Chapter 16: Operational silence
~Rilven Daas~
The crackle of the intercom woke him from his torpor.
"Section C-7. Cell 47A. Critical instability. Immediate action required."
Rilven didn't reply. He simply closed the strap on his armband, then stood up slowly.
Around him, the rest room barely shivered under the complex's constant ventilation. The smell was a mixture of cold coffee, metal and disinfectant. Two young guards were playing dice, giggling without looking up.
Neither of them seemed to notice the summons.
He grabbed his mask and fixed it under his chin.
How can these bastards still laugh with all this going on? He let out a long sigh of resignation as he grabbed a gun.
"Cell 47A. One more."
He headed for cell 47A. "One more." The corridor seemed longer than usual.
===============================
The corridor seemed longer than usual.
With each step, neon lights projected their pale light, streaked with shadows, onto the walls. In the distance, an orange siren blinked softly. Not red. No breach yet.
He consulted his pad as he walked.
_____________________________
File incomplete.
No name.
Human.
Sex: male.
Estimated age: 9 years.
Infusion status: partial failure.
Behaviour: unstable.
Communication: impossible.
_____________________________
A crackling sound came from the communicator on his belt:
[The scientific team refuses to intervene. There are too many risks.] Do the right thing, Rilven.
Always the same words. - Do the right thing. As if they were animals. I can't wait to see them all die.
He reached the door.
A shiver ran down his spine. It was ajar.
No, not ajar, broken. The lock hung, twisted, as if torn from the inside. Dark streaks stretched across the floor: soot, perhaps, or dried blood. And that smell... of lacerated flesh. He knew it.
He reached for his communicator. "I'm currently in front of the room. I need more information on the case." After a few seconds, a partially scrambled voice answered him:
[According to witnesses, it seems to have an air or earth essence. That's all I've got. It would also be best to leave him alive. Understood?]
"Okay." He nodded as he inspected the interior of the room.
The child was not visible through the dust. He suppressed a grimace. He drew his weapon slowly.
A voice was heard. Soft. Childish. Just beyond the door, a soft, childlike voice called out:
"Where are they?"
Rilven froze. Then he slowly pushed open the door.
===============================
The cell was nothing but a shred of a room. The walls were scratched, the steel mattress twisted and the floor gouged by invisible impacts. And, in one corner, a child with sticky hair, trembling, eyes wide open.
No chains.
No regulation clothes either. Just tatters. A cloud of dust swirled around him.
They swirled in a spiral around him, like a tornado ready to engulf us. Incoherent. Unstable.
Rilven took a step forward.
"I'm here to help you. Take a rest. Shall we..."
"Help me?" whispered the child. After all that, you say you want to help me? His eyes shone with a tawny, almost inhuman glint.
"Get lost!"
His voice exploded with a surge of uncontrolled energy.
The blast threw him back against the wall. Time was running out.
He rolled onto his side, half-stunned, ears ringing. The child had risen.
Her skin lit up in places, as if it were cracking. An emerald substance oozed from her palms. Her feet no longer touched the ground.
And in the air, a voice. A multiple, disjointed voice resounded in an unbearable cacophony. A dislocated voice resounded in an unbearable cacophony.
"Give them back!"
"Calm down!"
Rilven shouted, activating his gun. The bullet flew towards the child at full speed, but was deflected. The wind seemed to form a kind of cocoon around him.
The child raised his arm and the cell began to vibrate.
"I don't want to... I don't want to... Give them back!"
The guard stopped dead in his tracks. The child's body was emitting more and more light.
"Hey, stop!" His voice grew increasingly panicked. Time was running out.
The skin was cracked like burnt ceramic. A sickly gleam shone in his glassy eyes.
The storm was only intensifying. Blades of air escaped from him and shot blindly across the room.
"Shit!" Rilven grabbed his sidearm, a black steel baton.
He took a deep breath, then channeled his essence into it. Wind swirled around him as he assumed a low, deliberate and controlled stance.
The air and wind around him collided and cancelled each other out, as euphoria took hold of the guard.
When the weapon finally moved, it began to sing. It was a clear, deep sound, almost sweet, and in the blink of an eye, he jumped.
He dashed towards his opponent, a whirlwind following the tip of his weapon.
With a sound that echoed throughout the corridor, the child's body was thrown backwards.
A crash resounded in his bones as he crushed his full weight against the wall.
He struggled to get up, but to no avail.
Blood trickled from his nose and ears, but he seemed to be in no pain. Or maybe he was, but he didn't care.
"Daddy, Mommy. Give them back to me, where are my parents?"
His voice still echoed faintly.
Rilven looked at him for a moment, his expression sombre. He drew his gun again, fighting back a tear at the corner of his eye.
His hands trembled as he directed them at the child's head.
There was a slight silence, then a shot rang out.
It was all he could do: spare him further suffering.
He swallowed hard as he picked up his communicator, which had fallen earlier.
"I'm sorry, but the operation was a failure. The mutation had already progressed too far."
[I understand. Return to your post, a clean-up crew has already been requested.] The voice, still garbled, replied placidly.
"Please, I have one question. What was his name?" resumed Rilven.
[That information is not accessible]
"Please." He insisted.
[Well, his name was Lionel Orion.]
There was a long silence, during which the speaker seemed to wait for an answer.
[Is everything all right?] he finally asked.
"Yeah I'm... I'm perfectly operational."