GuNNhead

I am barely able to work on repairs for a full day before I am contacted again. It appears that there is a remaining conglomerate who is physically re-enforcing the boarders of the spire-dome, and they are being met with a fierce counter resistance of a unification of the separations. They are confident that my mere presence will diffuse the situation.

Before long, I am within the underground lab staring at citywide closed-circuit television monitors displaying the encircling riots. As I stare at the continuing carnage, I am asked to incapacitate and de-escalate. I can only envision obliteration, I am only driven to death.

Entering the fray, I snap bones and bend metal from street to street. Those in rags and those in armor, all are broken beneath my power. A simple game, even at my impaired power. The majority run when I appear, but street after street I leave the most voracious fighters on all sides crumpled and unmoving. All with heartbeats. Then. I feel connected once more, my drive towards death that is embodied within my power. They will all perish, no matter by my hand or not. Existence will lead to their death. I become their entropy as their attacks against me increase. Over time the sky begins to darken, and I am ripping people limb from limb lit by a red sunset. I am crushing ribcages in splashes of blood and entrails. I am exploding parties against walls and being covered in their blood. Then.

The riots are over. People are no longer fighting. All is quiet.

I am not contacted again for another week. My craft is much further along than predicted, having been left alone to fix it with the components within the facility, but there is a limit of my technical familiarity with its components, and I have reached it. While I am updated on the progress of the functionality of the city, they sneak in information of its inner social goings on. Corporations, those who praise my presence, those against it, those who doubt or fear me. Having nothing better to do, and envisioning an easy potential towards death, I indulge their self-serving attempts. They will all die, and I will remain.

I make myself a presence within the city, my newly shining armor a beacon of unification, styled after the krokodoplis laboratory. The best progress is to progress off of my planet. Over the next few days the reconglomeration of the outer and inner sectors goes smoothly. I am only able to explode a few skulls, and punch a trivial amount of hearts from their thoracic cavities. The rest of the time is deterring corporate security forces away from outer city residents exploring the new landscape and deterring inner city residents from vying for control of the outer city. Ensuring a natural and benevolent flow, say the tall and short ones. It was all so much simpler before, on Loameria. All of this was thought of, and not a problem. This system causes death, against itself.

Through the guidance of my power, events simmer, and a new address is scheduled. In this time, the tall and short one with their bunch have laid out a plan that conforms to the original blueprints of this scientific terraformer. I am invited up to give words of solidarity towards their departure and safety. As I approach the microphone an engine roars and encompasses the crowd’s attention before the cycle and rider land upon the stage. The robotic figure reveals a large scattergun, discharging it through my armored head before I can focus on what is going on. They deliver their oration as my perforated skull dispels its boiling blood onto the stage.

I walk out of the fiery pile of scrap and death, turning to watch the remains of the scientist’s corpse burn into ash. I charge up a Gravity Sphere and obliterate the remains before I make my way back to the complex. Inside, the new voice is there to welcome me, they say they are the tall and short ones from inside the domed city. One of them explains to me that where they are have given them some insight into my plight. They continue to speak as I walk towards my craft. Their explanations concern their knowledge of the scientists systems, as many of them are used in the city and its underground and are very basic. When it comes to my ship, however, their knowledge wanes. All they can tell me is that there is a neutral command to prevent any action, as if there is a constant “Off” instruction being emitted into it.

I enter the ship, and make my way to the cockpit. I pick up the glass cylinder containing my former skull, rip it from its wires and tubes, and smash it on the ground. Without the preserving fluid, it dissolves into the ether. Lights begin to flicker as the ship lurches and whines. The main console activates, and upon it scrolls “Repair Sequence Initiated.”

The intercom buzzes with excitement, the two helpful beings shout that many monitors and screens have also turned on. They’re receiving a lot of data. Unfortunately one of their first assessments is that the scientist was not lying in one regard, the ship will take three months to repair itself. They continue on about their own problems, often how they tie into mine, such as the importance of getting my ship fixed up and into outer space to find out why my force of density created to protect this solar system began to withhold my powers and disallow egress. However, they also jabber on about nonsense such as the events occurring within the city, talk of vacuums, long descriptions of the histories of multiple groups, organizations, and companies, even including their thoughts of me. I try to focus on fixing my ship, but their garrulous commentary is seemingly unending, and so I ask them to stop as I find no use in it, and would prefer not to hear any of it. They finally cease, only to offer to share this information in person, that I should go to their location in the subterranean lab to monitor the status of repairs from there, as well as the city. I do not understand what benefit that has, and turn down the offer. I state that I will be seeing if there is any way that I can manually speed up repairs to my craft, and to not bother me.

The shorter one then reminds me of what I was told on stage, that the city needs to be able to leave. I ask if there is anything specific that requires my immediate attention, and the answer is no. I tell them to only contact me when the most dire circumstances threaten the progress of the city to attain spaceflight, because when I arrive, there will only be bloodshed. They agree.

I land, spire in hand, inside of the side entryway. Again the scientist’s voice chimes in, telling me to bring the spire to the rear of the complex. I follow down the spine, past the pelvis, and into a large room. There I am told to place the spire into a slot that seems carved to fit it. With a loud hum, it lights up, and begins rotating faster and faster. Quickly it is up to speed.

“Perfect, this should be enough,” a click is heard over the intercom, and a red light is emitted from the contraption, “to destroy you!”

A beam entangles me, locking my movement. Struggling only causes it to fluctuate, throwing me around the room.

“So stupid! I could not have asked for a more idiotic test subject! With your data from this experiment in my possession, I’ll finally be able to figure out the source of your powers! I’ll be able to replicate them! Or, at least, transfer them to myself. You did kill my first experiment, after all. My bird of prey, sadly only used as a bodyguard.”

“… Kill… you…” I mutter through a jaw clenched shut.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you will, should you ever find me, or, survive this.” Another button is pressed, and the beam intensifies. Electromagnetism begins to tear my atoms apart, nuclear forces explode apart the inside of my nuclei, inside my atoms, splitting them within themselves. “There must be more to you than mere gravity, and I will prove it here and now, by subtracting your intrinsic field, disintegrating your very self.” Then, with a final burst of light, I am gone…

“I… I’ve done it! Look at these readings! Exactly as I… hmm, that’s peculiar…”

Bolts of electricity fire across the lab, and I am reborn again. I quickly destroy the machine.

“You fool, you… anomaly! My life’s work, ruined, all for nothing! I’ve dedicated my entire life to understanding the very concepts and fields that bind the universe together, and all of it, ruined by some freak in an armored suit!”

“So are you ready to die now?”

“Never, I can fix this data! I can, I can–” The scientist is cut off by another voice.

“Grav, we’re in the sub level of the penthouse! This scientist wants to destroy you, replicate your powers! We can see you from here, but you need to hurry, they’ve activated an escape pod in the tail!”

I run past the destroyed machine, through the narrow hallways before I begin to plow through the walls slowing me down. I make it to the end, and am engulfed in flames from an afterburner. As the smoke clears, I see its trail, and fly off after it. I catch it in mid-air, and rip off the canopy. I grab the scientist by the collar, and stare them dead in the eyes. I use my powers to redirect the escape jet to turn around, and aim it towards the ground. I see the panic set in. They beg for their lives, their research, they do not want to die in vain. The ground is ever approaching. They offer nothing. The ground is bathed in fire and wreckage.

I return to the city to acquire the spire. Made from components generated by my ship, it will be integral for its reconstruction. If I ever find this scientist, I will tear them limb from limb. I will disembowel them and force-feed their own entrails back into them. People have surrounded the tower, and they are being addressed by others who are on a stage. I recognize the short and tall helpful beings from earlier. They are signaling me to land on their elevated platform, and I do.

A large crowd has gathered to hear from me. I tell the two beings what has transpired and they inform me of their discoveries from inside the penthouse, but also express facts of the crowd. For too many years they have served under this executive that I murdered. Many view the dissolution of the barrier as a positive. I can only view it as the means to an end. I need my full connection to the universe once more. I must have my revenge on whatever has locked me away inside of my own gravity field.

They are done announcing me, and I approach the microphone as one removes lingering gore from my carapace in passing.

“You people are on my planet. You do not belong here. This is Loameria. You all have defiled my spacecraft. Defiled my corpse. These trespasses shall neither be forgiven nor forgotten until the end of time. Eventually, I will kill all of you. You have three months until your destruction.”

The shorter one whispers from behind me.

“Oh, yes, in this time these beings will be preparing this megalopolis to leave this planet. If you impede them, the slaughter shall begin with you. Otherwise aid them or continue on with your lives. I do not care.” I turn, and float away to the tower. There is a delayed smattering of applause before one of the helpful beings takes over the microphone.

Landing in the destroyed penthouse office, I enter the elevator shaft in the center of the building and take it into the deepest sub level. The scientist’s secondary lab. Full diagnostic monitoring of my ship. Full central-city monitoring. I can see why they felt so secure behind their stolen microcosm of my power. I must commend their aesthetics, making the diagnostic screens match so closely to the real thing is no minor undertaking. Especially when compared to the low quality of the closed circuit televisions that show the outside world inside their former barrier. The ship itself can make no forward progress in terms of putting itself back together. I have lived for countless years, and yet thinking of three months with these being feels as though it will be interminable.

I fly back to the roof, grab the gravity spire and shake off the remains of the bodyguard. I briefly look down at the small crowd I addressed. They cheer.

I take the spire back to my head’s quarters.

I fly down towards the opening, landing, and begin making my way inside. I try to reach out to my craft, but cannot properly, though I feel its presence. There is something deeply amiss here. There are no guards, nothing to impede me, I continue inwards, towards the head. It looks like this facility has been built around the entire skeleton of the crocodylomorph. The spine centers the ceiling, and the ribcage aligns corridors. A large door stands before me, blocking my view of the skull where my craft has been sitting all these years.

A voice breaks out over an intercom.

“Welcome, to the great Gravity Surge, we weren’t sure if you’d ever return. Shame what you did to my benefactor, but, they were simply a means to an end, and that end has arrived: you. I have done all what I am able to, and have been at am impasse for years. You have a very unique power, and with your compliance, together we’ll be able to uncover the very secrets of the universe.”

“I do not care about the universe. Open this door, and return to me my craft.”

“I’m afraid that’s not so simple of a request, you see-” I begin punching the door, bending its steel at the astragal. The voice pleads with me to stop, but I continue my assault until, exasperated, they open the door. They can no longer open all the way, but at last my ship is revealed to me. Its framework is suspended from the roof, wires and tubes extrude out from its mangled remains.

“As I was saying, your vessel here has been of great use, and is integral to my experiments and research. That spire you recently… repurposed was a long-standing conduit that helped us greatly. It was actually formed from pieces of this derelict spacecraft. Those cables you followed here, they allowed it to power our shield that your friends so unceremoniously shut down, and potentially much more. While we’ve been unable to harness or fully duplicate your powers, I’m sure you can see the benefits of aiding our continued research. You’ve fought the results first-hand, overpowered and impaled them. What do you say?”

“Return to me my craft.”

“… I, uh… I can’t, it had to be completely disassembled, what you are looking at is what remains of it. What we can do, you see, is work together, and–”

“Return to me my craft.”

“Okay, I can see that this will not work, please, feel free to enter your ship, the cockpit is still mostly intact. I’m sure you will find something there most interesting.”

I float up and around my disassembled compatriot, and land in the forward section. I see familiar panels lifted and removed, gutted circuitry and siphoned electronics dispersed. I approach the pilot’s chair, prepared to take the helm, but in my stead there sits atop a tangle of coils and tubes a skull, suspended in a greenish liquid, surrounded by a thicker, immiscible black fluid. It turns to me.

“I believe you two have met. Gravity Surge, meet… Gravity Surge. A crude interface to be sure, but without it I’d have been unable to achieve half of what I have. Your old pal Celrdrrun may not have been impressed with you when he sold it to me, but I was quite dazzled. He was able to preserve this as well as some of that primordial ooze you call a brain for me. I’ve personally witnessed your vertebrae dissolve and return to the ether without a trace, it’s quite a sight to behold. If you’d like to see your craft restored, I would recommend listening to me. It will take me at least three months to reconstruct it, but I will need the gravity spire from the city.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I simply don’t help you. No doubt you want to destroy me, but at the moment you don’t know where I am. Bring that spire here, or don’t.”