Duran Cross - Raddocks Horizon

The Suvaco’s hit to Rennin’s head caused a severe cerebral contusion, and ruptured his organic eye. Caufmann managed to save the eye, though it has been bound and will have to remain so for quite a while.

Sindaris Tessol has not been welcomed due to his extreme case of infection. The poor man was instantly confined and was left there almost a week before Caufmann could convince the locals into releasing him. Allowing people to see Sindaris and talk to him might show them that this man poses no threat.

The overriding fear that the survivors harbour for the infected was unable to be alleviated, despite Sindaris not being contagious. Many people who saw him could not see past his reptilian binary pupils.

In the end Sindaris volunteered to be incarcerated to ease the public unrest. There were a few that made an effort to speak with him, overcoming their fear, who now visit regularly to keep him company. A little girl plays chess with him, he is teaching a young boy to paint, an elderly teacher enjoys their verbal sparring sessions, where both act like curmudgeonly old coots. Any who come to treat him as a circus sideshow, or some object of peculiarity, are not allowed to return.

Rennin walks around the streets of Whitechapel near to the fortified walls when the electrified top of the fence blasts to life, cracking loudly and making him jump. Another climbing contaminant has been burned alive by the generators.

His scattered thoughts turn to food, so he wanders towards the main food hall, where the remaining immune trapped in Whitechapel dine each night at 7pm. The large tables are set close, the diners accommodating each other like one massive family with everyone bonding over a meal. This has helped build a sense of community amongst all these people that were left behind. All they have left is each other, so they keep close. Rennin initially thought they’d all keep to themselves, looking after number one, but most of them are families and have learned to value others above themselves. Rennin still cannot believe this catastrophe, this crisis, has birthed something Rennin feels himself mentally retch at the thought of.

Wholesome.

Mia and Drake are inseparable now. Rennin spots them eating and joins them. He sits, feeling a slight wave of dizziness that passes momentarily.

“It’s good to see you two have managed to pry apart your pelvises long enough to eat something,” he says smiling lopsidedly.

“Is that a smirk or are you having a stroke?” asks Mia.

The general mood at the table is quite depressed, even the jokes seem to have a more serious edge than usual. Drake looks at him in a resigned way. “How are you feeling?”

“Am I as charming as ever?”

“Like a cobra.”

A hand taps on Mia’s shoulder and she looks up to see a group of people dressed in combat gear. “What’s up?”

A woman, clearly a civilian, but wearing Horizon Military armour speaks. “It’s going to be twilight in twenty minutes. The light at dawn and dusk seems to frighten the contaminants so we’re going to use that time to get out of here and look for survivors.”

“That’s insane,” Mia says through a mouthful of food.

“There could be others like us or even like Tessol out there, we have to try to find them.”

“What’s your name?” asks Mia.

“Sandra Kay.”

“Do you even know how to handle that weapon?” asks Mia, eyeing her machinegun.

“We’ve all been taught to shoot since we’ve been here,” she says defensively.

Mia stands up. “I can’t go in the field because I honestly think it would be stupid to venture out since pretty much the entire city is overrun now. You’re looking for someone in particular?”

Sandra looks down. “Anyone. Feels like the end of the world cooped up in here. The others with me feel like I do.”

Rennin can’t resist an audible scoff. “I can hear a very faint violin playing somewhere.”

“It’s probably the whistle of the wind passing through that chasm between your ears,” says Drake.

Sandra shakes her head at Rennin and faces Mia again. “We could use your help, you’re the best sniper here,” she says and Rennin is about to disagree but Drake flicks some food into his face.

Mia leans in towards Sandra and whispers something but Rennin’s keen hearing picks it up. “Pregnant?” he cries looking at Drake. “We’ve got a city full of hungry, angry, pointy mutants and you’re fertilising the lawn?”

Drake throws his utensils into his tray, “Jesus, Rennin!”

As they start arguing about who’s the bigger, grander fool, Mia pulls on Sandra’s collar to see if she’s wearing a chain. “No dog tags?”

“I’m not a soldier.”

Mia pulls hers from around her neck and hands them to Sandra. “Take these for luck. Lose them and I’ll kill you.”

Sandra takes them and puts them on with a wan smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be sardonic, they have a short range tracker in them in case you get lost, nearby friendlies can pick up your location up to a klick away.”

“Only that far?”

“Well you don’t want enemy satellites tracking your troop movements. They’re only for short range tracking in case you get separated from your squad. They’re encrypted but it’s not worth the risk.”

Sandra nods, “Then thank you.”

Once Sandra walks off with her small band, Mia sits back down. “They’re insane.”

“They didn’t even ask if Boy Blunder here would go with them,” says Rennin reaching across the table to pinch Drake’s cheek.

“Well they didn’t ask you, either.”

“I have a bung eye and a concussion.”

“ Sure it’s a concussion,” says Drake nodding with exaggerated slowness.

“By the way I’m not pregnant,” says Mia. “I fucking hate kids.”

Rennin laughs.

She shovels another spoonful of suspiciously pink sludge into her mouth, “You tell someone you’re pregnant, no one asks you to do anything. They’re all suddenly really concerned about a collection of bacteria that’s more like a tumour than a person.”

“Well there goes my appetite,” sighs Drake.

Rennin smiles, poking at some greenish goo on his plate that looks like it may once have been a potato blended with broccoli and old liposuction fluid.

“Do you think Antares will pull through?” he asks half-heartedly.

In the medical structure, Caufmann has been keeping hourly status reports on Antares’ steadily deteriorating condition. Recently she had woken up, temporarily overcoming her grievous wounds to manage a few brief conversations.

Caufmann reads her charts with a detached expression but when Rennin enters Antares’ room he knows the doctor isn’t happy.

“Just like old times?” asks the former watchman.

Caufmann puts the chart down on the bed, peers into Antares’ weary green eyes then glances to Rennin, “You have no idea how close to the truth you are, Ren.”

Something terrible gleams from Caufmann’s eyes and it makes Rennin lean back slightly. “What is it?”

“I haven’t performed such a despicable perversion of a patch up in over fifteen years.”

Antares smiles. “I told you… to leave me… on the street.”

“What patch up?” asks Rennin.

“She’s mortally wounded and all I’ve managed to do in a fortnight is slow the process down. Just like the Jupiter Sieges…” he trails off, taking a ragged breath. “Everyone died, all I did was slow it down so they’d be able to fight longer to see out their last fragments of borrowed time under the same rain of firepower that killed them in the first place.” he says gritting his teeth and turning away from them both.