Fauni had returned from the Lunar Colony some weeks ago and was now seated quietly on an antique armchair in her dining room, one of many historical artifacts passed down through generations of her lineage. Spiralling valleys were etched into its glazed redwood surface and near the boundaries of the chair’s back, light burst through carved, petal shaped holes. Polished pearls were fixed on the arms and wrapped around bright red cushions, the wooden feet were shaped like the paws of a tiger and tightly clutching spherical rubies. A long, rectangular wooden table stretched across the room, on one side of which were various portraits spread across the wall like unevenly sized tiles, centered around the most coveted of the collection, an ancient protoman piece titled, The Adoration of the Magi. On the opposite side of the king’s table was a great palladian window, which opened to an expanse of ocean behind a foreground of gradually descending knolls. The hills seemed like distorted, titled half cylinders placed side by side, the creases between them formed by the patient erosion of streams that slithered past oak trees, congregated like picnickers on a grassy lawn.

Immediately in front of the window was an outdoor pool, partly shaded by Roman columns, arcs, marble pavilions, granite statues, gazebos and other structures. Marble, baby angels with flutes and harps, were scattered among naked women in repose postures, laying on their sides and gazing with still, unflinching eyes at the ocean beyond. The turquoise, zellige tiles of the pool’s floor formed mesmerizing spiral patterns over a golden dragon among clouds and blue patches of sky, the entire scene reflected on the calm surface of the water. The dragon protruded from the center of the pool, extending upwards in a form of a bent helix Golden plated scales and wings of the creature covered its corpse and long talons and whiskers protruded from its its limbs and snout.

For as long as she knew, her descendants had lived in the great Kearst Castle, the dining room she now occupied one of many rooms in the castle, which was many centuries ago owned by a Bess Zezos, the proprietor of a business empire born of a monopoly on early virtual reverie technology. In the aftermath of the great wars, Zezos purchased a diverse array of art and historical treasures from the government of the enlightened, who desperately needed funds to finance the great rebuilding taking place at the time. His economic might and products spread like fire in that dismal, distant world and he eventually constructed the great Kearst Castle, filling it with his ancient relics and priceless paintings.

In comparison to the average consumer, L. Fauni lives quite a modest life, imbibing digestant and falling into long, drawn out simulations only among company. She was quite content by the sober simplicity of everyday existence and unaltered reality and had a respect for the simple pleasures in life, those organic, pure experiences like listening to the humming of birds or the flow of a stream, the beautiful sound of music or the profound movement of poetry. She existed in a subtle balance with the many forces around her, existing in perfect harmony with internal display and outer world. Morally, she was perfectly conformed to the values of consumer society--- harboring no feeling of humanity or goodwill to the subterraneans and convinced of the superiority of the consumer race.

After the disappearance of Roask, her peaceful life had been upended. What started as a mild curiosity about the man had gradually grown, and, now that he was nowhere to be seen, it had become an obsession. He was the only one in her immediate circle that had sparked her interest, his unique character and propensities differentiating him from Sigun and a host of many other suitors. A desire to uncover the mysterious circumstances surrounding his disappearance only furthered her infatuation. For those around her, his sudden absence was attributed to happenstance, various rumors circulated temporarily until no one ever second guessed his situation and he was forgotten. But, L. Fauni could not accept losing him and began her own personal investigation, using her position of social standing and power to get the answers she desired. After trying to extract information from Sigun, who, being jealous and disdainful by her fixation, failed to be of any use, she combed through other elite consumers and was eventually put into contact with a certain Tanaka, his persona shrouded in mystery. She pulled a cigarette from a silver case on an old side table, lit it and took a puff, all while the fingers of her left hand tapped at regular intervals. The smoke slowly billowed through the room and entered a sort of mesh, matrix grid formed by the interplay of the wooden beams fixed on the window and the rays of light which cast inside the hall.

She was waiting anxiously for the arrival of a transport drone that would take her to the residence of Tanaka, apparently the only man with knowledge of the whereabouts and fate of Roask. She only realized the full extent of her feelings for him after he had disappeared. She took a last puff from her cigarette and extinguished it, returning her gaze to the ocean. Gold light sparkled over its deep blue surface which shifted to a snowy white near the shore from the violent breaking of waves. The cyclic ebb and flow of the water, sprinting over the sand before retreating, instilled a meditative hypnosis in L. Fauni, the majesty, reverie and wonder of the scene to entirely profound as to be attributed to nothing less than the divine.

The dohaidens finished their collaborative activity and split off, darting through the fields like young lambs skipping and jumping in glee. Heavy emotion set in over Roask. Though intrigued by the kind beings and their world, he again felt the all too usual struggle of existing as an outsider, a member of a species of which only one organism existed. Of course, the beings seemed to embrace differences of all kinds, celebrating their diverse forms and biology as a matter of pride. As he further explored his feelings, he realized what he really desired was love, an intimate, deep, union, something timeless and pure, with no boundaries or limitations, something that could grow, endlessly bloom. Union was his ultimate desire, and the only piece he felt was missing was his love. Roask jolted as a Dohaiden seated in the grass next to him burst out in verses of poetry

Through my eyes

Take a view

Death is all we know

Is true

Roask peered at the cross legged Dohaiden to his left. Light red, curly hair wrapped around his ears and formed spirals that seemed like hundreds of long, thin springs. “How are you getting along so far? It took me a while to feel like I was at home and get accustomed to everything. Please call me Jinns.” The man bowed and stretched out his hand, which Roask embraced. “As you may have already heard, all of us here were former consumers, but, those that entered the colony centuries ago reproduced and formed their own, unique culture. They are quite regimented and live according to strict schedules. Bathing in the natural springs every morning before working on various projects in circles scattered across the field. They then go off at around noon to explore and work on creative, independent pieces or simply lounge around. Poetry and rhyme is quite an important aspect of life among us, it holds almost a religious significance.” Jinns had deep blue eyes and was roughly Roask’s height but with a smaller frame. He had the appearance of the fabled, classical musician of ancient man.

A tie dye undershirt was partly covered by a torn up black leather jacket. A white bandana with black characters that wrapped around his forehead kept his long hair from out of his face and eyes and extended far beyond his shoulders. Old, rough bell bottom blue plants covered a pair of moccasin-like shoes he wore. He had a gentle, calm face with high cheekbones that towered over a red beard from which braided locks extended.

“Interesting clothes, right? I made them this morning from a cloth and garment generator. Historical data can be imported and the sewing machine recreates traditional clothing of the era. Apparently this was a common choice for those that lived in “The Sixties”. How times change...” Roask realized he was staring at Jinns clothing and turned his gaze away. “How long have you been here?” Roask asked. “I first arrived around twenty years ago. I was picked up for consumption of “forbidden” materials. Old historical treatises, underground books, stuff that you can only find if you know where to look in the internal databases. I was deemed an outlier as a result, apparently. Anyway, I couldn’t imagine living another moment over there… My only regret is that I didn’t get out sooner. Never looked back, the place was a hell hole. It was like being the only human among machines. Of course, I still have some pleasant memories...”

“Let’s take a walk, I want to show you something.” Jinns began marching through the open field and unabashedly placed his arm around Roask’s shoulder, embracing him warmly. “I am glad you are with us, we all are…”. The Dohaidens were scattered around, some airborne and engaging in aerial acrobatics, diving from the hovering, agricultural slabs of land while others darted about underwater in the scattered lakes, often breaking through the surface like dolphins or whales. Run with me, Jinns said, as he began a fast sprint through the golden white field of grasses and organic wheat, the individual blades swaying in the breeze while the field undulated like saharan dunes. A smile broke across his face and the air picked up his dancing curls, jolting up and down at the end and beginning of each small leap. Bursts of joy and exhilaration coursed through Roak’s veins and all time seemed to come to an end. Tears began flowing, the emotional intensity of the event too strong for the man to hold inside. He felt like a child once more, enjoying pure, uncorrupted life.

At that moment Roask lost himself, free of thought and any measure of self awareness. Lost in the air rushing past his ears, in the thousands of stalks of grass that rushed beneath him, and in the mountains that towered over him like ancient, bygone kings, the pair continued running, covering the great, wide fields before the grass beneath gave way to sparse and soon dense patches of redwoods. Eventually they came to a halt and Roask felt the calming, stimulating endorphins enter his blood, a calming and healing. In the absence of thought he became engrossed in perception and observation so intimate he was temporarily united with what seemed a higher being, a divinity. Thick trunks of the trees and leaves of ferns surrounded the pair, and Jinns seemed to be in deep concentration as he stepped over the soft mosses and other flowers that grew over the soft, black brown humus. “Ah, there!”, Jinns said, pointing to a rotting trunk propped up by the branches of a neighbouring tree, making a roughly 45 degree angle with the ground below.

As they approached the fallen tree an opening in the ground appeared like the gaping mouth of Moby Dick. At first it seemed to be simply a big hole until Roask approached it’s edge, where a number of jagged, stone walls could be seen descending at a roughly 45 degree angle until pitch black dominated. “I was wandering alone and I found this place the other day. I couldn’t bring myself to explore it alone, however. I’m quite a wuss really. What do you think?” Staring into the abyss Roask had a flashback of the subterranean family he had visited so long ago, the sickly boy and his overworked father in that small, underground cellar. He saw the pain in the boy’s eyes, pleading silently. The vile sewer like conduits, the faces of the poor, wretched subterraneans, shifting past one another, entirely oblivious of their downtrodden, enslaved, brainwashed state. Shame and guilt set in as he pictured the boy after the consumer society came to halt, the nutrient gruel and liquid failing to fall from those old, rusty pipes for the last time.

A mood of curiosity, wonder, and joyful youth gave way to despair as the boy’s eyes flashed through Roask’s mind. “It’s quite interesting. I have heard that thousands of years ago our ancient ancestors lived in these structures…”, Roask forced himself back into the present moment, beholding the numerous boulders and stones that surrounded the mouth of the cave. Jinns began descending, carefully navigating the boulders an uneven ground. “Free shelter, wise of them to use it I say.” As they continued further down, the light from the mouth of the cave became more dim, and as Roask peered back, a great hole of light appeared along with the rocky outcrop it exposed. “I came prepared this time”, said Jinns, grinning as he pulled a couple light sticks, tossing one to Roask, before bring out a canteen of light gel, which he scattered on the cave’s wall, the viscous, syrup-like neon blue substance lighting bright like a bulb as it began slowly dripping. As they continued descending down the cave Roask became uneasy and looked back, the gaping hole of the entrance now appearing roughly the size of an apple.

Jinns brought out the capsule of liquid gel and scattered it around, casting light on multiple pairs of towering stalagmites and stalactites rising from pools of water, slightly bent and contorted like the nimble fingers of witches. The mound shaped structures spread across a wide chamber, further mysersty hidden in darkness. A consistent dripping noise sounded, amplified by the acoustic effects of the hollow chamber and seeming to echo or ring in the air for a longer than usual duration. Roask twitched his eyes instinctively, hoping to get a description of the structures before quickly realizing he no longer possessed his internal systems. “I was researching these structures in a book. They are usually formed by water flowing down from the overlying Earth in a complex process of deposition. The precipitate from the water forms these beautiful structures over thousands of years. Quite astounding when you think about it…”.

Abbad marched through the forest with a battalion of Sitmians and other liberated subterraneans. The musky, tropical air carried a constant buzz of cicadas, birds, monkeys, and all sorts of other creatures, a sound of boundless savagery and incomprehensible complexity. Abbad slapped the back of his sweaty neck, squashing a mosquito as he continued to march, scanning the horizon while tightly gripping his gravitator rifle. Though in the midst of a war with his old overseers, the consumers, liberation from his internal display, audio pangs, a cruel diet of nutrient was more than enough reason for Abbad and his fellows to embrace the Sitmians and find a renewed gratitude for existence. All he had known before his deployment to Sitmia was CY6, that terrible, nauseating disease coupled with that cold, prison like cellar and the countless hours spent mentally abused by that wired, electronic grid within, and, compared to that hell of an existence anything was acceptable. Together with the fact that he was battling his old masters, life was paramount to the extraction of sweet vengeance.

The Sitmian troops had continued their usual duties. Barraging mines and other consumer outposts, capturing and taming subterraneans, engaging fighter drones and other assailants. Since the nuclear detonation on a crucial Sitmian city and military outpost, security and surveillance had become more tight. Mandatory X-Ray screenings to spot any doubles occurred every night, new communication protocols were instituted, and measures to detect micro, bug sized consumer recorders were carried out using advanced signal detection and magnetron technology.

The team was headed to what was reported as the landing site of a consumer spider ship that had buried itself underground, likely a deploying troops, or at the least giving hints of their whereabouts. The team was a few hours away from the coordinates and the day was beginning to fade, the life in the air losing its fiery, excited youth and moving towards a tempered, cool maturity. Maryee, the commander of the battalion, lead the group like the leading goose during a migration, located at the head of a marching “V” shape. Each soldier was assigned a general direction to constantly scan such that their entire 360 degree surroundings were constantly monitored in depth. Overhead a number of black vultures circled, like witches clad in tattered robes, travelling slowly along long arcs, fastidiously studying the dense landscape below. Hours passed.

Maryee signalled and the party entered a prone position, patiently awaiting orders. Ahead a large circular patch of cleared land appeared, proof that a spider ship lay beneath. The ships buried themselves underground in an effort to make their detection from above and destruction virtually impossible. In the middle of Sitmian territory, they would also be able to target positions for bombing at the blink of an eye, without the need for deployment from the consumer mainland or other fortified positions. Maryee signalled the group to proceed to the cleared patch of land slowly. He had thick, black dreadlocks and a dark complexion, quite skinny but incredibly agile. He wore a special suit that allowed him to survive in any range of temperatures or weather conditions--- under the ocean, in an active fire, or through dense clouds of smoke. It was pitch black, with shining, metal bands around his torso, neck, and ankles.

The group approached the clear patch of land and began studying it for footprints and other signs of activity as Maryee deployed a scout which began scanning the area for any drone activity or other anomalies. Abbad spotted what appeared to be some kind of hoof pressed into the dirt, roughly the size of a man’s head. Other members of the battalion spotted the mysterious tracks as well, which seemed to enter the surrounding forest individually instead of as a pack. Abbad followed the track, and, after leaving the easily imprintable, loose earth, like that formed by a mole or gopher, the tracks became almost impossible to distinguish among the thick leaves, plants and dying light of dusk.

A scream pierced the air and Abbad turned to its source and raised his rifle, distinguishing what seemed like a galloping phantom rushing through the trees. The party discharged their beam rifles at the menace which was fast disappearing into the thick brush, but not a single shot was landed. Against fighter drones, the energy beam would automatically target anything metallic, signifying the being, whatever it may be, was made up of organic material. “Maintain concentration on your assigned dire…”, Maryee began, before another creature appeared out of the dark brush and, with a long, trunk-like appendage, struck his upper torso, disemboweling him.

Soon a total chaos set in with many of the elephant, horse like creatures darting in from the thick jungle and quickly assaulting the Sitmians one by one. The forces were taken by total surprise, barraged like sitting ducks, they had never before experienced such a surprise attack. In the midst of the frenzy, the screaming, the sounds of flesh being struck and bones crushed, of feet crashing into the earth and the piercing, thunder like eruptions of beam rifles, Abbad had a vision of Han Giru, his peaceful empathetic eyes looking down at the boy as he did in his sickest of days, holding him gently in an silent embrace that expressed what words were not capable. Time froze until, out of the pitch black a giant eye surrounded by a black and white striped face flashed in front of Abbad before a heavy, muscular hind leg clobbered him over the head. Darkness.

An acute headache woke Abbad the next day. The pain came in waves and there was a sensation of immense pressure behind his forehead, as if his brain was trying to expand against the thick, stone-like bone of his skull. The pain spiked as he tried to lift himself up from the dirt, instinctively he grasped his forehead and felt an extremely sensitive large, swollen abscess, covered with dried blood. He had no conception of where he was, and as he looked above at the twigs, branches, and leaves, they came in and out of focus, at one moment distorted, as if behind a mirage and at the next perfectly clear. His throat was extremely parched and as he forced himself up, he staggered, grasping a nearby trunk for balance.

Pulling out his canteen, he chugged the water, not stopping to breath until the whole container was dropless. He noticed dozens of corpses strewn, lifeless and in varying conditions, some relatively intact and others mangled and disfigured. Abbad had no idea how long he had been out, and, upon becoming aware of a strange odor that hung in the air, that unique stench that marks the beginning of the decomposition of flesh, he vomited, instantly collapsing again to his knees. Who were these men, where was he… vertigo and nausea overtook him and again, darkness.

Again Abbad woke, this time the intensity of the headache had slightly receded and he had a better command of his body, his balance partly restored. The memories of the attack and the previous weeks began returning in chunks, like splices from a film, rearranged in an order that rendered their comprehension futile. Marching, days of marching, Maryee and his comrades, and those, those creatures… Quickly he got up and grasped his beam rifle, rushing to check each of his companion’s status’. The mild stench of their corpses became unbearable, and he quickly stripped them of any supplies he needed, a full canteen, a communication tablet, condensed food packets. He needed to report to high command as soon as possible but could only do so using Maryee’s communication tablet. He hurried over to the dead general and reached into his pocket, pulling out the communication tablet and navigating the device to report the incident.

Only an automated response --- Multiple barrages reported. All surviving raiding parties report to the following evac points. Make Haste. A list of Sitmian sectors and associated evac points were listed, and Abbad quickly headed off to the designated coordinates of his sector.