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KP - Episode 5
🕑 Added 2023-09-01 00:53:11 +0000 UTCWords Count: 5543
A/N: Lots of things to cramp into one Ep, but since this is supposed to be a Multiversal book, I can’t focus on one Universe for too long. Also, I added roles in Discord which will be assigned to you based on the Tiers you signed up to in my other account: - Patreon.com/Regularrr
Also, Nanna got her beak caught between the cage. Bruised it good but I’ve checked with the Internet. A bruised and scratched up beak won’t bother her unless she’s bleeding, which she isn’t thankfully. I don’t know where I’ll find an avian vet here.
A bird…
My superpower’s transforming into a bird…
It’s not even something cool like eagle; emu (Which I feel compelled to remind myself the Australians lost a war to); or an owl, but it is instead a lovebird that can fit almost perfectly in the palm of my hand.
Good for fleeing in dire situations, utterly useless in combat. ‘My disappointment is immeasurable, and my day is ruined.’
I cannot even begin to express the profound disappointment that fills my heart. It weighs heavily, like paranoia and psychosis all rolled into one neatly-packed package that will later be sold to people as beneficial supplement to one’s health, then discovered to be one of- if not the leading cause in the rise of cancer… Yes, I am calling the tobacco industry out and if I happen to step on others’ tails, who cares?
‘Feels like a drug overdose.’ I remark, holding back the urge to sigh as I notice Ms. Carter’s amused gaze stabbing into my back. At least Nanna managed to obtain a remarkable form, though the specifics of how eludes me. Could drops of Compound V have mixed with F.L.A.G and then accidentally spilled? Their residues perhaps?
Indeed, given the condition in which the laboratory now finds itself, it is quite plausible that the accidental mixture occurred. Honestly, despite my own astonishment, I must admit I would have been even more surprised if such an incident hadn't taken place. “Our very first Super Soldier, and his ability is transforming into a bird?” I cast a disgruntled glance at the Colonel.
"He didn't have to sound so obviouslydisheartened." I mutter, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the Colonel's reaction.
Erskine, however, interrupts our silent disagreement. "I believe it is safe to assume that the interference of the... Beast," He states, glancing reproachfully at Nanna, "Has caused this unexpected mutation. Further observations are necessary, although I'm certain we can all agree future procedures must be conducted in a controlled environment free from potential intrusions." He retrieves a handkerchief from his breast pocket and proceeds to clean his glasses.
Feeling the tension in the air, Nanna unexpectedly snaps at the scientist, her head briefly morphing into the form of a velociraptor. Startled and unable to support the weight of her head on her skinny legs, she plummets from my grasp, hitting the floor with a wet slap as she transforms again, violently pecking the floor. “Dr. Erskine…”
Trembling, the scientist hears my voice, his gaze fixated on Nanna. Sensing the escalating tension, the soldiers raise their guns once again as I step between them, advising. "Don't make any sudden or rapid movements. Just back away slowly. It seems she doesn't take kindly to you."
In response to the presence of the boom-tubes, Nanna agitatedly swings her tail feathers, tearing through the wall like hot knives through butter. "Everybody, put your guns away!" I urgently command, hoping to defuse the situation before it worsens. “You hear him!” Thankfully, Colonel Phillips chooses that moment to come to our rescue. “Put your weapons away!”
“But, sir–!”
“”I said: PUT YOUR WEAPONS AWAY! Have you all gone deaf?!” Colonel Phillips shouts, and suddenly, it dawns on me that he’s not wrong in giving that order to his men.
Observing Nanna’s puffed-up feathers, I quickly come to the realization that even if they’re to shoot at her, her feathers- fragile as they may seem, are more than capable of absorbing and dispersing the forces, rendering their attacks futile. Simply put, she possesses countless ways to kill them, while their guns- the high-caliber ones included, are unable to inflict any harm upon her. If they came to blow, chances are it’s not going to be a fight, but a one-sided slaughter.
“Nanna…”
I gently interlock my fingers with her feathers, attempting to soothe my agitated and powered pet.
As I scratch her neck, I can feel the serrated edges of her feathers scraping against my skin, causing me to cringe at the peculiar sensation. Thankfully, Nanna’s natural defenses are unable to break through my skin. Turning her head towards me with a curious tilt, she looks at me intently. Then, without warning, her toothy beak latches onto my arm, prompting Steve to scream in horror. “Julius!”
I quickly intervene, reassuring them, “It’s fine! I’m alright! Nanna just…” Staring at her dilated iris, I chuckle wearily and continue. “She gets like that sometimes!”
Birds can experience mood swings quite quickly, as I have come to learn. They have the ability to transform from the sweetest, most adorable creatures to a fearsome Hellspawn in a matter of seconds, and it appears that this is one of those situations. With a chirp, Nanna forcefully tears my sleeve away and begins to chew on it.
Disgusted by the saliva-soaked fabric, I cringe and then attempt to retrieve the piece of cloth from her.
I have no idea if a velociraptor’s digestive system can process fabrics, but if it is not suitable for a lovebird, it is likely to be harmful for a dinosaur too… “No- Nanna, no! Give it!” Unfortunately, things are not going quite as well as well as I have planned. Attempting to take harmful objects from Nanna, even when she is small, can be quite challenging.
You can imagine the difficulty now that she’s a 7-foot, bulletproof dinosaur, it becomes virtually impossible for your standard human.
Thankfully, I do not fall into that conventional category. I have always been different, what with my ability to manipulate adrenaline and all.
The modifications I have undergone have undoubtedly distanced me further from the rest of Humanity. Although I am uncertain about my feelings in regard to this transformation, I do not perceive any harm as long as it does not negatively impact me mentally. After all, the essence of life is to propagate one's genetic information and evolve. In that sense, there is nothing inherently wrong with utilizing external factors to expedite the lengthy process that would otherwise take millions of years.
While there may be differing opinions on this matter, it is my genuine belief.
I have observed considerable improvements in my stamina, mental acuity, and resilience. Additionally, there has been a significant enhancement in my strength and speed, enabling me to swiftly grasp Nanna and extract the cloth from her wide-open beak. “It’s not good for you.”
“S- Should we do something?” I overhear a soldier whisper to his companion, a smirk on my face that reveals gleaming, sharpened fangs. Instantly, I sense a surge in their heart rates as fear emanates from their very beings. It stings a little... but I understand why they feel that way.
In their eyes, I am a stranger- one with an excessive amount of power who also happens to own a dinosaur that could easily tear them apart within minutes.
I am a potential threat, and until I can somehow demonstrate otherwise, I’ll remain a threat.
"Mr. Campbell, come with me," Dr. Erskine commands, and I obediently follow. There is nothing to be gained by defying his orders – only animosity. Besides, I have a fairly good idea of what Erskine has in mind. As the first (debatably) successful subjects, it is crucial to conduct tests to ensure our well-being. The added bonus of these tests helping to alleviate the brewing tension is certainly welcome also. “Nanna, come.”
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
Throughout countless ages, their Order- the Masters of the Mystic Arts has faithfully safeguarded Earth from the unfathomable threats and mystical forces that lie beyond mortal comprehension.
For centuries, she has fulfilled her role as the Order's unofficial leader and teacher. However, even her wisdom has its limits. As she faces this challenge, she finds herself at a loss. Amused by the irony, she addresses her as the "Ancient One."
The more she learns, the more she realizes how little she truly comprehends about the vast expanse of the Universe.
Typically, she can still make informed deductions based on her knowledge. But this time, everything is fundamentally different.
The predictable future she has prepared for has been shattered into fragments of infinite possibilities, branching out in chaotic paths that make little sense. She attempts to find it- the Source of Chaos to no avail, her vision blocked something beyond the Infinity Stones- a Higher Entity from the look of it.
Fear, anger, hope. The Ancient One is torn, unsure of what emotions to embrace.
Part of her yearns for the chance to prevent the impending tragedy that is destined to unfold. Yet, the overwhelming uncertainty sends shivers down her spine.
How can she be certain that avoiding this tragedy won't lead to Earth becoming an apocalyptic wasteland or a desolate expanse of drifting frozen rocks in space?
What if Humanity falls- enslaved by greater forces? The possibilities seem endless, and with each new branching path, the odds of them successfully defending Earth diminish. “Is it too much to be hopeful?” None is near to hear and/or answer her question, not that she expects one anyway. The Ancient One needs only the deafening quietness to allow her more time to reflect and plan as it’s evident locating the Source won’t be easy. “Ha…”
She sighs. “What a time to be alive.”
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
[Log #1, XXX April 1943]
"I am Dr. Abraham Erskine, the head researcher of the Rebirth Project. I am creating this video to document the transformations that Subject Caesar, as he prefers to be called, has undergone.” Flipping through the file, the scientist fixes his glasses. “Firstly, it is evident that Caesar’s skin, muscles, and bones are marginally, at least ten times that of an average human..." With a click, the video transitions to show Julius laughing as a combat knife bends when stabbed into his palm.
"At this point, we are still uncertain about how these physical changes will impact Caesar's overall capabilities. He has, however, displayed superhuman speed, strength, and reflexes. Unfortunately, due to his heightened durability, our current equipment has been unable to penetrate his skin." Dr. Erskine explains, his brows furrowing as if burdened by a massive headache.
"I have submitted a request for advanced equipment and laser technology, but we will have to wait for Stark to provide us with those resources. Until then, any plans to obtain Caesar's blood will have to be postponed. Luckily, he has proven very cooperative." His frown deepens, voice graver. “His… Beast is another matter. It is incredibly territorial, highly aggressive and has shown a disregard for all attempts of communication and corporation, although it seems to listen to its owner to an extent.”
As Dr. Erskine, now in his mid to late sixties, exhales heavily, it almost seems as if he ages by several decades in that moment. “I said, to an extent, because no one has been able, nor dared to touch it, except for Agent Carter, recruit Steve Rogers, and Caesar himself,” He clarifies. “Regardless, this demonstrates that the serums work exceptionally well together, surpassing my initial predictions. Naturally, further tests must be conducted, but for now, the boy requires rest. Tomorrow…”
Dr. Erskine trails off, his tone wistful, “Yes, tomorrow…” Before the video turns off.
[Log #2, XXX April 1943]
“It is truly remarkable what Caesar is capable of. We have witnessed him effortlessly dragging and lifting tanks as if they weigh next to nothing. His strength has allowed him to punch, bend, and tear through reinforced steels with ease. Having such an individual on our side surely guarantees victory in the war. However, I can’t help but have concerns…” Dr. Erskine’s voice trails off as he contemplates whether or not to voice his worries. Ultimately, he decides to express them.
“Caesar has recently raised a concern about the use of F.L.A.G and Compound V. Their existence could potentially reshape the world, and it makes me question if it’s truly worth it.”
A brief flicker of fear crosses Dr. Erskine’s face before he dismisses it. “No… forget I said that. It’s just the ramblings of a dying old man. On a different note, Stark’s shipment of high-quality equipment arrived yesterday. It is taking longer than expected, but we should be able install the set up soon.” With an exhausted sigh, Dr. Erskine glares at the camera as though it has killed his wife. “Abraham Erskine, out.”
…
[Log #12, XXX April 1943]
Instead of the familiar Doctor, the video reveals blurry images of a group of soldiers engaged in a fierce game of tug-of-war against a single man. His yawning and taunting behavior draws astonishment from the soldiers present, as captured by the voice of one soldier narrating the video.
“Holy shit, how is he doing that?!” He exclaims. Another soldier chimes in, expressing their desire to be selected. “No idea, but… Holy shit! I want to be chosen for Project Rebirth next!”
Their optimistic comment is met with mockery from their friend. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs. “There only eight slots left. Do you really think the Colonel and Dr. Erskine will choose you? Hah!” They continue to fight, causing the video to shake but it’s still very obvious Subject Caesar is able to come out victorious relatively easy. “Holy Hell… Those Nazis ain’t gonna see what hits ‘em.”
…
[Log #17, XXX May 1943]
“It took way longer than anticipated, but the equipment is finally up and running,” the Doctor says spitefully, frustration evident in his voice when he notices Caesar playing with a monomolecular scalpel out the corner of his eyes and hurriedly tries to stop him. Sadly, it’s too late. Caesar swiftly slices off his own finger, creating a bloody and gruesome scene.
“Why’d you--?!” Erskine screams in shock, frustration, and anger. The camera is left on the table, capturing their voices as they continue to argue off-screen. “What are you, a five-year-old?!”
Caesar defends himself, explaining, “It’s a monomolecular scalpel! You can’t expect me not to use it! Plus, look—” The camera’s position prevents any visual confirmation of what he’s showing, but their conversation provides some insight into the situation. “I heal instantly.”
“That’s not healing,” Erskine denies, his voice reflecting a deep-seated curiosity. “You’re regenerating body parts, which is a lot more advanced. Trust me.” It takes some time, but as his brain comprehends the miraculous ability, the Doctor's curiosity grows increasingly intense, overshadowing his rationality. "Are fingers your limits? Mr. Campbell, what else can you regenerate? An arm? A leg? Internal organs?" He probes, enthusiasm evident in his voice.
The younger voice interjects with a tinge of indignation and fear. "Okay, you're getting too close there, Doc! Just calm down! Let's not push our boundaries too quickly? We’re- We’re not there YET–!" In seconds, the laboratory is thrown in chaos as sounds of fallen equipment blend with a mix of inhuman wails and shouts. “GET BACK ‘ERE!”
“No!” Caesar’s voice rejects, his tone filled with urgency as he hurries down the corridor. “Guys, what’s going on?” Steve Rogers, always righteous and honorable, appears confused but quickly grasps the gravity of the situation. "Run! Erskine has gone mad!”
“I just wanna–!”
And they vanish from the scene. The subsequent hours of the footage capture nothing more than a still camera facing a wall and silence. After a while, the sound of heels clanking against the floor is heard. “Hmmm…?” a woman’s voice hums softly as she toys with a small notebook. Agent Carter, formerly of MI6, approaches with a reproachful tone. “So this is why there have been so many requests for film rolls.” She remarks with a hint of disapproval, before moving to turn it off.
…
[Log #25, XXX June 1943]
"Analysis of Caesar's blood has come back," Erskine begins, his tone concerned. "His body is being constantly flooded with an excessive amount of adrenaline. It's truly baffling how he hasn't experienced organ failure. His blood has become thicker and circulates more efficiently, but this puts immense strain on his heart. His vital signs are off the charts, but realistically he should be dead." His words convey a mixture of confusion and worry, perplexed by nature of Caesar's condition.
“The energy readings observed during his transformation into his Avian Form are equivalent to the forces unleashed by a nuclear explosion, but there is no presence of radioactivity. Furthermore, it has been observed that his transformation actually accelerates the growth of trees, I believe it may be attributed to his Life Force, as he exhibits fatigue following the transformation. This is peculiar, considering he was able to engage in a high-intensity workout for two consecutive days without rest before showing signs of fatigue.”
Erskine crosses his legs. “There are much we can still learn from his blood, but there have been pressure from above to force us to create more super soldiers. Maybe it’s my paranoia, but I’ve been plagued with a foreboding sensation for weeks now. Three people have been chosen for the exhibition next week: Steve Rogers, his friend Bucky Barnes and recruit Desmond Doss. I’m leaving this in case, all my research papers have been destroyed. Humanity’s not ready for F.L.A.G, nor V. One day we will, but not right now.”
Tiredly, the Doctor leans on his chair and mumble. “Whispered secrets beneath ash tree's cloak.”
With that, the footage ends.
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
It is beyond frustrating to be perceived solely as a circus animal, aggravating not because it personally upsets me, but because an ignorant politician’s exploiting me as their spokesperson and it fills me with anger. Despite my attempts to seek employment in different fields, every job application has been met with repeated rejections, which is incredibly infuriating. I did not willingly sign up to be their circus attraction; I am here to beat up Nazis and maybe save a few lives in the process!
I confront the Colonel, my anger evident as I express my frustration. "Colonel, you must recognize that you're squandering a valuable asset!"
I make no effort to conceal my emotions, but the Colonel appears weary in his response. "My hands are tied, Julius. The powers that be are adamant about preventing your capture by the Reich. They already possess a significant technological advantage over us, and it would be devastating if they were able to experiment on you." It’s not that I don’t get where Phillips is coming from, but it isn’t right. I have power, I should use it for good instead of wasting it being a clown.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s–”
“"It's them, isn't it?" I narrow my eyes. It becomes apparent to me that most of the work I have been assigned to is propaganda-related. Given my lack of background, military achievements, and technical status as a non-soldier, it is hardly surprising that Colonel Phillips is at a loss. After all, I am more of a government property than a military entity, and before you ask, the distinction between the two can indeed be differentiated.
While most governmental organizations typically share aligning interests, in this case, they seem to be in conflict. They gain more drawing the war out and they will ending it quickly. War means uncertainty, chaos and to the powers-that-be, that equals opportunities. It’s not all about benefits though. They’re right to worry, if the Nazis figure out how to create powered individuals, we’re all fucked.
I purse my lips and blow at the unruly strands of hair that have fallen over my eyes. They even attempted to dress me in that absurd blue outfit with white and red stripes. Honestly, I was prepared to knock the teeth out of the person who proposed such an idea, and I would have done it if it weren’t for Ms. Carter intervening and stopping me. What kind of monster can conjure such hideous outfit to life? “Look, I get that you’re growing angsty with all the tours, but I can’t help you… Not officially at least.”
As I observe the Colonel's actions and body language, I sense a forthcoming ‘but’ in his response. He glances around cautiously before reaching into his pocket to retrieve a stack of identification papers. "But I can give you this,"
The Colonel proceeds with his explanation. "Although I lack jurisdiction over you as a regular civilian, if you were to join the army, my words would carry more weight. At sunset today, make your escape from the compound through the Western gate. There won't be any patrols in that area at that time. From there, march towards the nearest recruitment post. I have a friend stationed there; I've already informed him about you. He will assist you in being sent to France, where the Secretary of Defense doesn't hold as much influence."
Palming the booklet, “Thank you,” I reply gratefully.
The Colonel dismisses my gratitude and redirects the acknowledgement. “Thank Agent Carter. She’s the one who got the documents on your behalf, called in lots of favors from the CIA too. I am just here to deliver them to you. But if you truly want to show your appreciation, focus on the mission and make sure to take down as many Nazis as possible.”
"Roger that. But there's no need for that. Let the patrol to follow their usual route. If you stop them, you'll just arouse suspicion. I’ll leave now. I can transform, remember?" I remind the Colonel, causing his eyes to suddenly widen. People often overlook my transformative ability, perhaps because of how unthreatening my form appears, but it can prove immensely useful for scouting, stealth, and sabotage missions.
"Right…" He replies, trailing off. "I forgot about that... It still amazes me… I had expect an eagle or even vulture, but a small parrot… Pffftt–!"
Irritated, veins bulge on my forehead. "I heard that, old man!”
I reply angrily, before storming back to my room where I find Nanna perched sleepily on the doorframe, waiting for me. "Guess what, girl?!" I exclaim in excitement, startling Nanna and causing her to fall to the ground. In her agitation, she begins to transform, snarling loudly as she gnaws on my arm. Initially, it's a rather repulsive sensation, but I have grown accustomed to it over time- sad as it is to admit.
With minimal belongings in my possession, I hastily place my phone in a pouch and assume my Avian Form. As night falls, we swiftly take flight, soaring through the rain-soaked skies toward a charming, yet unassuming town that is actively seeking recruits for the army. We swoop down, upon which I instantly assume my human form, hiding amongst the trees to observe the proceedings. We sleep inside a barn, heading to the army post the instance daylight breaks where I’m greeted by a sleazy looking recruiter. “Name and age?”
“Julius Campbell… Nineteen.”
“Don’t lie to me!” He glares, blowing on the tasteless gum supplied to soldiers by the US Government as I smiles awkwardly. “Sixteen.”
If the recruiter has any reservations about my age, he does a skillful job concealing it. "Phillips' boy, huh?" I nod without hesitation. "Very well, head to the left, someone will attend to you shortly."
Perplexed, I follow his directions and enter a small tent. Immediately, my gaze falls upon the elderly man seated inside, adorned in a uniform embellished with an insignia. "Major General..." I mutter, taken aback by the appearance of this venerable commanding officer. Goodness gracious... Where did he come from? Did I enter the wrong tent?! “Caesar from Project Rebirth, I presume?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
The elderly man emits a contemplative hum. “You seem to lack discipline. No prior military experience, am I correct?”
With a steady gaze, I respond calmly, “That may be true, but I am here now.”
He continues to scrutinize me, attempting to unnerve me, but I meet his gaze firmly, refusing to falter. Eventually, he sighs. “Well, Erskine and Phillips did vouch for you. I’ve heard that you possess strength and speed beyond that of an average human… How do you feel about venturing behind enemy lines and getting your hands dirty?”
“Sounds like the perfect mission for me.”
The General nods decisively without hesitation. "Excellent. Then ready yourself for deployment. We’ve recently received intel about a perilous enemy experiment site being established near the outskirts of Bordeaux. Your mission is to infiltrate and retrieve any assets that can be considered valuable, but in the far likelier case, destroy whatever you cannot carry. Is that clear?”
It is always astonishing how swiftly tasks are accomplished without the burdensome encumbrance of politics and bureaucracy commonly associated with governmental systems. Meeting with the Major General in the morning, I find myself swiftly transported to France by the time lunch arrives, and we touch down on the Western side of France around midnight.
Operating under the shroud of secrecy, only a handful of individuals are privy to our mission’s details. Our official objective is to sabotage a radio tower in Germany-occupied France. They even employ a round of air attacks to conceal our infiltration.
The team comprises myself, Private Bryan, Private O’Neill, a Bomb Specialist named Al, and First Lieutenant Williams.
Each member possesses unique skills and roles. Private Bryan, armed with handguns and a light machine gun, is notable for his anger issues, making him both an asset and a liability. If I were to speculate, it appears that Private Bryan has been assigned to our team as a contingency for situations that may require a more confrontational approach, whether it be engaging in direct confrontation or executing rapid and forceful actions.
O’Neill, slender and unassuming in appearance, also possesses exceptional vision with a perfect 20/20 acuity, making him the designated scout of our team.
Al, with his partially burned face, appears to carry a perpetually grumpy demeanor, possibly stemming from his disfigurement. On the other hand, First Lieutenant Williams assumes the role of both tactician and spiritual leader within the team.
It seems that they have developed a strong bond over time, having known each other for several months, which is the equivalence of decades during time of war. Observing their intimate conversations filled with whispers and laughter, I withdraw into myself, trying to blend into the background.
It may seem irrational, but I can’t help but feel like an intruder who’s encroaching upon their private moments. I haven’t endured the same harrowing experiences of war as they all have, and I doubt they would welcome my intrusion if I were to interject into their conversation.
After some time, despite my attempts to blend in, they eventually become aware of my presence. "Hey, you!" One of them exclaims. I instinctively flash my customary grin, although it feels a bit forced since I hadn't mentally prepared for social interactions. "Yes?" I respond.
First Lieutenant Williams swings himself using a handle and scrutinizes me. "Who are you? You seem familiar..."
Nervously scratching the back of my head, I laugh awkwardly and extend my hand. "Julius Campbell, but you may know me as Caesar."
"Damn... Did they really bring an actor to the frontline?" Remarks Bryan, his dark skin glistening with sweat, clearly surprised by the revelation. In contrast, O'Neill seems to be handling the news better. "Are you truly a Super Soldier?! I've heard rumors of you being able to knock out a bear with a single punch!"
With unabated enthusiasm, he starts to shadowbox, his energy restrained by the confined space of the aircraft. Before I can respond, though, the sudden onslaught of molten slags pierces through the aircraft, causing us to latch onto our seats.
"Oh shit! Hold on!" The words escape the First Lieutenant’s lips instinctively as the chaos ensues. “Grab your parachutes! We’re going down!” Regrettably, unlike the others, I haven’t received much briefing, leaving me unfamiliar with the process of unlatching the parachute beneath my seat. In the midst of the fiery chaos, Nanna and I are consumed by the flames, hurtling down towards the ground.
Without hesitation, I swiftly transform into my Avian Form, my wings stretching out behind me. In the chaotic aftermath of the explosion, Nanna is forcefully torn from my side, and we find ourselves hurtling towards the ground in separate directions. Concern tries to take hold, but my worries are quelled by memories of Nanna’s incredible strength, such as the time she effortlessly snapped a tree in half.
She has survived far worse than mere fire, plus in her Dino-Form, her heat tolerance surpasses that of a human in spades.
Reassuring myself, I repeat in my thoughts, ‘She’ll be fine.’ And plunge through a billowing cloud of smoke that would have likely wreaked havoc on my lungs, causing more damage than decades of two packs per day, had I remained in my human form. But as a Supe, the sulfurous haze has no effect on me. As I descend, I witness the aftermath below.
The hills are charred, smoldering remnants, and the once expansive forest lies in ruins, occasionally lit up by muzzle flashes as the other paratroopers engage in a gunfight with the Nazis. My teammates, still airborne and yet to finish their descent, appear to be on a trajectory that will likely expose them to a hail of gunfire upon landing. The imminent threat of enemy fire looms over them, and I swiftly make my way over.
Knowing the odds stacked against us, I understand that it may not be possible to protect every person from harm. Still, I owe it to them to at least try to minimize the number of casualties. My heart sinks as I witness the devastating fate that awaits the Lieutenant. First to touch the ground, Williams meets a grisly demise, torn apart by the merciless gunfire of the Germans.
Shortly after, both Bryan and O'Neill land behind a brush, luckily avoiding death, though the loss of their spiritual leader’s staggering, yet there is little time to mourn as they are pressed forward. As for Al, his whereabouts remain unknown, presumed dead due to the prior artillery strikes. Gazing at the group from above, I nearly vomit at the gruesome sight- Williams’ face has been annihilated with the only intact parts, ironically enough, being his detached eyeballs.
Though I may not have formed a strong personal connection with First Lieutenant Williams, I can’t help but feel horrified at his tragic loss. Like animals, he’s mowed down and I just watched it happen. What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I– And that’s when I see the trembles of my wings. ‘Am I afraid?’
The Nazis we encounter are not mere actors portraying their assigned roles, nor are they misunderstood villains or boys taken from their homes with promise of glory and honor. They are truly psychopathic individuals who derive pleasure from the gruesome acts they commit. The depths of their depravity repulse me and leave me feeling disgusted by their actions as I fly low to search for the two Privates who have seemingly been swallowed by the omnipresent darkness.
In a precarious situation, I find myself coming face to face with a group of high-ranking Nazis, distinguishable by their elaborate uniforms.
Faced with limited options, I alas make the decision to discreetly follow them, prioritizing the mission over the safety of the Privates. ‘They’ll understand, right?’ Plus, they look like they can fend for themselves, then again the First Lieutenant also had his shit together and look where it got him. Wordlessly, I send them a silent prayer before continuing to trail the Nazi officials to an Institution.
The building, which appears to have once been a school, has been repurposed by the Germans after they occupied the town.
However, it is the sight of disfigured corpses strewn about and the overwhelming stench of death and decay, the nose-burning miasma that lingers which capture my attention.
Confusion and repulsion grip me as I contemplate the horrifying scene before me. ‘What the fuck is that?’ I silently wonder, mind filling with disturbing possibilities as a severely disfigured person is thrown out of the facility. Their skin looks as if they’ve been dunked in a vat of acid, their muscles exposed and fused together by a slimy mucus they’re excreting, though the moans… The animalistic noises they’re making due to a deformed mouth or tongue make me shiver as I ask myself once more.
‘What the Hell going on here?!’
In a swift and brutal motion, the Germans direct their weapons towards the person standing in their midst, mercilessly gunning them down. Simultaneously, two of their troops activate flamethrowers and incinerate the bio-wastes littering the area.
As the horrifying scene plays out, a realization strikes me: They are playing with bio-weapons.
Unease washes over me as the vivid memories of the recent Ebola outbreak resurface in my mind, and from the look of it these German researchers seem to be delving into something equally or potentially even more catastrophic, and it fills me with dread.
Regardless of my speed, strength, or resilience, I am powerless against a disease. If it were to spread, the only solution would be to eliminate all the infected, risking my own infection in the process. It is unsettling to think about, especially considering the… Distressing condition of those unfortunate individuals, and you know what the worst part about it is?
[No… What?]
I can’t just walk away either.
