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KP – Episode 23 (Paid-Members)
🕑 Added 2023-12-14 14:46:25 +0000 UTCWords Count: 4240
A/N: And KP is back.
Life as a rebel has unexpectedly become mundane and uneventful. While being a UFC fighter used to entail indulging in excessive amounts of healthy-ish food, intense training, and getting enough sleep, the current situation feels even more monotonous. I had envisioned more camaraderie between fellow rebels, perhaps engaging in heartfelt conversations around campfires. However, there seems to be a limited amount of conversation topics, and the rebels are still waiting to strengthen their position before taking any significant action.
It's understandable, though. The rebels are at a severe disadvantage, being far outnumbered and lacking the technological advancements that Hydra possesses. The odds are stacked against them, and their resources are rapidly depleting.
Though we attend strategic meetings, it seems no one has shown much interest in seeking our input.
Conversely, we don’t attempt to assert ourselves either. Julian has taken charge of scheming and strategizing, but after the events that unfolded recently, his enthusiasm to assist them has plummeted to the negative. I do not force the guy. With D-Day rapidly approaching and the Allied Forces making preparations to liberate France, the rebels can afford to take respite and patiently await the turning of the tides in their favor.
As for me, I primarily focus on minimizing casualties, drawing upon the remnants of my medical knowledge.
With medical supplies becoming increasingly scarce these days, it presents a challenge to provide adequate care.
However, nature offers alternative remedies that, while less effective, can still be utilized to prevent wounds from festering and decaying.
Though these natural alternatives may not match the effectiveness of modern medical supplies, they serve as a better option than leaving injuries untreated and risking further complications. God only knows the fatality rate due to infection-related sicknesses before my arrival, and since the camp’s a sausages-fest, few bother to care for the sick and wounded.
The exhaustion and stress that everyone is experiencing has placed immense strain on their ability to tend for themselves, let alone take care of others.
It is an unrealistic expectation to assume that they can fulfill these responsibilities. It is simply impossible… Not for me though.
“Here, have a sip,” I say softly, placing the bowl near Pierre’s lips and angling it to allow the refreshing liquid to flow into his mouth. It’s the middle of Summer, and the heat has caused sickness to spiral out of control. The relentless humidity only exacerbates their wounds. I wish I could offer my blood to help them, but it’s not a realistic option.
For one, my blood can be fatally potent without KP acting as a bridge.
Moreover, I don’t want to grant everyone powers, not because I’m afraid they’ll take the spotlight or anything. Issue is: Although I have no doubt most will use them for good. Power has a way of corrupting individuals, and I am far from blind to that fact… At the same time, while I yearn to help, I want to avoid being tied to an operating table and drained of blood even more. It is a sacrifice neither Julian, nor I am willing to make. “T- Thank you.”
The veteran mumbles through harsh, deep coughs, his words filled with gratitude. “You’re a true Godsend to us.” He struggles to speak due to the audible toll his illness has taken on his voice, but his grateful smile remains ever-present, unwavering.
“You should save your praises for Bryan.”
A subtle blush tinges my cheeks as I cough, deflecting the praise to my companion. Frankly speaking, Bryan and our… Furry companions have been doing all the heavy-lifting recently, while I, still in the process of regenerating my limbs, can only offer assistance in this manner.
Compared to their constant life-threatening endeavors, my efforts appear inconsequential. “Please refrain from speaking like that.”
He chastises gently.
“Every individual has their lot in life. Just because you aren’t charging into dangers- guns blazing at every chance, doesn’t diminish the significance of your accomplishments. Not many would willingly choose to venture into a warzone in your position. Fewer will spare the time to help us fellas.”
As I prepare to protest, a sudden nudge from behind nearly causes me to lose my balance. I feel the presence of Julian, his voice echoing within my mind, the force of his words making my head spin.
‘Who was it?! Which rascal dared to push us with their dirty foot?!’
His anger reverberates through my skull.
“Will you just accept the praise, already?” A voice rings out, wearier than Mr. Pierre even, but cheerful nonetheless. “Alright. If you guys insist.”
I raise my arms in a gesture of surrender before returning to wringing the towel dry and dipping it in cool water. Nurses really don’t get nearly enough recognition.
It’s a tough job, tending to patients.
They can be quite the rowdy bunch…
Sometimes it honestly feels like I’m tending to infants, instead of grown men, but I suppose since they’re bedridden and without a mean of entertainment, it leaves them with little else to do but tease me, their caretaker- the only one who will actually sit down, listen to their stories and provide a measure of comfort. The rest are far too busy trying to stay alive… Whole. Many, though they’ll never voice it aloud, even believe these guys to be a drain on their resources.
I understand the reasons behind their anger, but I firmly believe that Humankind should not solely prioritize survival.
Though some may deem me naïve or idealistic, I maintain that even in the face of dire circumstances, there are essential principles and values we must adhere to, else we’ll be one step closer to extinction without even realizing it.
One of them playfully remarks, sighing as if mourning a future that never will be. “Damn, if only you were born a woman.”
This comment elicits a round of chuckles from me and everyone else, as I jokingly respond, “Even if I were, you would not stand a chance.” Nose upturned, I haughtily snort. “I have this lil’ thing called: Standards. Doubt you have heard of it though.” As the man guffaws in surprise, nearly choking on his own spit, the rest of them can’t help but join in, laughing at his expense. “He got you there, Vincent.”
Neither his, nor my words are to be taken to heart, as we all understand it is simply playful banter within our group- the usual exchange of jests and camaraderie to lighten our days.
In a world that can be inherently disheartening, particularly amplified during times of conflict, it is crucial to maintain a sense of humor and an adaptable perspective… This not only helps us to navigate the challenges more effectively, but also provides us with some respite. Compared to stewing in anger at the unfairness and being overall miserable, playing the happy idiot has it beaten by a mile. “Do you have any plans once this is over, Julius? Got a girl waiting for you in the States?”
I shake slightly, focusing on pouring the porridge for them. “Nope. Why? You planning on introducing me to your daughter?” I tease, trying to keep the mood light.
“Hah! You wish!” In good jest, he initially dismisses the idea, but then assumes a contemplative expression all of a sudden. “Well, maybe…” He muses seriously, cupping his chin. “You do happen to meet all the criteria I would want from a son-in-law. My daughter’s also around your age.”
Sweat begins to trickle down my brow as I hastily clarify my earlier statement. “I was just joking! I’m far too young to be getting married!”
The old man chuckles in response, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You think you’re too young? Well, let me tell you, I was at least five years younger than you when I married the nagging hag at home!” I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. “If anything, you are fashionably late to the party!”
“That doesn’t sound like a party at all.” My expression goes skewed as I massage my glabella, eyebrows raised. “And, you were 12 when you got married?” I question, blinking in astonishment. The idea seems almost surreal, as while I’m well-aware that early marriage is still practiced in certain parts of the world even during the early 2000’s, 12 seems… Incredibly young. “… Wait.”
Curiosity piqued, he tilts his head and inquires, “Remind me, how old are you again?”
With an innocent expression on my face, I respond, “I’m 17.” Puzzled by his reaction, I watch as he grasps and exclaims, “What on Earth did your mother feed you as a child? You don’t look a day younger than 21!”
My lips twitch, and my eyelids jump in response. “Uh, thank you?” I reply, unsure how to interpret his comment. ‘Did this old bastard just call us old?’
Hearing Julian’s irritated voice, I decide to voice my two-cents awkwardly, hoping to nip the matter in the bud. ‘Or, and hear me out first. Maybe he’s trying to praise our maturity? Sure, the delivery needs a bit of work, but…’
“Were you popped outta yer mum’s womb 5?” And, there goes all my effort, right out the damn windows. Julian bristles, his emotions causing my own features to stiffen. “No… I was born an infant like everybody else. I just grow fast. Although the experiments done on me played a part, I guess.”
As soon as the topic of experiments arises, a sudden stiffness overtakes the atmosphere, and the conversation abruptly halts.
Sensing their discomfort, I immediately realize they may have misunderstood.
In truth, the experiments I underwent were relatively tame compared to the intense training regimen I followed before every fight, and it’s not even a tenth of the pain introducing new DNA Sequences cause.
However, I decide not to clarify the matter. There is no need to expose my back to everyone after all. Despite their seemingly pleasant demeanor so far, Life has a way of changing all of us for the worst and I’m not about to find out. ‘You are finally learning…’ Julian snorts, and I can almost envision him, if he were in control of our body, crossing his arms with a smug smile, almost like a proud dad watching his son do that first successful push-up.
After some time, I manage to complete my task, limping as I make my way back outside. Just then, a messenger approaches us, calling out respectfully, “Monsieur Campbell…? The General is requesting your presence."
As confusion washes over me, I wonder what the General could possibly want from me. Though uncertain, there is little choice but to respond to his summon.
I nod in acknowledgment to the messenger, skipping alongside him and asking, “Do you know why he’s calling for me?” The messenger as honest as ever, shakes. “I’m… Not certain.”
The messenger hesitates for a moment, scratching the back of his head before responding. “From what I hear, the Nazis are closing in on us. We’ve managed to stay under the radar thus far, but it’s only a matter of time before we are discovered. I’m guessing the General wants your thoughts on the matter.” I nod, brows knitted. Looks like our sanctuary is at risk. I thank the messenger and make my way towards the tent situated in the middle of the camp.
As I approach the tent, the noise of angry and panicky voices becomes increasingly audible. Slightly apprehensive, I lift the tent flap and step inside, my presence immediately catching the attention of those within.
Their gazes dart towards me, a mix of surprise and curiosity etched across their faces. Feeling somewhat flustered by the sudden attention, I offer an awkward smile and sheepishly greet, “Whassup?”
“Monsieur Campbell, please take a seat.”
Upon entering the tent, I find the General seated at the head of the table, his expression still devoid of emotion, deep lines etched on his face from all the responsibilities. He gestures towards a seat at the other end.
As I settle into the chair, my eyes naturally scan the room, taking note of the individuals present. Among them, I spot Bryan, standing slightly off to the side, his countenance marked with worries. The atmosphere in the room feels heavy. Every motion makes me feel as though I’m swimming through molten leads. “What has got your panties in a twist?” I joke in an attempt to lighten up the mood, receiving baleful glares that seek to poke holes in my torso.
In hindsight, that was quite insensitive of me.
“Monsieur Bryan, you may begin.”
The General says, his voice tinged with weariness, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to alleviate the mounting stress. My Progeny hurls his arm, launching a handful of blood-stained medallions in the middle of the table.
Etched on them is the symbol of Hydra’s insignia, depicting a skull with numerous tentacles extending outward. “Alice stumbled upon these individuals close to our base. They have been questioned. I have compared their words and from what I have found, while they may not possess the precise coordinates of our whereabouts, they are aware of our general location.”
“Any suggestion, gentlemen?”
Chaos ensues as voices reverberate with countless suggestions. Certain individuals advocate for a valiant stand until the very end, but even the most oblivious among us know the sheer imprudence of such an idiotic course of action.
On the other hand, there are those who propose relocation, a notion I myself support. However, this option presents its own set of challenges.
The ever-growing list of wounded rebels makes the task of transportation daunting, and we cannot simply forsake them either.
Doing so would extinguish the fervor in everyone’s hearts and make recruiting new members an insurmountable task. I suggest, “We should initiate the evacuation immediately, prioritizing the removal of the injured first and foremost.” However, my brilliant proposal is swiftly dismissed by none other than our dear Advisor, who was previously dealt a humiliating defeat by Julian a few weeks ago. ‘Should’ve let me kill him. Saved us the troubles.’
“What do you suggest then? Leave them to die?”
I observe the man’s reaction, noting his face turning a shade of angry purple, likely triggered by my implied accusation. Rather than directly addressing my comment, he opts to deflect the discussion.
“Pursuit of greatness cannot be hindered by fixating on trivial matters. Those who joined our cause did so fully aware of the potential risks and sacrifices involved.” He retorts, causing me to frown at the sheer callousness. “Pretty it up however you want, but the crux of it remains the same. We are talking about human lives here. How do you expect to find recruits if this got out? How can you even speak about ‘great causes’–”
I make a quotation mark with my hands.
“If you can’t even protect your people?” A heavy and uneasy silence descends upon the tent. Those who were previously outspoken in favor the frankly callous, if not outright cruel decision now shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with me. “If we do this, how are we any different from the Nazis?”
It takes them some time, but eventually one speaks up. “We have two choices: Either food or our people. Even if we choose to take the wounded, it will only delay the inevitable. They will die anyways, meanwhile the consequences of a scarcity of sustenance would far outweigh the blow to morale caused by leaving them behind.” He reasons, eyes glued to the table.
I express my disbelief through a hiss, struggling to comprehend the logic behind such a notion. “So, just because they are destined to die anyway, we should simply abandon them to their fate?”
I challenge. “By that same flawed reasoning, should we also eliminate every elderly person we encounter? After all, they too will eventually pass away, won’t they? They may be an even bigger drain on the country’s resources!”
I approach the man, limping slightly, and assertively guide his gaze towards mine, my grip painfully tight. “Do you even hear yourself right now, you coward? These are the same men who risked their lives so you can live in the comfort of your tents, while they share one with dozens of other men. They lost limbs just to procure food, because they believe in you. In everyone in this tent! We cannot abandon them, I won’t allow it.”
I assert with fervor, my teeth grind in frustration, clenching so tight I fear they may shatter under the strain.
“Then offer them your own blood.”
One of the advisors demands.
I blink in response to the unexpected suggestion, feeling a pang of betrayal as I cast a look at Bryan. “You told them?” I question, my voice filled with both disappointment and disbelief. Julian’s voice joins mine, ‘Traitorous bastard! I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him!’
The man avoids my gaze, a clear sign of guilt if I ever see one.
He nervously chews on his lips before finally speaking. “It’s the only way we can overcome this situation. I’m sorry, Julius.”
I inhale deeply, struggling to control the surging anger that threatens to engulf me whole.
Unlike before, these emotions are not Julian’s alone; they now belong to me as well.
Our collective anger intertwines, fueling a destructive cycle as thoughts of delivering a swift and decisive retribution via decapitation rise in my mind. “I trusted you…” It is at that moment that I become aware of the collective gaze in the tent, a piercing and greedy and entitled look shared among them. It is the kind of look people give one another when asserting a demand they firmly believe is rightfully theirs. “So this is what it’s about.”
As I survey each individual in the tent, the righteous anger that once consumed me begins to subside. “So, you want my blood?” I inquire, my voice steady and composed.
The Advisor displays a wicked smirk, clearly relishing the opportunity to challenge me. “You were the one who passionately emphasized the worth of human life… If you truly believe what you preach, then offer up your blood. That should solve everything.” He taunts, pushing a pre-prepared bottle provocatively toward me, accompanied by a devious wink. “You bunch–”
I suppress the torrent of curses that threatens to escape my lips. It becomes painfully clear that not a single person in the tent possesses any true decency, and those who exhibit even the slightest hints of virtue are confined to their sickbeds by these… People’s orders.
I close my eyes, refusing to gaze upon these individuals who, under their human facades, prove themselves– “You’re worse than beasts.”
Upon feeling a surge of defiance, I forcefully spit on the ground before making tiny cuts on my palm with my sharpened nails, allowing my blood to flow into the bottle.
Evacuating the wounded on my own will be rather challenging. However, with my loyal, furry companions by my side, it is certainly within reach. “A word of caution: My blood is not easily swallowed.”
I warn, resentment filling my voice, but nobody pays me any heed.
With those final words, I push through the pain and limp outside, mentally calling upon my loyal Familiars. Julian’s anger echoes within me as he scolds. ‘What are you doing?! They don’t deserve our BLOOD!’
“Let them take it. They’ll bear the consequences of the metamorphosis.” I respond. From what I’ve observed, my Strain is more suitable for animals.
Bryan himself would not have survived the process without my intervention. Initially, I was hesitant to part with my blood, fearing their deaths will be placed on my shoulders, but as they themselves insist, even concocting such a plan… Well, let them choke on it. Listening in to my monologue, Julian howls with laughter. ‘And you call yourself good? You’re even more vicious than I am when angered!’
‘I disagree.’ I object, my voice echoing the cold fury I’m feeling. ‘My anger is often justified, whereas yours, Julian, is driven by little more than a vicious desire to cause harm. We’re fundamentally different.’
Julian clicks his tongue in response, gearing himself up to engage in yet another round of our philosophical debates when a heavy voice suddenly calls out, cutting through the tension. “Julius, WAIT!” Bryan urgently cries, managing to capture our attention and causing us both to pause our dispute. Gaze dark, I cast a piercing glare at my former Progeny. “What do you want now?”
Confronted by my withering stare, the Private flinches slightly, sheepishly scratching his head. “I apologize. I was unaware they would resort to such methods. They assured me they would approach you politely.” He admits, his voice tinged with regret. ‘I swear, if you fucking forgive him–!’
“You broke my trust, Bryan. You think a damn apology will fix that?”
Julian’s worries ultimately prove unfounded. I may be nice usually, but even a Saint’s patience knows limit. I’m no Saint, and I’m way past mine. “I–”
Although good-natured, Bryan’s far too shortsighted and, dare I say, simpleminded. “Have you considered the consequences of your actions?”
I tilt my head and gently admonish him, my expression softening as I observe the genuine remorse in his eyes.
“Those individuals may be aligned with the cause we support, but that doesn’t make them inherently good. Exploiting wounded soldiers as bargaining chips reveals their lack of moral character…” I explain thoughtfully. “Have you considered what they might do once the war reaches a conclusion? Do you honestly think they will be willing to part with the power they have now?”
History has shown us numerous instances where revolutions and movements that were initially driven by good intentions ended up devolving into chaos and corruption.
Look no further than the French Revolution.
It began with a noble pursuit of justice and equality, but eventually, the leaders became consumed by their thirst for power and lost sight of their original ideals. “Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, staring at the fidgeting man.
“By assisting them in attaining what could be seen as a form of absolute power, you may’ve unintentionally contributed to their downward spiral.” I approach, eyes meeting his. “I won’t deal with this matter. Should they turn evil, it’ll be your responsibility. You make the mess, you fix the mess.”
After delivering my impassioned speech, I turn away, and this time, Bryan does not call out to stop me.
— Kaleidoscopic Polaris —
Under the veil of darkness, I guide the injured individuals away from the camp. Although we’re unable to elude the patrols unnoticed, word has circulated about the earlier events, resulting in everyone refraining from impeding our departure. Not to mention, we have an impressive lineup of defenders shielding us, with Blake (Grizzly) leading the way and Alice (Black Cat) and Janna (Jaguar) securing our flanks.
Adding to our formidable group, Nanna (Lovebird), despite her fiery disposition, lends her aid in propelling the carriages forward. As if our protectors weren’t intimidating enough, we also have a menacingly-scaled pool ready to unleash his fangs upon any who dare stop us, and a chimpanzee whose frothing mouth and piercing brown eyes naturally instill fear in the hearts of men. Meanwhile, the rebel leaders find themselves embroiled in a debate over the distribution of my blood, yet to make a final decision, which is perfect.
Our destination lies westward, where Alice has discovered a concealed cave tucked behind a sprawling waterfall, stretching dozens of miles.
This cavernous refuge should offer ample space to shelter a considerable number of individuals, while the encompassing land boasts an array of diverse flora and fauna. Once we arrive, I will present those seeking solace with a choice: partake of my blood, ascend, but face the potential peril of death; or persist in their lives, albeit in a debilitated state. While I cannot guarantee the virtue of all who seek my aid, they are certainly an improvement over the current rebel leaders.
At least, none has yet requested to be healed by my blood.
As everyone settles into their positions and we prepare for departure, I delve deep into the recesses of my consciousness, reaching out to the dormant Klyntar within me.
However, to my dismay, he reacts with fearful hesitation, his slithering form recoiling from the light and retreating into the darkness like a viscous, tar-like sludge. I let out a frustrated sigh and instinctively bring my hand to my face, facepalming. “Please,” I plead, my tone filled with genuine sincerity. “We’re not heading into battle this time. We just need to fly around and scout the road ahead. It won’t be dangerous, I promise.”
I take a deep breath, silently urging patience and understanding, and slowly approach the retreating Klyntar. “I know you’re scared,” I say softly, trying to convey empathy. “But I need your help. Haven’t we been through worse.”
Still, the Klyntar quivers in the shadows, his dark sludge-like form seemingly indecisive. Sensing its hesitation, I rack my brain for a solution. “Alright,” I begin, my voice adopting a more persuasive tone. “What do you want for your help? Just tell it to me straight.”
Once I offer this, the Klyntar’s eyes seem to shimmer with interest.
His apprehension starts to wane, replaced by contemplation. He tentatively edges closer, his sludge-like tendrils reaching out, “BrAIn… I w- waNT bRaIns.”
Stiffening at the alien’s words, I curse.
“Fuck…”
