Round 4 - Ken Rhee (Marc)

They reached the ruined base just as a chopper was taking off. The squad of eight men fanned out ahead of their Colonel, sweeping the surroundings through their gun sights searching for targets of opportunity, careful not to trip on stray bits of structure or body parts littering the snow.

The Colonel consulted a small device he was carrying, which was emitting a faint yet ever more frequent beeping sound. "Search the rubble for any sign of Agent Rheenovsky. His locator implant is still active and my readings tell me he's somewhere in this mess. By the grace of mother Russia perhaps he's survived."

The squad dutifully went to work turning over flaming debris and snow frosted bits of insulation scattered about the ground around them. They had to stay away from the core of the still blazing building, but whatever was near the blast would have been flung far from there anyway. Within minutes, one of the men called out.

"Sir! I have something!" It was Agent Samsonov. The Colonel approached with haste. Beneath a piece of corrugated steel sheeting his man was lifting up with his gun barrel, a head lay on its side in the crimson stained snow. Just a head. He immediately recognised it as Kenskei Rheenovsky, his most trusted agent in the field. Despite his military training and years of soul hardening war operations, his heart sank at the sight.

The head was resting on its left ear, about a quarter of the way sunk into the snow. The one visible eye was open wide and staring out into the Antarctic wastes, as if longing to be home. Ken's right ear and most of his right temple were torn off of his skull and holding from a flab of skin at the base of his jaw line. He looked like a half peeled blood orange. The Colonel thought he could see some kind of shrapnel embedded in the head, but he couldn't begein to tell what it might have been.

"Bag his remains for return to the Tchaikovsky. His duty to Mother Russia here in this barren wasteland will not be forgotten. A proper funeral awaits our comrade back home." The Colonel also knew that many a military scientist would like to examine the brain of Rheenovsky to investigate his unusually high restistance to mental influence. Combined with Donahue's work he had stolen and transmitted to them, there were likely many applications that could be found with the information gained.

Minutes later, as the squad was making final preparations for the trek back to their sub, a group of armed humanoid creatures appeared about a hundred yards away from the blazing ruins. Before the Colonel or any of his men could process what they were seeing, the things opened fire on them. Three of the men were instantly sublimated into a fine cloud of pink particles. Luckily Samsonov wasn't one of them.

"Samsonov, full retreat! Genkin, Ivanishin, switch to full auto! Fire at will to cover us! Back to the Tchaikovsky!!!" The Colonel had to scream at the top of his lungs to be heard over the cacophony of weapons fire around him and his squad. The sound of gun fire and explosives was deafening, but it was made worse by the sound the creatures' weapons fire made when it vaporized the snow it came into contact with. It sounded even worse when the beams hit flesh...

---

+What are you doing!? Those are my allies!+ Donague watched helplessly as his extra terrestrial saviours began vaporizing his only remaining human cohorts. 

+Quiet Doctor! These humans know not with what they are tampering. We still sense some essence of Xyctexyct nearby. All trace of him must be extinguished, for the good of your race.+

Donahue could faintly hear the sound of a helicopter far overhead and began to wish he was on board. The Russians were being minced before his eyes and with them went his only chance at completing his work. He doubted the aliens would stick around to enlighten him any further once the threat of Xyctexyct was dealt with. 

Looking up, he saw the helicopter he had heard moments before, except it was now silent and beginning to list alarmingly. The engines had failed and the vehicle was now in a free fall. Realizing what was happening, Donahue began to run away from the battle as fast as he could. He knew it wouldn't be fast enough.

---

"Samsonov! Run! Get on that snowmobile and get the fuck off this god forsaken continent! Ru-" The Colonel's orders were cut off as 3 separate finely collimated beams of energy pierced his torso and neck, causing him to detonate and fly apart like a pinata hit by a 12 gauge.

Samsonov couldn't help but stare at his long time superior and mentor's demise. As he registered what had happened and prepared to act on his commander's final orders, he saw a large object plummeting from the sky toward his aggressors.

The Bell 212 chopper hit the hard packed snow like a meteor, the bulk of it's now flaming mass bouncing once and hurtling straight into the group of beings firing at the now one-man Russian squad. The creatures were instantly mulched by the momentum of the vehicle, main rotor still spinning wildly and sending various body parts flying through the air in all directions.

As the flaming wreckage came to rest, Samsonov stood agape, unable to come to terms with his luck. After several seconds, he regained his wits, hoisted the pack containing Kenskei's head onto his shoulder and jogged over to the snowmobile.

Thirty minutes later, Samsonov let out a long sigh of relief as the hatch of the Tchaikovsky closed above him and he was admitted back into his vessel. He'd never been so happy to be confined in its cramped inner spaces before this moment. He was now the commanding officer of the sub, and as such would have to make his way to the bridge with haste to command their retreat from the bay and long trip home. 

Before doing that he made his way to the galley, ignoring the men staring at his blood spattered snow-camo outfit. Once there, he threw open the door to the walk-in freezer and threw in the pack he was carrying. He knew the scientists back home would want to take a look at the remains it contained. He would make sure the Colonel and the rest of his squad's demise would not be in vain.

The door to the freezer made a dull thunk as Samsonov slammed it shut. In the darkness, the canvas sack sitting in between two sides of beef shuddered. A single chitinous claw emerged from the drawstring tightened opening at the top of the bag and dug into the frost lining the shelf it sat on. A second claw appeared, spreading and opening the bag, revealing the head of Kenskei Rheenovsky supported on insectile limbs protruding from its neck. Its eyes were pure blackness. Its jaw opened, distended at an odd angle, produced mandible like protrusions and began to emit a bone chilling string of sounds...

"Xyctexyct will riiiissssssse again... Ksst-ksst-ksst-ksst-ksst-kssssssssst!!!"

Round 4 - George Shipley (Adam)

"I need to go home. Can you take me home?" Ryan Miller was being worked on by one of the doctors that George didn't know. The man's face was a ruin, but he didn't seem to be noticing the agonizing pain. George thought the man must be in shock.

"Sure thing buddy. You know what?" George stood up and turned to face the assembled remainder of the staff on the base. They had pretty much all assembled to watch the remains of B-142 burn. "Everybody listen up. I'm getting the fuck out of here in, lets say," George looked at an imaginary watch, "ten minutes. If you want to get the fuck out of here too, get your stuff and meet me over by the Bell. I've got enough room for everyone."

The staff looked fairly confused at the statement. One of the group stepped forward.

"What the hell is going on George?"

"I don't bloody know do I? Best I can tell, Donaghue went bananas, killed a bunch of people, and blew himself up. I got Miller out. Wasn't in time to save Molly or anyone else though."

Jennifer, the only other woman on the base spoke. "Was John in there?"

"Which one is John?"

"The one with the red hair."

"Oh, yes. Dead." George thought back. He seemed to remember that Jennifer and John came to the base on the same day. The memory was confirmed when Jennifer opened up her mouth in shock, squeaked once, and then collapsed into a sobbing heap. He almost rolled his eyes. "Any more questions? Nine minutes."

***

Near enough everyone had climbed into the back of the helicopter. He tried to think if there were any faces missing. He realised that the skinny, nervous kid with the obviously fake accent who had been working with Donaghue was missing. That said, he had been working with Donaghue, so he was probably dead. 

"Fuck him," George thought to himself. He turned around to face his passengers. "Everyone alright back there?" He made eye contact with Miller. There was something off about him, besides the wounds he'd sustained; an emptiness behind his stare. "Miller, you good?"

"Yes, Mr. Shipley. I'm good."

"That's Captain Shipley, Miller." Satisfied, George cycled up the engine, and the group left the base."

***

Before heading home, which for George was a base a couple of hundred miles south of where they currently were, but for everyone else would be several thousand miles in several directions, George headed west to satisfy his curiosity. Donaghue had said there was a Russian submarine out here. There was no harm in looking.

He circled the area a couple of times. In the back, the staff seemed confused, but George ignored them. He didn't see anything. No submarine. No nothing. He started to head south, plotting a wide arc so as to avoid Markham if at all possible. A few minutes later he saw them. Two groups of figures down in the snow engaged in a gunfight. 

The first group were military, equipped in full arctic gear. He didn't recognize the garb. They were attempting to make a tactical retreat from the second group.

"They're here for me. We must go, now." Ryan Miller was standing, leaning over the back of George's seat. It was like he was talking inside George's head, just like that female voice had back at B-142. George obeyed. He turned away from the pitched battle and pushed the helicopter hard towards the south-east. He didn't intend to take the action. It just happened, as if his arms, his hands, his mind were not his own.

"Do not submit George Shipley," the female voice said, joining Miller's. "The Miller is no longer the man you know. He is Xyctexyct; destroyer. You must not take him from this place."

"Who are you?" George said aloud. 

"Ignore the heretic. We must go."

"Don't you recognize my voice Georgie?" Her face appeared in his head as he had last seen it; eyes wide and desperate as she dumped Donaghue into the back of the Bell-212. Shaking her head and running back towards the Markham base, and certain death.

"Holness? I never... you're deaf. You didn't..."

"Ah, yes. That's right. Sorry. I haven't been..."

"HERETIC! BEGONE, YOU FOUL WASTE OF FLESH."

"Oh, shut up. God, he's such a child.  If you take him back to the mainland, he'll enslave everyone. You have to stop him."

"How?" George asked. No reply came. No more voices. George realised his arms were his own again. He glanced over his shoulder. All of the staff in the back of the chopper sat mouths agape, eyes rolled back into their heads. Miller stood, writhing against some invisible force. Something was moving under his flesh. 

Well shit, thought George to himself. He pushed the helicopter into an ascent. He wondered to himself if this was the purpose in life that had eluded him since he'd left the military. He wondered if all that sadness and loneliness and the occasional cold blooded act was justified by these final moments. He realized that he would be killing everyone aboard, but that was fine. It wasn't like he'd feel guilty about it.

He turned hard to the right and then cut the engines. The Bell-212 started to tumble. Miller, the only person in the vehicle not strapped into his seat, slammed into the left side bank of seats, smashing into a couple of passengers and waking them from whatever had been keeping them docile. They started to scream. George saw the ground beneath him, and then the sky, and then the ground again. He smiled and closed his eyes.

Peace at last.

Round 4 - Marcus Jones (Justin)

The transformed Marcus Jones howled in triumph as a detonation from within the nuclear engine ripped a hole in the underbelly of the submarine.  His chitenous form was immediately bathed in radiation.  Water geysered up from a the tear in the submarine’s hull, but the rapidly increasing temperature turned that liquid to steam as quickly as it came in.  The insectile armour plating that made up Marcus’ skin soaked up the radiation, and a curious chemical reaction caused his shell to emit a sickly green glow.

 

As the pain increased, Marcus shredded his way out of the submarine, rending through pipes, wires and sheets of metal.  From outside, a crack appeared on the black hull and whistled like a titanic teapot as steam screamed through the narrow gap.  Another second later and Marcus Jones was crawling out like some hideous perversion of nature hatching from an onyx egg.

 

Donaghue saw this unfold from behind a row of alien space marines and held his hands over his ears to block out the deafening wail of venting steam and gasses.  The aliens immediately sank to one knee, their appendages crunching in the snow, as they saw the glowing green monstrosity that was Marcus Jones wriggling from the sub.

 

{Ready weapons.}  The deep voice of the alien leader said.

 

The group of alien fighters aimed their weapons at Marcus’ praying mantis-like body, still wiggling out of the submarine.  A series of whirring clicks and beeps came from their weapons as they cycled to ready mode.

 

{Weapons ready.} The squad of alien warriors responded as one with calm precision.

 

{Fire.}

 

Marcus Jones was about to screech his victory into the arctic sky when he sensed the aliens.  His cry of achievement turned into a cry of panic as all too late he understood what was about to happen.

 

A volley of multicoloured lights and plasmic liquids burning with the intensity of a star’s core sailed through the air.  Marcus tried to dodge but two of his four legs were still caught in the gash of the submarine.  The first of the alien ordinance impacted Marcus Jones, superheating every molecule of liquid in his body and causing him to explode like a pumpkin pregnant with a lit stick of dynamite.  The slower projectiles hit a millisecond later, melting the area around where Marcus once stood and reduced it to red hot slag.

Donaghue watched with his mouth agape as the alien warriors rose to their feet to continue their mission.

Round 4 - Evan Donaghue (Eric)

Donaghue was confused. He felt as though he were floating, suspended in a sensory-deprivation chamber. He could sense no light, no sound, no movement... but he could sense the cold. He was very cold and... very alone. His mind drifted for what seemed an eternity, and yet no time at all, lost and aimless. Until suddenly, a thought intruded into his mind.

{Foolish human,} it reprimanded him. {I warned you of the danger posed by Xyctexyct, but you would not listen. And now, it is free.}

{Yes,} Donaghue's mind cried out, {I was a fool! Blinded by curiosity, vanity and...}

{And greed. You wanted power, and so you bent to Xyctexyct's will. And now you and your friends will perish, consumed by Xyctexyct's inexhaustible hunger.}

{No!} Donaghue protested. {There must be something you can do! Something we can still do to stop it! The alcove? The Felcar field? You contained it once, you must be able to contain it again!}

{Perhaps,} the voice conceded.

{No, brother,} came a second, shriller voice. {Why help these primitives? Let Xyctexyct consume their world, it is a fitting fate for their arrogance.}

{It was we who brought Xyctexyct here, however unintentionally,} the deeper voice argued calmly. {It was our duty to guard and contain it until our evacuation. We failed and we too must take responsibility.} 

{Take me with you!} pleaded Donaghue. {I can help! I have an extensive understanding of human technology. I can help you make use of what resources are available.}

{Primitive technology,} sneered the shrill voice.

{But better than nothing!} retorted Donaghue. He heard echoes and murmuring as of several distinct voices conversing, but their words were out of earshot. Finally, the deeper voice could be understood once again.

{Very well, human} it concluded. {We will restore your fragile body. You will follow us to the water vessel where Xyctexyct is heading. You will stay behind us at all times and act only as you are instructed. Do you understand?}

{Yes, perfectly.}

In an instant, Donaghue felt his senses return in a rush. He felt cold, wet snow below him, heard and felt howling wind around him, smelled smoke and charred flesh... and felt searing pain all over. He could not move, not even to scream in pain. He felt a heavy weight lifted off of his chest and could dimly make out a large, shadowy shape bending over him. A moment later, his vision began to clear and he saw the shape was a large, grey, bipedal creature with four arms and an elongated head. It brandished instruments Donaghue could not identify, but as it moved, he felt his pain beginning to fade away. In a few minutes, the pain was gone and the creature stretched up to its full height. Tentatively, Donaghue rose to his feet and looked around in astonishment.

Some distance away, part of the base remained intact, but all around him was debris. He counted enough body parts to make up at least four people, none of which were recognizable. Around the tall alien creature stood several more of its kind, all standing erect and alert. They exuded a sense of calm and professionalism that Donaghue associated with human soldiers.

{Your body has been repaired,} the deep voice announced. {Now we depart, and you follow. With luck, we may yet fulfill our duty... and save your backward little world.}

Round 4 - Ryan Miller (Makou)

The whole experience was very confusing. It was like the first minutes after being woken from a deep sleep. A thick haze clung to Ryan Miller consciousness. The noise, the pain and everything else seemed to fade away as the grip of the other being's mind slipped through his own. It felt invasive at first but soon became comfortable, even intimate. Ryan felt the weight of the other's presence and it made him feel small but somehow special. 

Xyctexyct... 

That was what others like him called it. But it wasn't a name or a race of aliens or even a proper noun. It would more accurately be characterized as a description, like "skinny" or "luminous".  There was no one Xyctexyct. All Xyctexyct were the Xyctexyct. A thing that was like a god, that had been worshipped as a god in the past but this particular fragment, this individual strand of Xyctexyct was born into servitude. Now free it shared its memory with Ryan Miller. This Xyctexyct had been cultivated by a race far beyond mankind and bound to make it compliant so its creators could use it as a mere tool. It was a power source, a means of communication and of travel across the vast empty reaches of the stars. 

Ryan had set this being of transgalactic significance free to do as it would in a world still burning dead dinosaurs for power. Ryan knew this thought should terrify him but instead he felt only as Xyctexyct felt. He was part of Xyctexyct, as was Molly Patel and Marcus Jones. The others still resisted. They were still not part of Xyctexyct but as soon as its power grew enough they would succumb and join him. Soon enough everyone would join him including his son. As the last vestiges of Ryan Miller's individual consciousness melded with the whole of Xyctexyct he realized that in a way he had succeeded in goals but he really didn't care. 

Round 3 - George Shipley (Adam)

George Shipley approached the lab. The sound had brought him here; a keening wail that had only subsided as he approached B-142. It had started suddenly, the agony of it dropping him to his knees in the centre of his bunk where he was practicing a self-imposed exile. As he'd approached the exterior wall, he had spotted it. A block of C-4 easily large enough to destroy the laboratory building entirely. The timer showed four minutes remaining. The wail intensified. Whatever was screaming in his head wanted him to go inside. He instinctively knew that if he tried to leave, the sound would strike him down. The door was open. He went inside.

He tripped over Harmon as he entered. The man was dead, his body perforated with chunks of dense rock. Next to him was Steve, also dead. In the centre of the devastation was Miller, still standing, arm outstretched, seemingly frozen where he stood, several bleeding wounds covering his front, his face a bloody ruin. Scattered around the room were others. Donaghue lay moaning on the floor seemingly insensible, a couple of others whose names George hadn't bothered to learn or remember lay unconscious near to him. And then there was Molly Patel slumped in a corner, bones protruding from her neck, her eyes empty and glazed over. 

The wailing subsided in his head, and was replaced by a horrid buzzing sound. He became cold all over in a way he had rarely experienced. His head swam, and he forgot himself. A second later, he had carried her body out in to the snow and laid her down carefully on a drift sheltered from the building itself. Blood seeped out onto the snow. He stared down at her, and then touched her face.

"The bomb. Save him."

He didn't recognise the voice. It belonged to a woman. He stood and left Molly out in the snow. He rushed back to the building. Two minutes remaining, he grabbed Miller, who collapsed as soon as George touched him. He hoisted him over his shoulder and carried him to the drift, laying him next to Molly. Miller stirred in his unconscious state. He was bleeding, and his face would never heal right, but he would live, which seemed good enough to George.

As he entered for the third time, he looked down at Donaghue and the other two men. Donaghue was mostly conscious.

"Ah, Mr. Shipley. You're here. Would you mind terribly helping me up?"

***

6 months ago

Donaghue lay unconscious in the back of the Bell 212. Shipley had lunged for him and knocked him out when the old man had pulled the pistol on him. Whatever it was the old man had seen had scared him enough to pull a weapon on George, and so after a couple of minutes of consideration he had decided that leaving the Markham base was probably for the best. It had taken less than a minute for the old helicopter to get up off the ground, and a minute later they were on the right trajectory to bring them home.

George pushed down the voice in the back of his mind that was telling him to go back for Finn and Holness. Donaghue was a smart man. If he said they were dead, they were dead. Whatever had killed them was obviously dangerous, and with only a couple of handguns on the helicopter, George didn't feel well equipped enough to deal with a murderous unknown quantity. He would deal with the guilt for abandoning them later. In truth, he likely wouldn't feel much guilt. He hadn't picked the mission. He hadn't left them behind. He was following orders. Donaghue's orders. That's where the blame really belonged.

Something smashed into the side of the helicopter in mid air. Something heavy. All of a sudden, the Bell 212 tipped sideways, as if a great weight w's pulling down on one side of the vehicle. George panicked and attempted to level them out. He risked a sideways glance. Something large, shadowed and ungainly was hanging on to them. He saw its eyes, a solid white, and then it was gone, the helicopter rocking hard again as it left. He forced the Bell 212 into a climb. Donaghue didn't stir. VanderTuin remained dead.

***

George helped Donaghue to his feet and started to lead him out of the lab. The old man was light, like his bones were hollow. Like George could crush him with a single squeeze. He considered it, but then thought better of it. The old man might be able to tell him what had happened, as they walked, he asked.

"That stupid Miller let him out."

"Let who out?"

"Xyctexyct. He let him out, and now we're all buggered," said Donaghue. "Buggered."

"Was it this Zickateetick that killed Molly?"

"If she's dead, then yes. I'm sorry Mr. Shipley. We shouldn't have brought it back here."

"Brought what back here?"

"The statue. From Markham. It was a prison. I brought it back here and then Miller let it free. Not intentionally. He's an idiot."

"Right. Okay. Where can I find it?"

"Find what?"

"Zicklebrick or whatever his name is."

"Oh, yes. He went out to the submarine. I think he has friends under the ice. I'm sure he means to free them."

"What submarine?"

"It's just west of here. Russian."

"Right, right. I'll find it. No problem. Anything else?"

"Xyctexyct is very powerful. I'm fairly sure he'll kill you if you go out there alone."

George lowered Donaghue into a chair just inside the front door of the lab. "Well I'll just make sure I take some people from the base with me then."

"I should come along too. I know how to stop it."

"Sure, sure. You just wait here for another minute or so, and I'll come right back for you, okay?"

"Thank you Mr. Shipley."

"Captain."

"Of course."

George turned and left, closing the door behind him. He quickly hobbled over to where he had deposited Miller and Molly Patel and slumped down in to the snow bank. A scant few seconds later B-142 exploded, taking much of B-141 with it. George winced as it happened, and as debris showered down around him, and a loud alarm started to sound over in the residential blocks, he started to laugh quietly to himself. Miller stirred next to him and started to moan loudly.

"Doctor's will be along in a moment Miller. Don't you worry."

Round 3 - Ken Rhee (Marc)

The periscope broke the surface of the water for the fifth time this hour, each time in a different location, but always in the same vicinity of the bay near old Markham base.

"Still no sign sir" came the hushed voice of the young Russian officer. Raising one's voice on a submarine trying to remain hidden was grounds for latrine duty, and the fresh recruit wasn't about to make that mistake.

The Colonel in command of the Tchakovsky took the periscope away from the officer and scanned the ice shelf himself. "Keep scanning every 15 minutes. He's bound to show up."

Inside, the Colonel was beginning to worry. *Where are they?*...

---

Months earlier...

"I do believe you are mistaken, Dr. I know nothing of such a man, this 'Ken Rhee' of yours." The squat yet still imposing figure spoke English with a thick Russian accent.

"Come now, Colonel. You surely remember the young man you sent to spy on me. Or perhaps you will recall his actual name, Kenskei Rheenovsky?"

One of the Colonel's eyebrows rose a quarter of an inch in what could equally be described as surprise and concern.

"What do you want Doctor Donahugh?"

"I want you to know that I know. I want you to know how I know."

"Alright I'll play your game." The Colonel took a long sip of his vodka before continuing. "Supposing I do have an operative working undercover in your lab, which I don't, how do you know about him?"

"I read his mind."

"And you expect me to believe this?"

"How else would I know to contact you? You sent your operative to spy on my work for a reason: you want to steal it for your own. You wouldn't be doing this unless you knew what I was after. Well, I've done it Colonel. I've found what I was looking for, and now you're the first outside of my lab that knows it."

"Why would you tell me this? And why do you still employ this Ken if you are convinced that he is a spy? None of this makes any sense!"

"Very soon, Ken will be sharing my discovery with you. When he does, I want you to come for him in your submarine as you have planned. You won't just be retrieving him though. You will be giving myself and my retinue a sub-oceanic trip to Mother Russia, so that we may continue our work unabated on your soil." Donaghue now took a sip of his own drink, Earl Grey tea, hot, while he let his words sink in. "I can't perform my work in America, Colonel. It just won't fly there. But in Russia, ah but we could do amazing things!"

The Colonel jumped in "I don't understand you Americans. You claim you have found a spy in your midst and not only do you not kill him, but you decide to do his job for him? Yes, I'm sure my superiors would be interested in your work, so why continue this charade. Why keep Ken in your lab, letting him think his cover is safe? I could arange for your transport regardless."

"Ah but Colonel, that wouldn't be any fun. You see, my research is only just scratching the surface of what's possible. You've trained your operative well. He is very mentally resilient. It took a fair bit of effort on my part to learn what I now know about his intentions and your identity. This effort has done more than just inform me, it has also served to sharpen my skills. Ken's mental toughness has made him the perfect whetstone for my newfound abilities, and I will need him going forward. He must continue to keep his mental walls up, so that I may learn to break them down. Do you understand?"

The Colonel sat back in his chair, draining the last of his vodka and setting the glass down on the table, upside down. "I think so, Doctor... So in exchange for giving you asylum and a place to complete your work, you will share all your findings with us?"

"Every last bit, yes. As long as we get to keep the spy game going, until Ken contacts you for extraction. I will ensure that doesn't happen until we are ready."

"I will bring this to my superiors and give you an answer within the week. Check your spam filter for one of those penis enlargement scams. Our answer will be in the fine print."

"Clever, you Russians." Donaghue winked at the Colonel playfully. "I'll look forward to hearing your decision. Good day to you good Colonel!"

"One more thing, Doctor. If we agree to this, it will be on one condition: I want my man back in one piece."

"Not to worry, Colonel! He's no use to me dead!" 

---

"Sir! We've just detected seismic readings coming from the direction of the American base!"

"Agent Rheenovsky must have detonated the explosive device! Something is wrong. This should never have happened. Get a skiff ready. I'm taking a squad out to the surface. Let's find out what's going on at this base. We will retrieve the good doctor and his work come hell or high water, for Mother Russia!"

Round 3 - Marcus Jones (Justin)

Marcus Jones watched, too late to intervene as Ryan stabbed the Dr. with the syringe.  His mind instantly dulled by the sympathetic morphine effects coursing through Donaghue’s own body, he struggled to comprehend what was going on around him.  

 

The blast of Xyctexyct’s idol sent a shockwave of debris flying outward.  A chunk of shrapnel from the idol buried itself in Marcus’ forehead, snapping his head back at the same time as he was blown off his feet.  Marcus blacked out.

 

Fish woke up in his dream.  He was at the base of a stepped pyramid cluttered with alien vegetation.  The sky was a dusky purple mixed with streaks of white light.  Marcus was surrounded by thousands of other beings, indistinguishable in his dream haze but for their body language which conveyed one thing: worship.  At the top of the pyramid, preaching an alien sermon to the massive crowd was Xyctexyct, massive and insect-like.  Suddenly, Marcus rose from the prostrate worshippers, floating and pulled as if with unseen strings up to Xyctexyct’s black mandibled mouth.  Xyctexyct opened its mouth and emitted an ear-splitting buzz that violently shook Marcus’ body.  He knew what he had to do. 

 

Marcus woke up on the floor of the lab in a pool of his own blood.  Still dazed from the explosion, his head pounding, Marcus got to his feet and staggered into a table.  Everyone in the lab was either unconscious or crawling around on the floor, Marcus couldn’t tell them apart thanks to the blood streaming down into his eyes.  He steadied himself and tried wiping the blood away but it made no difference.  No matter, Xyctexyct itself had favoured him with his attention.  He alone was entrusted as the mid-wife for Xyctexyct’s awakening and re-birth.    

 

“He is free.  He is coming for us all” echoed through Marcus’ head and he exhulted in his special responsibility.  He would get Xyctexyct what it needed.  He would feed it the energy it needed to sustain it’s magnificent freedom.

 

Marcus sprinted out of the room and down the hallway to the garage area.  He contemplated getting on an ATV but new instincts pushed him to run.  It would be faster that way.  Marcus Jones’ brain was telling him to forget the jacket too.    Marcus ran outside, Xyctexyct’s need for energy overwhelming all other feelings.  Marcus followed his instincts and continued to run, though soon his gait turned into something more like a jog, yet he seemed to move faster and faster.  When the bloody hole in his forehead froze shut, he could finally see again, and what he saw was the submarine Khlebnikov.

 

Fish slowed as he reached the hull of the Khlebnikov and suddenly recoiled in terror when he saw what was following him.  It’s reflection was distorted from the curvature of the hull, but it was larger than a human and looked more like praying mantis than man.  Marcus spun to meet the monster but there was nothing behind him.  He whirled again, thinking it had stayed behind him, but all he saw was the thing’s reflection.  A realization dawned on Marcus then, and with a creeping dread he found that he could not see his own reflection.  The mantis was his reflection.  

 

Marcus Jones took a moment to examine his own hand, now a chitenous claw, through compound eyes.  From inside his head a buzzing noise cut through his brief reverie.  Energy for the alien god.  Must get.  He sensed tremedous energy potential coming from inside the sub.  Dormant no longer, Marcus could feel the subtle vibrations emenating from the nuclear reactor of the vessel.

 

In a single bound, Marcusmantis leaped to the top of the conning tower.  In moments he ripped off the hatch and wiggled his large frame into the hull.

 

“Kenskei?  Kenskei eto ty?” The voice came from deeper inside the vessel.

 

Ignoring the voice, Marcusmantis compressed his body to fit under pipes and through corridors, heading to the back of the sub where the vibrations were strongest.

 

“Ken-AAAAAAHHHHHHH!”  Marcusmantis came face to alien face with Ken’s secret accomplice, Yuri, and immediately snatched him with his mantis-like pincers.  In moments, Yuri’s arms were torn off and his screams silenced as his head was effortlessly pulled from his body.

 

Marcusmantis moved past the missile tubes and tore off the lead-lined titanium door that led to the nuclear reactor.  Standing in front of the reactor, Marcusmantis tested the strength of the shielding by plunging a claw through the outer layer of reinfroced steel.  With a hiss and the scream of warning alarms, steaming coolant vented violently from the puncture.

 

{Xyctexyct, thy will be done!}  Marcus “Fish” Jones, now midwife to Xyctexyct, ripped the nuclear reactor apart and began the meltdown.

Round 3 - Evan Donaghue (Eric)

Everything was suddenly in slow motion. Evan Donaghue stared at the needle implanted in Ryan's forehead and slowly, sluggishly,  reached up to his own neck to find the second needle. His confusion, surprise and frustration spread outward across his brothers and sisters, even as he felt his knees give out below him. As his sensations spread outward among the hive mind, he felt Ryan's mind pouring into Evan's own memories. 

----------------------------------------------

(Picture a bright white flash, like a lens flare into your eyes)

Donaghue looked over at Maggie Holness, Finbar Douglas and Ben VanderTuin. They all wore the same look of astonishment that echoed his own state of mind. He looked back at the monumental object that was clearly the focus of the Markham team's excavation efforts. 

"What is it?" gasped Douglas. "A starship?"

"Whatever it is," Donaghue replied in hushed tones, "it was not made by humans."

(Another white flash)

Donaghue's hand went numb from an ethereal cold emanating from the statue as he grabbed it. A sudden, sharp hiss caught his attention. Tearing his eyes away from his prize, he saw a plume of white vapour gushing from one of the nearby pods. The top swung open and almost immediately, an unbidden thought entered his mind. 

{You are making a mistake. Return the device to its alcove.}

{What?} Donaghue thought back in surprise, understanding the meaning of the words, but horrified by how strange they felt inside his head. {What are you?}

{The alcove inhibits the device's Felcar field,} the voice continued, ignoring his question. {If the field is not contained, Xyctexyct will awaken and break free of his containment cell.}

{Xyctexyct?} Donaghue was paralysed with confusion. 

"Doctor, are you alright?" Douglas' voice sounded distant and insignificant amid the thoughts rattling in Donaghue's mind. 

Out of the vapour, a long, three-fingered hand appeared, each finger tipped with a curved talon. 

{Xyctexyct is the entity contained in the core of our vessel,} the tone of the voice was changing, becoming impatient. {It powers our technology. It is devious. Dangerous. It must remain contained.}

Donaghue looked at the statue. Through it, he could feel a connection to power. Immeasurable power. He wanted it. 

Douglas cautiously approached the open pod, trying to peer inside it. 

{This is your final warning, return the device to its alcove.}

Donaghue hesitated for a moment, his tongue nervously licking his lips. 

{No.}

With a ear-piercing scream, a grey shape burst from the pod, tackling Finbar Douglas to the deck. 

Donaghue dashed through the door, slamming into Maggie, who gaped at him in surprise. 

"Run!" he screamed and they both retreated.

(Another white flash)

"What? What the fuck happened out there?"

"There's no time for that Mr. Shipley. If you could please start the engines, it is about time we left."

"But what about Maggie?"

"We won't be seeing her again Mr. Shipley. Start the engines. We need to go, before they finish with her and come for us."

"Who?"

Donaghue reached in to his coat pocket and pulled out a pistol, pointing it at George's face.

"The engines, Mr. Shipley, now."

----------------------------------------------

Donaghue crumpled awkwardly to the ground. He felt the first knee connect with the floor and then, an eternity later, the second. As he tilted over, his eyes passed over Marcus, sitting upright and Ken laying on a table. While his enhanced body could not suffer any noticeable harm from the fall, he found it strange that as his head bounced off the cold plastic flooring, he felt no pain at all. His head gradually came to rest on the ground and he found himself facing his shrine to Xyctexyct. His substitute alcove. 

Ryan had walked over to the shrine and was reaching toward it. Donaghue raised his hand weakly and tried to focus his mind to send a warning even as Ryan grabbed the statue. 

"Whatever it takes!" came the echoed thoughts and words. 

"No," Donaghue cried mentally, his thoughts still agonisingly slow, "don't listen to it! Return the statue to its shrine! It is the only way to control it!"

Donaghue felt heat radiating on his face, then felt his body being forcefully pushed. As the world rotated before his uncomprehending eyes, he saw Ryan being lifted bodily off his feet and the shrine disintegrating. Donaghue's impaired mind finally processed the explosion. As his consciousness faded, through sheer force of will, he projected a warning hoping that any of his brothers and sisters might hear it. 

"He is free. He is coming for us all."

Round 3 - Ryan Miller (Makou)

Ryan Miller's cabin, soon after Ken set the bomb

"Dr. Miller, are you in here?", the soft knock on his cabin door and calming female voice roused Ryan from what had been a painful half asleep state. Ryan was fully aware of his sore ribs but at least he could take full breaths again. He was unsure how long he'd been falling in and out of consciousness. 

"Ryan, I am coming in, don't be alarmed.", with that Dr. Molly Patel pushed the cabin door open from the half ajar state it had been left in and her eyes quickly found Ryan crumbled form on the floor. Her expression betrayed concern but not surprise, "come Dr. Miller, let's get you onto the bed and under some blankets, yes?"

A few moments later Molly had managed to help Ryan back into hit cot, got him wrapped in blankets with a hot drink in his hand. Ryan quickly started to feel the warmth creep back into his bones. 

"Thank you", Ryan managed to get out. 

"Don't mention it.", Molly was adjusting with the heater, "I'm afraid our Mr. Jones left you in quite a state. I am very sorry about that." 

Ryan suddenly remembered what had transpired, "Dr. Patel, is Marcus alright? Is he being treated?"

"He's fine Ryan, do you mind if I call you Ryan? Given the circumstances the formality feels a bit much." Molly's calm voice was certainly helping defuse the stress. Ryan welcomed the moment's peace as his body started to feel something closer to normal again.

"Ryan sounds great, thank you Molly?" 

She sat on the bed next to him, "Ryan," her pleasant demeanor took on a somewhat more serious tone, "under different circumstances I'd tell you to get some sleep but I am afraid time is not on our side. It's about time we talk about why you were hired, and to be clear I am talking about the real reason you are here."

A twitch of panic crossed Ryan's face before he could hide it, Molly just reassuringly placed her hand on his shoulder. 

"Don't worry Ryan, I am not here reprimand you, in fact I am here to make a confession of my own. We, as in Doctor Donaghue, myself and our employers hired you to infiltrate this facility before we hired you on for the research position you have on paper." 

Molly paused a moment to let that sink in. She also anticipated Ryan's next questions. 

"I apologize for the manipulation. People are naturally curious and suspicious. We've found that the mysterious approach tends help us lead people where we need them to be. But I promise you from now on we will be open and honest about our intentions."

Ryan was suprised. He hadn't even considered that he was being manipulated, but that naturally led to the question, "Why? Why did you want me here?" 

Molly smiled warmly, "Because you're a smart man with a skill set that could benefit our new community. That and you want to save your son. I am ashamed to say this but we used that to get you here, but we can help your son and many other like him. Not right away, but soon we'll have the manpower with the focused clarity to solve hundreds of mankinds problems. We're about to enter a new age Ryan. One easily as significant as the industrial revolution or the discovery of agriculture, but we need your help to make that a reality."

"So what are we doing here exactly? Since I've gotten here we've been poking at mice and culture samples. All very standard stuff, nothing that requires us to be in the arctic, not the start of the next industrial revolution and certainly nothing that could ever help my son.", Ryan's frustration was starting to show. "How can I even know that I can trust you?"

"For the moment, you'll need to take it on faith. Soon though they'll be no way we could lie to you. I realize I must sound like I am being evasive but I need to be sure you listen with an open mind. Ryan about 50 years ago, during the Cold War, the Russians were trying to develop new spying techniques. One of those research teams stumbled onto something that they couldn't understand at the time. They carried out their research in the most remote parts of the world, including here. Eventually, the program was abandoned but we are using their research to try to benefit mankind. The Russians wanted to develop mind reading techniques to spy on their enemies but their technology wasn't advanced enough at the time." Molly's tone grew more excited as she spoke, "But now, Ryan, we have the scientific knowledge to fully understand the rudimentary process they were using. Once we achieved the first human to human trans-neural link we were able to achieved so much in such a short time."

"You're claiming that you've achieved telepathy? That sounds extremely unlikely Molly. How do you expect me to believe that?" Ryan's healthy scientific curiosity was keeping him from making a run to the helicopter. 

"We can't read your mind." she said quickly, "Not as you are, there's a rather simple procedure to undergo but once it's done we are all connected and we can sense each other's thoughts and feel each other's emotions. We can prove it you. The whole thing takes less than 5 minutes and it's quite painless."

"And then I what happens? I lose my individuality and become a Borg drone to serve the queen's will?" 

"Do I look like a mindless drone Ryan? You're thinking like an unconnected being. Did computers get worse when they created the internet? No, interconnecting everything made astonishing things possible that weren't possible before? Think about the implications Ryan, as a scientist, a human being and a father. What do you think will happen to the crime rates if everyone can feel each other's pain? How long would you get stuck on a problem if you have the knowledge and creativity of millions of people to pull from? Would the world spend it's resources producing boner pills or spend its energy hating those that were slightly different if our collective happiness and pain was distributed across each individual? That's our goal, not to create mind slaves but to give humanity the ultimate form of freedom."

"That's an impressive sales pitch Molly, but assuming I believe any of this it all sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"

Molly hesitated for a moment, closed her eyes and seemed like there was some sort of inner conflict inside her head, but after a moment it was gone, "I said we would be honest with you Ryan, and we intend to honor that. Right now our little group is too small to direct itself easily. Too few minds, too divergent mindsets, so for now there is a leader. What you called a 'queen' before. His voice is the strongest and it helps align us towards our goals." 

"And I'm guessing that leader is Donaghue?"

"Yes, but this isn't some insidious Dark Lord of the Sith like you're picturing Ryan. It's more like... a father teaching you to ride a bike. He needs to hold on to get you started but once we get going our own momentum keeps us upright whether he's there or not."

Ryan still wasn't sure whether this was a fevered dream or if Molly had lost her marbles along with Marcus. But he knew that Molly seemed to really believe what she was saying and if this was true maybe they could help him after all. 

"I'll talk to Donaghue BUT I want to know more about this procedure." 

"That's fair," Molly answered, "we agrees, we already have a lot of materials and papers prepared that might help you understand."

With that Molly offered Ryan a hand to pick him up off the bed. Before he took her hand, a thought formed in his mind. He wasn't sure if it was born of fear but it made him hesitate. He extended the empty mug of tea to Molly instead, 

"Could you put this on the table please?" 

"Of course", she took the mug and turned towards the table. As she did Ryan slipped his hand between the mattress and the wall as quickly and quietly as he could and pocketed the single syringe of morphine he had hidden there for emergencies. Molly did not seem to notice and she was still all smiles when she turned back.

"Thank you Molly, I think I can manage on my own."

Ryan stood up and followed her out to medical unit B-142. During their walk Molly seemed content and slightly distracted. Maybe there was a lot of chatter going on in her head. As they approached the medical buildings Ryan's mind couldn't help but think about all the science fiction he's seen in his life. About the personal and social consequences a connection between all humans would be. Somewhere along the way he realize he believed this was real and he believed if anything could help his son, the singular focus of thousands of medical professionals would certainly have the best chances. 

"We have can't wait to show you what we've done." Molly seemed genuinely excited, "There are things we wanted to share with you before. Scientifically, you will find them fascinating..." 

Ryan stopped paying attention, he was taking a moment to appreciate that these might be some of his last thoughts where he was alone in his own mind. He wasn't sure how that made him feel. If this was real, would he regret it? Would he even be able to experience regret? Would all his emotions be filtered through the lens of Evan Donaghue's thoughts. Then an even worse thought occurred to him, what if in this new hive mind the needs of his son weren't a priority. What if the collective decided it was more important to cure cancer or send men to mars or anything else. Would his son be sacrificed for the greater good? Would he watch it happen and be powerless to stop it, or worse still simply be okay with leaving his son to his fate?

They came to B-142, the door opened and Donaghue was there with Marcus, who seemed to have received medical attention, as well as several others.

Dr. Donaghue stepped forward, "Thank you for hearing us out Dr. Miller. We expect you'll want a demonstration."

"No, I believe you, but before I agree to anything I want to know how this works." 

"Of course," Donaghue continued, the others in the lab went about started various tasks, seemingly prepping for something, "fortunately we've simplified the process down to a single injection, through the temple. With a topical numbing agent you won't even feel it and the changes should start to take take effect immediately." 

"Is it reversible?", Ryan asked.

"No." Molly answered this time, she seemed to have been designated the bearer of bad news, "Not right now anyway but in theory we could develop an inoculation if ever it became necessary. We are sure once you join us you won't feel the need to leave." 

"What if I don't like being your mind slave Dr Donaghue?", Ryan saw Donaghue's sneer and each of the other men in the room tense up. For a moment he thought he was going to get jumped and strapped down on a table but the moment quickly passed. 

It was Molly who spoke again, "We told you before, it's not like that. We realize it's hard to grasp as you are but going back to that isolation just doesn't make sense. It's like choosing to give up clean running water because you prefer drinking from the muddy parasite filled water from a ditch. It's senseless."

Ryan had another question he wanted to ask, but he needed to frame it in a way that wouldn't raise suspicion. If they did decide to force him there wouldn't be much he could do about it. 

"What about Jones, he's an addict, if you share everything doesn't the shared link make everyone addicts too?" 

"Cured." Marcus spoke for "Like magic Ryan. We are sorry about what happened before, but now that we're all together, we just don't need it anymore."

Ryan had guessed the answer would be something like that. He had a stupid plan, possibly a really stupid plan floating around in his head but it might be his only shot. 

"Ok, I'll do it on one condition. Once we get this whole collective thing setup we work on a cure for my son." 

Molly placed her hand of Ryan shoulder again, "Ryan, I know you care about your son and we will do our best to help him but we still have to be realistic. Once we're all collected we'll we able to fix so many of humanity's problems but not all of them will be eradicated overnight. We can't guarantee we can save him but you have our word we'll try our best." 

The group nodded in unison. Ryan got the distinct feeling it was just another manipulation but at this point he was all-in. 

"I guess that is all I can ask. Let's do this." 

"Excellent!", if you just sit on the table, this will be done in a moment. 

Ryan complied, he tried to appear calm even though his heart was racing. It was Molly that approached him the syringe filled with the unremarkable clear liquid. That wasn't what he had hoped for. 

"Molly, I don't mean to be insulting and I realize you all share skills in your little cluster but I also know you've never injected a living person with a syringe in your life. I'd just feel a lot more comfortable if Dr. Donaghue performed the procedure."

"Of course, Ryan whatever makes you feel comfortable." 

Without hesitation Donaghue took the syringe and began to wipe Ryan's temple with disinfectant. As he did this Ryan's hand went to his pocket. None of the others in the room seemed to take notice as Ryan gripped the syringe hidden within and popped off the cap. He glanced around, it seemed like everyone's eyes were intensely focused on Donaghue's hands. That did nothing to alleviate Ryan's doubts but it was convenient that no one was focusing on his. Ryan closed his eyes and took a deep breathe and he felt the tiny sting of the needle. His last thought as a singular being was simply, "this idea is so stupid" but he had committed and all he could do was hope for the best. 

His hand slid out of his pocket and quickly jammed the needle tip into Dr. Donaghue's carotid artery. His first shared thought could be summarized as a collective, "WHAT THE FUCK!". It was truly an amazing experience, many voices speaking as one with one voice, Dr. Donaghue's, speaking the loudest, but a few moments later the Donaghue's voice numbed and faded into static. Ryan's connection to the collective wasn't fully formed for the first few moments but even he could feel the mind numbing effect of the morphine shared throughout the link. Ryan could feel each person's legs become wobbly and soon everyone but Ryan and Marcus Jones were sitting or laying on the ground, practically oblivious to the world around them. Marcus, maybe because we had formed a tolerance for the opioid was the only other clear thinking head in the bunch, but he was still confused about what had transpired as the familiar warmth of the drug coursed through him. Ryan adrenaline filled mind was able to focus on Donaghue's. With little resistance he was able to swoop into the other man's brain and read his memories like a book. It became clear what he needed to do. He leapt from the table and quickly found the alien looking statue. Ryan knew to expect the chilling sensation as he approached it. As he picked it up extra-human thoughts filled his mind at a level of consciousness he didn't know existed before that moment. It was a proposition, a Faustian bargain for and power. Ryan didn't hesitate, his answer was spoken aloud as much as over the mental connection for all to hear.

"Whatever it takes!"