heard from it. Were he to shoot me at that level, at that proximity, the man known as Captain Pluto would never be again, for my CMP unit would be incinerated as well as every piece of flesh which made me.

“Come now, Captain, don’t be so foolish. I’m merely offering for you to join us, to be a part of the new world.”

“Fuck you,” I said in what was most certainly not my finest moment.

Without concern for himself, he pushed my Hellwhip aside and stood up, adjusting his long cloak as he did so. “Well, Captain, I don’t plan on killing you despite your apparent dislike for me. I was really hoping that we would get along better considering how similar we are. I mean, what body are you on now, your fifth?”

I blinked in surprise. Mr. July nodded.

“I thought so. I’m on my fourth, myself. Should be for quite some time too, because this one is damn handsome and extremely powerful. Might be the best one I’ve had yet, really.”

“You’re not human,” I said in anger, my voice shaking too much.

“Neither are you, Captain,” he said before lifting his Hellwhip, setting it quickly to level six, and shooting the ground below.

What happened next was difficult for me to comprehend. It took much time—almost the entire time I’ve known you, Dante—to really understand what had happened to me then.

Mr. July had decimated the strata below us. I know for a fact that a level six shot from a Hellwhip shouldn’t be able to destroy more than half of a strata, let alone hundreds, but he certainly made it seem like he did. Maybe there was more to it than the blast he shot off. I’m not sure. Either way, that was the false flag which got me arrested. Mr. July had called for the security Nanos moments later, and before I knew it I was being hauled off, the last thing I saw before falling unconscious being the cauterization of the gaping hole Mr. July had made while the flames seemed to rise around him. He wasn’t even looking at me, he just kept staring off into the flames.

Obviously everyone that followed me lived, but at the time I worried greatly that Cat, Tom, and my band of misfits had all succumbed to the pyre. Thankfully Poe had gotten through to Tom. Everyone had seen what had happened and they were able to make their escape before anything horrible happened, though I fear there were at least a few casualties in my band that day. Tom stayed with the group and did his best to keep everyone calm and ready to proceed forward, the new plan being to save my ass from being prosecuted for some crime I never committed. Cat did her best to pursue me and she did well, finding a way to pose as a nurse so that she could be near and ready for my escape.

As I sat there in my cell with my limbs bound and my body scorched, I noticed that being so near the blast from his Hellwhip had caused a lot of damage to my body. Too much. I began asking Poe for help, tried speaking with him at all, but for the first time in my long journey he was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had been killed in the line of duty somehow. I can’t really explain it. With all of the damage to my body, though, I knew that I needed a new one soon. A lot sooner than I had anticipated, as this one was still relatively new.

And that’s when you walked in, Dante.

Dante woke up in a cold sweat, gasping as if he had been drowning. His eyes were still messed up and he couldn’t see properly. His body was still in pain. The vision he had just seen had caused his mind great distress, too much for him to bear. He wanted to do something, anything to get the energy out of him.

Just sleep, Dante. Just sleep.

Those soothing words repeated endlessly until Dante finally fell back asleep, hoping for nothing more than to wake up in his bed back on 999, ready to record the latest information from a new subject.