Bleak Lands

1:15 am

We get the orders to track down a group of identified tox-humans spotted near Niemandsland. Spooks explained that this would normally be the recon division's job, but Glamis has allocated them elsewhere for...strategic reasons, so Renfield has permission to leave the Panopticon.

Though going by the way she cut the comms before we can ask any questions, I'm thinking there's a lot more she's not telling us.

My sensors read pitch black all around us. I've come to know this as the colour of below zero, boots squeaking against half-frozen snow, the colour of how-far-till-we-get-home. Sanctorium has cast all of its eternal night outside and left the Bleak Lands with too much darkness for both night and day.

Renfield scans the ground with his little geiger counter thing. It's outfitted to detect radiation from far underground in case we get ambushed by the blighters again. It steadily rises in pitch as we approach the dilapidated shell of a train station.

"Świnoujście." Renfield points at a rusted sign, "Used to be a tourist town. The radiation's probably leftover from a blighter nest they cleaned out last week."

Someone shovelled up a pile of snow to cover the black charcoal underneath.

Renfield loads his rifle, "They're here."

And here they are.

My sensors pick out that rhythmic thump of atrioventricular valves from the howling wind, and I hone in on the heartbeat in a, well, figurative heartbeat. Renfield aims his rifle where my laser light guides. Red light spills upon a gaunt face with sunken eyes.

The face of a young woman very quickly disappears into the stairwell leading up. There are more heartbeats up ahead, higher CO2 concentrations, the unmistakable click of a magazine being loaded.

"They're too close for direct combat." I warn.

"Who says I'm going to fight them?"

He sets down a little green plastic box propped up on a tripod, one side of it says "FRONT FACE ENEMY".

Click.

Gaunt hands follow the gaunt face into dim flashlight, white-knuckled around an old pistol. Her hands are shaking, she's holding it wrong - her thumb is on the slide, her aim wavers between me and Renfield.

"Go away." The wind carries her trembling whisper.

More faces float into the illuminated circle from behind her, all pale, all indiscernible with hollow eyes like paper masks: an elderly couple, a small child clinging to their sleeves with frost on his eyelashes.

> Feature recognition: on. Standby for scan...

> Scan unsuccessful.

None of their eyes contain irises, nothing for my eye-tracking programs to latch onto except sclera black like the ink in the sky. It hurts to look at them - that familiar noisy static is back in my brain, same as when I tried to scan the tox storm itself. It's mercifully more subdued this time, but the glitches at the edge of my vision are unmistakable.

> Interference 23%...

"Go away!" The girl cries.

Renfield already has his rifle trained on her from the beginning, he was trying to bait her out from the stairwell with the claymore (or at least that's what I figured). He levels his Hailstone M89 at my guiding laser right between her eyes.

If it comes to a shootout, he'd probably win.

Like voices trickling out of an ancient radio, I can feel their minds scratching at my psych-cores. Memories. Words. A glimpse of home. It's a quiet electrostatic sieve that leaks out bursts of neurosynaptic activities, mimics thoughts, simulates sensations.

"All you people do is kill. One day it'll be your turn. I hope it's your turn soon."

It only now registers that the girl only has two of her eyes open. Black mist spills from her face and six more eyeballs pop out, then I'm staring at a visage with a flower of eight black abysses.

They all look so sad. More eyes, more tears.

> Warning: heart rate irregularity detected

He's not pulling the trigger. He's not even breathing. The air catches in his throat and he nearly drops the rifle. There's the beginning of a scream that tampers down to a horrified whisper.

“Bože pomozi...Ne…pa ovo nije moguće. Ne, ne, ne...!"

The air rattles out of his lungs. His aim is wavering, one hand digging into his gas mask with so much force that I thought he'd break the glass. There's something in his head he can't quite get out - I think about the zmeya, how it coils into a noose for a slow kill.

His exhale reminds me of the tox storm against metal doors. It's a mix of suffocating pain and something so dark my psych-cores don't have a word for it.

> Executing: sŭ̶͙br̷̥̐ou̸̻̎t̵î̷̥n̵ḛ̴̅_̷̲́anxiety.e̷͎̐xe̵

There's no way he'll hit anything at point blank range with how hard he's shaking. I can't let him accidentally hurt himself. I have to get him to focus on me, I have to help him-

I don't even make it two steps before he grabs my head and flings me away.

> Interference 25%...

> Executing: sŭ̶͙br̷̥̐ou̸̻̎t̵î̷̥n̵ḛ̴̅_̷̲́despair.e̷͎̐xe̵

The girl raises her gun at him as he staggers closer to her, the tears streaking down her face slowly start to freeze.

“ A ti si Duh, zar ne...? Koji me kurac slijediš? Hoćeš li me proganjati? Želiš li me mučiti…ubiti?"

Renfield's not bothering with English, whatever he's trying to talk to in his head can't be from Sanctorium. He tries to reach out to her like he's made of snow and she's a burning pyre but he's so horribly cold he doesn't care if he melts. He's reaching for something beyond her - a delusion, a nightmare, maybe a memory. My voice scatters to the wind, dissipating before it reaches him.

"...Roko?"

The girl screams. She backs off and instinctively fires off two rounds. On the second shot the recoil hits her so hard the gun clatters to the floor. Renfield stumbles back with a muffled curse, one hand over his midsection where he'd been hit.

They all flee into the darkness before he could retaliate. She leaves last as the wind eats whatever she tries to say. She doesn't turn to look at the man still stumbling towards her, still wheezing incomprehensible things. The door slams shut with a heavy groan.

And we're left with each other.

1:23 am

"Renfield?"

He doesn't answer at first. I help prop him against a mildewed wall, but he's hissing in pain and cursing me out in many unfamiliar words. A gloved hand weakly swats at my noggin, but only succeeds in leaving a shiny, sticky trail of blood.

"Odlazi-" I hear him mumble, "-stupid, stubborn girl. Leave me alone..."

"You know I can't."

He grunts, "Then be quiet."

I try to peel off his Thermatek coat that's already congealed to skin, then give up after he feebly pushes me away.

From somewhere deep down in my programming blooms a loathing for the repetition: everything is the exact same as it was - him slowly dying, me staying by his side for until his heart gives out, the despair subroutine. Still, I don't ask him what happened back there. If Renfield wants to talk, he can do so on his own time.

He's shivering. Can't tell if it's from the cold, the adrenaline, or the delirium brought on by both.

Finally he speaks. "Sorry."

"What for?"

A slight twitch of his hand held over the wound, a vague gesture for "everything".

"There is no blame in this." I let him slump against my overheating psych-cores, hoping it could provide some warmth.

"You...you gonna make it back to the vivarium ok?"

"My nav-programs will suffice."

That seems to put him at ease. A moment later he starts again, "About what I said back there..."

"You don't have to worry - I didn't understand a thing."

"That's not it." Renfield sounds irritated with himself, despite the blood loss, "I fucked up on the job, I have to...have to - before TRISS resets my memories, I remember now - did I tell you? Husks don't get to keep their memories. TRISS wants a clean slate for her soldiers..."

He suddenly lurches forward and grabs my shoulders, the void of his gas mask filling my vision.

"I remember now...I was scared because I remembered something. A building just like this one...maybe darker, it was in Niemandsland, she was there..."

Despite my protests, Renfield wobbles to his feet and pushes me out of the derelict station building. I try to ignore the sound of blood hitting the floorboards as he walks.

"Go now," He leans against the door frame for support, "I have a lot to remember...a lot to think. Go back to Sanctorium, I'll be there."

Then the doors slam shut in my face. But I don't leave. I slide down the wall to sit with my knee tucked into my chest, the way I always sit when I'm waiting for time to trickle out of my hands. I wait until I can no longer hear his breathing and muttering on the other side of the door, then slowly make my way back to the Panopticon.