Grey Hat

by Journeyman

Chapter 4: We Who Have Touched the Sun

Chapter 4: We Who Have Touched the Sun

The door opened with a smooth pneumatic hiss. The humanoid figure was garbed head to toe in a cloak made of an almost luminescent material that glimmered as ceiling plasma coils shined light across the surface. Topped off with boots, gloves, and a gas mask, the entirety of the body was shielded from prying eyes. The blank, featureless corridors were empty of personnel anyway. All the better.

The figure walked with steady purpose, only stopping to flash a keycard at the occasional door. Soon he came across the one bulkhead door that would not open to the magic touch. No doubt several inches thick and enough relockers to make the door impassable to tampering, it was overkill for even the wiliest thief or criminal. For a moment the figure stopped as if contemplative. Soon enough a singular muffled chuckle, male and musically airy, came out behind the mask.

He had a reputation for getting where he wanted.

One impossible vault-like door later and he was on the other side. It looked like an animal habitat that had only just survived the bad end of a vicious storm, both the upper and lower tiers. The sheer breadth of the habitat was enough for even the largest animals and every inch of it was tattered to some degree. The steel walls, some painted with murals of edenic prairies and sunsets, were smashed in and bent. Some were caked with mud; what would have been some rather lush grass covering the lower tier of the habitat was ripped up and destroyed. Indeed a vault door, not unlike the one he had just circumnavigated, lay battered and broken on the floor, far too heavy to be moved just yet. The room’s singular sycamore tree, a stout thing wider than any man, lay shattered to splinters across most of the lower tier

He walked up the steps leading toward the upper tier. Reserved for more relaxation and sleep rather than play, it was at least a little less defiled, but still suffered from the storm’s angry tantrum. Here the lights were either flickering or dead. The secure steel frames that prevented them from being tampered with were all broken or destroyed. Disturbingly, the light near the back of the upper tier was speared with a chunk of the tree longer than he was tall.

A form clung to that darkness, breathing thready but clearly in no danger. It stirred as he neared. It was larger than a full-grown human by a long stretch, but still it curled into a ball, either ignoring or oblivious to the world around it. The creature did not respond with anything other than to shrink away from him. “I have that effect on people. I wanted to see you,” he said. His voice now out in the open, it contrasted quite heavily with his menacing garb.

Whatever had been the state of the creature’s habitat was mostly indistinguishable. Now it had just the shadows and a few scraps of steel surrounding a bed of leaves and flattened grass clumps ripped up from the lower tier. He stopped just short of the beast.

“Not supposed to be here...”

The voice, small and plaintive, held the tenor of a tired child. It was looking at him, that he knew. Whatever it was, speech seemed difficult for it for it took its time to enunciate every word as if unsure of its own voice.

“I go where I am needed.”

“...I don’t know you...” the creature trailed off slowly. Something fluttered and thumped in the darkness. Had he finally gotten its attention? “Not like the others. Your smell is wrong.”

“I came to see what all the fuss was about. I’m not one of them, but they asked me to... keep the peace.”

He waited for it to respond but the creature’s eyes were merely on him, waiting for further stimulus. Its eyes shined from the dark, glowing slightly and clearly inhuman.

“Let me tell you the story of a child named—”

“No.” It was the first clear sign of communication that didn’t carry the unsure drowsiness the clung to the beast’s voice. It curled back in on itself, a clear sign of dismissal. “Just let me sleep...”

Despite the command, he stood still as the beast returned to a fitful slumber. He watched her as it slept. Be it the apparent failure of whatever mission he had, or the refusal to push the issue any further, he turned on his heels and walked towards the impassable door.

The corridors were still barren and empty at his passing. That was good; he liked the quiet. There was something inherently pleasing about silence. There was the chance to ponder oneself, to think on the past or the possibility of events yet to come. The hum of electricity and the dull pulse of strange machinery buzzed softly through the air. It was a dreadfully unpleasant sound to his ears.

As he turned one of the many corners on is wandering the first real sign of life other than his targets. He walked in front of the first terminal he had seen on that floor. The camera placed above the terminal to identify users made a click audible to his ears. He stopped dead and eyed the camera, curious what the user on the other end would would do. He’d know in time if they’d want to stop his wanderings, but for now he couldn’t help but smile ruefully under his gas mask.

He continued his trek. For once he took the time to examine his surroundings in a little more detail. The plasma coils above him gave the current corridor more than enough light for him, not that he needed it. Still, he prefered the habitat more than his current location; it still felt more pure and lively. The walls were little more than a boring topsail hue that were undoubtedly supposed to be a mass produced calming color.

As he came to a T intersection he encountered a yellow stripe branded with the words “EXIT” in black bold case. For the briefest moment he turned right towards the building’s exit only to stop himself. He couldn’t explain it, but his feet rebelled and led him in the opposite direction.

After a few minutes in more plain walkways, he finally met the second sign of life. He didn’t bother to glance at the nametag across the man’s chest. He bore a white lab coat which exuded the heavy, heady scent of industrial cleaners. For the moment the man in the lab coat did not see his temporary companion as he was engrossed in the paperwork he juggled in his grip. His polished black work shoes scuffed the glossy floor with every other step, but he on the other hand was utterly silent. The cloaked man gripped his left forearm gently. Something clicked silently and the man kept going. The worker didn’t even turn to look at him as he quietly passed, exercising only a second’s curiosity to see what was so important in the man’s bountiful armful.

Thoughts were thoughts, anyway. As dangerous as a single seed might be, there wasn’t a thought that could grow cancerous just yet. No, that had already happened. That pitiful sleeping wretch was a testament to that.

His path led him to another wing of the building that was considerably more relaxed than before. Now the occasional painting or withered plastic plant decorated the intermittent spaces. The area near the habitat was devoid of most signs of life, but now he strolled past offices by the dozens. Research rooms, document storage, lecture halls, live testing; even now the sounds of life came to him behind closed doors. No faces came to mind, only a bland void of jumbled noise. Researchers, teachers, engineers, or whatever they were, he didn’t care; each face was a grey mask of nothing.

The sounds of the endless gears of labor soon too faded as he stopped in front of another impossible door. Only... this one was open. He looked to the side, curious as to where wanton whims led him.

PROMETHEUS SUBJECT 107

LEVEL TWO ACCESS REQUIRED

What was the designation for the sleeper? Three, was it not?

Again he stepped away to leave before he stopped himself. Open?

His task was already complete. He wanted to see the sleeper. It... didn’t disappoint. There was a beauty in that smashed place, more radiant and divine than these workers would ever know. But...

He couldn’t stop himself. He walked through the open door.

It wasn’t much different than other research rooms. It was pleasantly large and spacious, the center dominated mostly by a table for project research or three dimensional imaging. Towards the left was a large array of terminals, all currently in sleep mode, while the other half was document storage. Neither interested him. Something... tugged at his mind, a curiosity rearing from some dark depth. Not that it wasn’t too hard to get his attention anyway.

On the far end of the room was another impassable bulkhead door meant to seal itself permanently in case of intruders. It, too, was open. This wasn’t a simple whim anymore.

It was rude to decline an invitation.

For a moment he thought about rifling through the documentation to see what was on the other side of the door. He wasn’t allowed to, not that something like mere objection would stop him, but manners were still manners. Thoughts, however in good faith they were made, were still tainted with opinions he wasn’t interested in. He wanted something more base, more pure and direct.

He leaned against a cabinet built directly into the wall and slid down the smooth metal surface. He lifted a hand up and knocked against its surface thrice.

“Hello?” Her voice was smooth and melodic to his ears and he couldn’t help but adjust himself to capture every fibrant ditty. She sounded young. Far too young to be in a place like this. “Who is that?”

He didn’t answer and instead chose to wait and see what she would do. He could hear soft movement; she must have been light-footed to make as little noise as she did. A child?

“Can I see you?”

Not yet, he thought.

“Oh, fine then. I do wish I’d get to see a pretty face every now and then when it’s more than just a convenience. I don’t get too many visitors. It’s so dreadfully boring here. My last guest even had the courtesy of leaving the door open for you, the little brainless ninny.”

A smile tugged at his lips. This one had charm.

“Going to leave me talking to an empty room now? It’s not nice to do that. If you’re just a little flick of wind blowing things around in there, you the stupidest, most annoying, most boring little whim of imagination to have ever existed... but it’s not like I have much else to do than talk to the little voices in my head. Wanna hear a story?”

He folded his hands patiently.

“Good. I’m going to tell you the story of a man who had it all. A wicked little man who thought his wicked little ways was all he needed for happiness. He grew up as he did, blind to the troubles around him. At his king’s command, he developed a sickness to poison the land and all of the king’s enemies, and the sick little man did so at the behest of his liege.

“The plague did its job and sickened the land; only those loyal to the king were spared. Wealth and fame were already heaped at his feet, but the science... the science was his love, his art. It consumed his mind and to him it was more real than any other. It was true, and it was absolute. The law of nature never lied.

“So he was utterly astonished to find out that one not loyal to the throne survive the plague. She was a little girl who was, be it by fate or chance, had resisted to the poison in her veins. He took her in to study her, to find the one fatal flaw in his masterful design. Why had she not died? What was so special about her that gave her the strength to resist perfection, the disease he had engineered to perfection? And so he brought her into the fold in secret, frightened what others would think of his perceived failure.

“That was until one day the spymaster found the little girl in the doctor’s study, reading. The doctor gave every excuse he could find to placate the spymaster. What he had failed to understand was the poison working its way through his very own heart the moment he spirited away the little one. He had cared for her ever since. He helped raise her. He fed her and clothed her. Twas a different beast, but a poison nonetheless: compassion. Despite the reason he had brought her into his life, he had come to care for the little one and worried for her safety. What would the spymaster do to her if they were separated due to something as insignificant as her heritage?

“But the spymaster was of another breed entirely. Unlike pureblood childe, the spymaster was a street rat that grew up in the slums in one of the outer territories. There was nothing special about him whatsoever, until chance swooped in and changed his fate. The king had a program in place for quite some time to help keep their soldier numbers up: draft those that have displayed characteristics of strength, cunning, and survival. Born on the streets, the spymaster had smarts that helped him outwit others, and this was something that was coveted by the military. But you do not give power to a man who values only himself and his survival.”

Strangely enough the man found himself with an ear towards the doorway with rapt fascination. She seemed content to recall her dark musings and continued with eagerness. “He didn’t turn in the scientist because he knew he had leverage over a noble. The situation amused him and on a whim he spared the man from... a rather unpleasant end. Right or wrong in his country’s eyes did not mean anything, only what could be gained. He bore the court of nobles and jesters no love, after all; it was merely the whim of the battlemaster than he had his position at all. A position, or death.

“The child had softened the scientist’s heart. With time her innocence even turned him against the kingdom from which he had hailed. The spymaster even joined them, all in the name of amusing himself. Together the three of them joined the resistance to topple the evil king. With a man of noble birth, and the spymaster’s sheer volume of knowledge, that alone was priceless. You can’t kill a many-headed hydra with nothing but strength of arms... no, no they couldn’t do that so easily. It has to be cut to pieces, to have every little bit of it stripped away and the ashes burned before everything can start anew. Little by little, they undermined the evil king and all he fought so hard to build. To the capital city they marched. Pass the walls. Into the palace. The spymaster turned away to face his teacher. The scientist turned to face the battlemaster. Everything would be decided quickly, and all was held on the edge of a knife...”

She trailed off as any noble bard would do. Here many often did so near the climax of the tale in an effort to uplift the crowd into demanded an ending. She took a deep breath and finished her tale.

“This story doesn’t have an ending.”

Oh? And just when it was getting to the good part. He shook his head, disappointed that he’d gotten more invested than he had thought.

“But I do have something in mind. Do you want to hear it?”

It wasn’t boredom that made him wander. It wasn’t even any true desire to upset the status quo and meddle in affairs that weren’t his own. Watching. Watching was important, watching and waiting just to see how the path would unfold around him. No, not around him, in front of him. Always an outsider, he was.

“I do not wish for stories to end.”

The girl was silent at his reply for the longest time. Time was something both had in abundance. There he sat listless to the world, and she undoubtedly inside a gilded cage.

“All stories gotta end, sugar. Keep on going long enough and everyone dies. Or to just let them sit there, forever unfinished... it’s like all the love you pour into them was just a convenient way to entertain yourself. To let let them go on forever’s just as cruel.”

He clicked his wrist once again and stood. As he breached the open door’s divide he saw her and all her radiance. The glass was no doubt reinforced to give even him a worthy challenge, but still she sat next to it with sweet little eyes and a gentle smile. She didn’t so much as flinch as he silently glided towards her and for that he admired her.

So bright and eager she was. That smile was an infection consuming her face. He put a gloved hand to the glass and softly stroked where her cheek would be had it not stopped at a cruel cold divide. She even pressed her face against the glass as if delighting at the contact and a soft coo escaped her lips.

“You have your mother’s eyes.”

The briefest flicker of surprise crossed her face before she met his faceless gaze. “They don’t talk about her.”

He said nothing. She was trying to prompt him into explaining himself, but that path was dangerously loaded. Nevertheless she seemed to detect the silent refusal.

“They see as as monsters. No matter the smiles and friends, the jokes and the pranks, I can feel it. They hate us. They’re afraid of us.”

Her eyes flashed in a way that reflect an inferno hiding deep within. She was alone in the room, forced to contend with the thoughts of a dreamer and the madness of the world. To not have gone mad in the meanwhile was nothing short of remarkable.

He reached to the base of his throat on both sides of his head. She eyed him curiously, no doubt wondering what this strange person in her abode was up to. There was a slight trick to it but he deliberately went slow in order to not startle the girl in any respect. There was an audible click and a hiss from his mask that made her flinch and the slack around his mask loosened.

“The world has become much more complicated, little one,” he said slowly. He often didn’t listen to himself speak for he knew what he wanted to say long in advance. Now... he just sounded tired. “What these ponies will do... What you will do, that affects them all. Advancement through necessity. Peace at the price of complacency. These are at each other’s throats and it only takes times for the kindling to burn. For now... Watch. Wait. Listen. And...”

The rush of stale air as he removed his mask made him inhale deeply out of instinct. It was a disgusting feeling but certainly better than the world behind the blue-tinted lenses of a mask. He leaned down until they were face-to-face. She scrambled away from him as if he suddenly sprouted vipers. Her mouth was open in astonishment and struggling to voice the horrors flashing across her mind. “Just know you are not the biggest monster here.”

He held their gaze for just a moment longer before replacing the mask. It hissed as the internal seals hissed closed and he was cut off from the outside world. She had since recovered from her surprise and now only bore a thoughtful expression. He turned his heels and slowly walked towards the exit.

“Why are you here?” she asked. He stopped.

“To keep you here.” Again she met him with silence. “Why are you here?”

She smiled at him but it held no warmth. Despite the promptness of her answer he wasn’t certain she responded to his question or some thought in her nebulous mind. “I just wanna have fun.”

---

For chapter updates and my ramblings, visit my page on Fimfiction HERE.
Feel free to bother me on my tumblr under the username doctoredmundsirus.
Chapter Commentary: LINK
Cyberpunk Royal Guardpony by: Royal Metal Dragon
Pony Citiscape by: MoreVespenegas
Coffee Ring: Free Photo Gallery

Comments

[Journeyman]

6444377
Making a fake newspaper is shockingly irritating even when the transfer isn't being a butt and messing up my URLs.

[Journeyman]

6446003
I will say that the particular writing style was very deliberate. Third-person limited is my bread and butter. When the time comes where I switch characters, how its written also changes. Jack in the prologue is a smart, secretive individual, so while information is plentiful, there's no real definite conclusions about certain things. For Fluttershy, things become a more about emotion. For AJ it's about others more than herself.

Same thing for the guardian. What you're seeing is confirmation bias. You are reading the world exactly as someone else is, but his very on everything is very esoteric. You are seeing what he sees, and although you and he may see the same thing, how you both perceive it is unique. What is real and what's not... well, that would be telling.

[Journeyman]

6446074
In time, yes.

And fimfiction was being even more of a butt and cut an entire paragraph from the chapter. Goddamnit.

“Good. I’m going to tell you the story of a man who had it all. A wicked little man who thought his wicked little ways was all he needed for happiness. He grew up as he did, blind to the troubles around him. At his king’s command, he developed a sickness to poison the land and all of the king’s enemies, and the sick little man did so at the behest of his liege.