Holiday Feartree
Holiday Feartree
C.A.T. - Chp 17
The day arrives when Cat and Cicero find their way to the old tomb. No thanks to the frost troll, Cicero lost one of his daggers, so for the remainder of the hike, he has his daedric short sword equipped. Entering the clearing, surrounded by snowy mountains and tall skinny pines, the timeworn walls of Volunruud peek above the muddy ground just up ahead.
“Here it is!” beams Cicero. He grabs Cat's hand and hurries her onward.
“Yeeeeup,” she says, taking in the tomb's ancient, unsettling structure, “...merry fluffing Christmas.”
Cat and Cicero descend the winding, stone stairs that lead to the entrance just below. Cicero pushes open the massive iron doors as dust unsettles from their threshold. Once inside, the two are greeted by another set of stairs that lead further down. The tomb is chilly and dank, swirling with an ambient sound that sends shivers up and down Cat's spine.
“This places gives me the creeps,” she mutters to Cicero. Her voice, as quiet as it is, loudly echoes off the walls and ceiling.
“Cicero will keep you safe,” he promises. Taking her hand, he leads Cat down the steps. At the bottom, they spy an opening to their left and proceed onward, entering into a small underground clearing littered with light from above. It is not light from the outside, but it is light, nonetheless. As a result, sprawling underground ferns have long since settled in this tiny spot. Just to their right is a wooden door.
Cicero raises his hand, indicating to Cat that she remain behind him. He opens the door and proceeds inside. Cat slowly follows his lead. Once inside, Cicero steps around thick, gnarled roots which have grown along the cracked, weathered flooring, spreading like a hag's crooked fingers. The roots convene at the center of the room, almost as if they are ushering Cat and Cicero deeper inside.
In the center of the room, two bodies are slumped against one another. One appears to be a guard, dressed in Imperial armor. The other is a Breton man, dressed in bard's clothing.
“–Amaund Motierre!” gasps Cicero.
Cat rushes over, spying the gaping wounds burned through both of the men's chests. Furthermore, she notices a distinct precision to their injuries. Breathing deep through her nose, Cat smells that familiar aroma of fusion cell residue that has since absorbed into charred flesh. It's recent.
“Cicero!” she panics, grabbing the jester's arm. “We need to–”
A blast of blue light zaps from across the room – almost like a warning shot. Something strange moves against the far wall, but it's tough to identify. The figure appears hazy and somewhat translucent.
“Courser!” screams Cat. “Run!” She grabs Cicero's arm and drags him out of the room at top speed. The jester had almost forgotten how strong and fast she is now. Cat bolts up the stairs, rushing back the way they came, powerfully kicking the iron doors right from their hinges. Cicero's feet barely touch the ground during her escape. He yells for Cat to stop – to slow down! But she continues to flee.
After she gains some distance from the tomb, Cat lugs Cicero behind a large tree, crouching with fear.
“Wanderer!” yells Cicero, wrestling himself from her grip.
“Shh!” Cat's eyes are wide and desperate as she grapples with Cicero's clothing, tugging him close, begging him to be quiet. “Stop talking!” she whispers – practically hisses. “Didn't you see him?”
Cicero shook his head. “Cicero saw a flash of light. That's all I saw.” He frowns. “Well, that and our dead client.”
“Bastard has a stealth boy!” growls Cat. “He was there! He shot at us, but he missed on purpose.” Paranoid, Cat ducks her head around the tree, glancing to see if anyone is coming. “He's fluffing with us.” Lowering her head, Cat covers the back of her neck with her arms, rocking back and forth like a terrified child hiding from the boogeyman.
Cicero's ears detect the sound of nearby movement. It doesn't sound like one person, but in fact many people. It was the sound of many feet, stomping and tromping over the crunch of frozen grass. Soon enough, he hears more sounds – strange little whirs, beeps, and buzzing. Voices. Unusual voices with no real emotion to them.
Cat's eyes pop and she looks up. Shaking her head she says, “No...” Her face drops. “It's them.”
They were coming. She heard them. She saw their silhouettes marching closer. Synth patrollers – little more than mechanical skeletons wrapped in wires, shuffling along using the force of their hydraulics. They were armed and they were looking for Cat.
“We have to fight them,” says Cicero.
“We have to run!” cries Cat.
Cicero grabs her by her shoulders and looks her in the eyes. “There's nowhere to run, Wanderer. Now get up.”
The synths approach, spotting the two of them. Laser pistols blast all around Cat and Cicero, shooting the bark from trees and blowing apart scattered rocks. Cicero dodges and rolls, evading the shots with ease. Cat moves less gracefully, but with speed and force. A few of the patrollers are taken down by Cicero who snatches a nearby rock, using it to sneak up and smash apart their lanky, robotic limbs.
Cat brawls with two others, grabbing each patroller by their necks, flinging them into the trees. Their parts crash and shatter into an electrified pile of metal, springs, and wires. But before Cat can turn her attention to the next pair of synths marching her way, she glances around and sees Cicero kneeling on the ground beside a tall dark haired man. The man wore sunglasses and dressed in a heavily armored trench coat. He extends his firearm, butting the barrel up against the side of Cicero's tilted head.
“Stand down,” commands the Courser.
“Don't do it, Wanderer,” says Cicero.
“Shut up,” says the Courser, pressing the gun harder against the jester's temple. “C.A.T.,” he continues, “it's time to come home. I've been sent to retrieve you.” The Courser looks around. “This place is very far, but we located it in no time. Father will be happy to know of new terrain to explore.”
“What are you planning to do to me?” asks Cat, her hands in the air, indicating she doesn't wish to fight. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No,” replies the Courser. “You're a prototype, stolen from the lab. The technicians weren't done with you. You're going back so that they can finish you up.”
“What kind of prototype?”
“I don't have time for this,” says the Courser, shaking his head. Using his free hand, he removes a device from his breast pocket and aims it at Cat. Pressing a button, a beam flickers across Cat's body, causing her to go rigid. The Courser lifts the device to his mouth and says, “C.A.T. – Override survival mode, command authorization Alpha-Alpha-3-5-0. Reactivate safety parameters.”
“Safety parameters reactivated,” Cat replies in her digitized voice.
“Coordinates logged and uploaded to the Institute's main frame,” continues the Courser. “Initiate memory-wipe.”
“No!” shouts Cicero.
The Courser hits him over the head with his gun, knocking the jester from his knees to the ground. Cicero has not been knocked out – he's still conscious, but his skull throbs.
Cat's eyes change, bouncing back and forth as they do. “Memory-wipe complete,” she confirms. Suddenly, Cat's eyes change color again, this time pitch black. “You cannot erase me!” she groans with an eerily low, guttural pitch, now sounding more supernatural than computerized. A strange black ooze collects around the corners of her mouth, slowly trickling down her chin.
The device in the Courser's hand scans over Cat. “Something's corrupting her matrix. Some kind of foreign organic material,” he speaks into the device. “Sending her back now. Dr. Holdren will need to retrieve her immediately.”
A surge of light flashes across Cat's upper body, expanding until the rest of her is barely visible beneath its blinding phosphorescence. Cicero watches through strained vision as his beloved Wanderer is swallowed by the unnatural burst of light. Once the glare dies down, she is no longer there.
The Courser looks down at Cicero, still aiming his gun. “You're a loose end,” he says. “The Institute just sent orders to eliminate you.”
Cicero props himself back up to his knees, fearlessly glaring at the Courser. “Cicero is not afraid of death.”
The Courser smiles, shaking his head. “Then Cicero will get what's coming to him.”
“Why...” Cicero begins, “...why create the Wanderer? At least tell me that before you kill me.”
“I don't have the time–”
“Cicero has little time left as well. Less time than you. Humor a dead man, then be on your way.”
The Courser sighs. Quickly, he explains, “The Communication Access Terminal – C.A.T. – is a prototype. Not just a gen 3 synth, but something more. More like a comm radio in a gen 3's body. Father planned to use her to gather information – maybe even help terraform should we develop a method to travel off planet. The Institute plans to expand its territory. The Commonwealth is too overrun with warring factions. It's also a wasteland brimming with radioactivity. Father wants to establish more desirable locations. We need C.A.T. to do that.” With a brief pause, the Courser looks around. “This place was discovered by accident. But a welcome accident, indeed. We still have no idea how the prototype ended up here, but the Institute will be coming back.” The Courser flips a switch on his gun. The weapon glows and emits a sound, warming itself up to take a shot. “So, Cicero,” he continues, “you can see why you're a loose end.”
As the Courser begins to pull the trigger, Cicero feels the ground beneath them rupture and shake, almost as if it had been struck by lightning. The sky rumbles above and the Courser's weapon discharges, quite literally missing Cicero by a hair.
A harrowing sound thunders its way from the clouds above. The Courser looks up, paralyzed with confusion. Before he can charge his weapon a second time, a massive legendary dragon swoops down through the trees. Its purple scales glint beneath the sunlight above as its jaws unhinge, snatching the Courser up from the very spot he stood. Flapping it's broad wings, lifting rocks and leaves and surrounding debris, the dragon's teeth clamp down hard on the Courser, piercing his body, breaking his limbs, and crushing his skull in a solitary chomp. Satisfied by its mouthful, the beast lifts off, soaring away to the nearest mountainside.
“I was done with his ranting,” says a voice. “Boring!”
Stunned, Cicero snaps his head around and sees a familiar face.
“Dragons are so easy to tame,” the voice continues. “Such dumb, simple creatures. Oh! They think they're so smart because they can talk! Well, that man was talking and now he's dead.”
Stunned, Cicero says, “M–Mr. Theo?”
The day arrives when Cat and Cicero find their way to the old tomb. No thanks to the frost troll, Cicero lost one of his daggers, so for the remainder of the hike, he has his daedric short sword equipped. Entering the clearing, surrounded by snowy mountains and tall skinny pines, the timeworn walls of Volunruud peek above the muddy ground just up ahead.
“Here it is!” beams Cicero. He grabs Cat's hand and hurries her onward.
“Yeeeeup,” she says, taking in the tomb's ancient, unsettling structure, “...merry fluffing Christmas.”
Cat and Cicero descend the winding, stone stairs that lead to the entrance just below. Cicero pushes open the massive iron doors as dust unsettles from their threshold. Once inside, the two are greeted by another set of stairs that lead further down. The tomb is chilly and dank, swirling with an ambient sound that sends shivers up and down Cat's spine.
“This places gives me the creeps,” she mutters to Cicero. Her voice, as quiet as it is, loudly echoes off the walls and ceiling.
“Cicero will keep you safe,” he promises. Taking her hand, he leads Cat down the steps. At the bottom, they spy an opening to their left and proceed onward, entering into a small underground clearing littered with light from above. It is not light from the outside, but it is light, nonetheless. As a result, sprawling underground ferns have long since settled in this tiny spot. Just to their right is a wooden door.
Cicero raises his hand, indicating to Cat that she remain behind him. He opens the door and proceeds inside. Cat slowly follows his lead. Once inside, Cicero steps around thick, gnarled roots which have grown along the cracked, weathered flooring, spreading like a hag's crooked fingers. The roots convene at the center of the room, almost as if they are ushering Cat and Cicero deeper inside.
In the center of the room, two bodies are slumped against one another. One appears to be a guard, dressed in Imperial armor. The other is a Breton man, dressed in bard's clothing.
“–Amaund Motierre!” gasps Cicero.
Cat rushes over, spying the gaping wounds burned through both of the men's chests. Furthermore, she notices a distinct precision to their injuries. Breathing deep through her nose, Cat smells that familiar aroma of fusion cell residue that has since absorbed into charred flesh. It's recent.
“Cicero!” she panics, grabbing the jester's arm. “We need to–”
A blast of blue light zaps from across the room – almost like a warning shot. Something strange moves against the far wall, but it's tough to identify. The figure appears hazy and somewhat translucent.
“Courser!” screams Cat. “Run!” She grabs Cicero's arm and drags him out of the room at top speed. The jester had almost forgotten how strong and fast she is now. Cat bolts up the stairs, rushing back the way they came, powerfully kicking the iron doors right from their hinges. Cicero's feet barely touch the ground during her escape. He yells for Cat to stop – to slow down! But she continues to flee.
After she gains some distance from the tomb, Cat lugs Cicero behind a large tree, crouching with fear.
“Wanderer!” yells Cicero, wrestling himself from her grip.
“Shh!” Cat's eyes are wide and desperate as she grapples with Cicero's clothing, tugging him close, begging him to be quiet. “Stop talking!” she whispers – practically hisses. “Didn't you see him?”
Cicero shook his head. “Cicero saw a flash of light. That's all I saw.” He frowns. “Well, that and our dead client.”
“Bastard has a stealth boy!” growls Cat. “He was there! He shot at us, but he missed on purpose.” Paranoid, Cat ducks her head around the tree, glancing to see if anyone is coming. “He's fluffing with us.” Lowering her head, Cat covers the back of her neck with her arms, rocking back and forth like a terrified child hiding from the boogeyman.
Cicero's ears detect the sound of nearby movement. It doesn't sound like one person, but in fact many people. It was the sound of many feet, stomping and tromping over the crunch of frozen grass. Soon enough, he hears more sounds – strange little whirs, beeps, and buzzing. Voices. Unusual voices with no real emotion to them.
Cat's eyes pop and she looks up. Shaking her head she says, “No...” Her face drops. “It's them.”
They were coming. She heard them. She saw their silhouettes marching closer. Synth patrollers – little more than mechanical skeletons wrapped in wires, shuffling along using the force of their hydraulics. They were armed and they were looking for Cat.
“We have to fight them,” says Cicero.
“We have to run!” cries Cat.
Cicero grabs her by her shoulders and looks her in the eyes. “There's nowhere to run, Wanderer. Now get up.”
The synths approach, spotting the two of them. Laser pistols blast all around Cat and Cicero, shooting the bark from trees and blowing apart scattered rocks. Cicero dodges and rolls, evading the shots with ease. Cat moves less gracefully, but with speed and force. A few of the patrollers are taken down by Cicero who snatches a nearby rock, using it to sneak up and smash apart their lanky, robotic limbs.
Cat brawls with two others, grabbing each patroller by their necks, flinging them into the trees. Their parts crash and shatter into an electrified pile of metal, springs, and wires. But before Cat can turn her attention to the next pair of synths marching her way, she glances around and sees Cicero kneeling on the ground beside a tall dark haired man. The man wore sunglasses and dressed in a heavily armored trench coat. He extends his firearm, butting the barrel up against the side of Cicero's tilted head.
“Stand down,” commands the Courser.
“Don't do it, Wanderer,” says Cicero.
“Shut up,” says the Courser, pressing the gun harder against the jester's temple. “C.A.T.,” he continues, “it's time to come home. I've been sent to retrieve you.” The Courser looks around. “This place is very far, but we located it in no time. Father will be happy to know of new terrain to explore.”
“What are you planning to do to me?” asks Cat, her hands in the air, indicating she doesn't wish to fight. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No,” replies the Courser. “You're a prototype, stolen from the lab. The technicians weren't done with you. You're going back so that they can finish you up.”
“What kind of prototype?”
“I don't have time for this,” says the Courser, shaking his head. Using his free hand, he removes a device from his breast pocket and aims it at Cat. Pressing a button, a beam flickers across Cat's body, causing her to go rigid. The Courser lifts the device to his mouth and says, “C.A.T. – Override survival mode, command authorization Alpha-Alpha-3-5-0. Reactivate safety parameters.”
“Safety parameters reactivated,” Cat replies in her digitized voice.
“Coordinates logged and uploaded to the Institute's main frame,” continues the Courser. “Initiate memory-wipe.”
“No!” shouts Cicero.
The Courser hits him over the head with his gun, knocking the jester from his knees to the ground. Cicero has not been knocked out – he's still conscious, but his skull throbs.
Cat's eyes change, bouncing back and forth as they do. “Memory-wipe complete,” she confirms. Suddenly, Cat's eyes change color again, this time pitch black. “You cannot erase me!” she groans with an eerily low, guttural pitch, now sounding more supernatural than computerized. A strange black ooze collects around the corners of her mouth, slowly trickling down her chin.
The device in the Courser's hand scans over Cat. “Something's corrupting her matrix. Some kind of foreign organic material,” he speaks into the device. “Sending her back now. Dr. Holdren will need to retrieve her immediately.”
A surge of light flashes across Cat's upper body, expanding until the rest of her is barely visible beneath its blinding phosphorescence. Cicero watches through strained vision as his beloved Wanderer is swallowed by the unnatural burst of light. Once the glare dies down, she is no longer there.
The Courser looks down at Cicero, still aiming his gun. “You're a loose end,” he says. “The Institute just sent orders to eliminate you.”
Cicero props himself back up to his knees, fearlessly glaring at the Courser. “Cicero is not afraid of death.”
The Courser smiles, shaking his head. “Then Cicero will get what's coming to him.”
“Why...” Cicero begins, “...why create the Wanderer? At least tell me that before you kill me.”
“I don't have the time–”
“Cicero has little time left as well. Less time than you. Humor a dead man, then be on your way.”
The Courser sighs. Quickly, he explains, “The Communication Access Terminal – C.A.T. – is a prototype. Not just a gen 3 synth, but something more. More like a comm radio in a gen 3's body. Father planned to use her to gather information – maybe even help terraform should we develop a method to travel off planet. The Institute plans to expand its territory. The Commonwealth is too overrun with warring factions. It's also a wasteland brimming with radioactivity. Father wants to establish more desirable locations. We need C.A.T. to do that.” With a brief pause, the Courser looks around. “This place was discovered by accident. But a welcome accident, indeed. We still have no idea how the prototype ended up here, but the Institute will be coming back.” The Courser flips a switch on his gun. The weapon glows and emits a sound, warming itself up to take a shot. “So, Cicero,” he continues, “you can see why you're a loose end.”
As the Courser begins to pull the trigger, Cicero feels the ground beneath them rupture and shake, almost as if it had been struck by lightning. The sky rumbles above and the Courser's weapon discharges, quite literally missing Cicero by a hair.
A harrowing sound thunders its way from the clouds above. The Courser looks up, paralyzed with confusion. Before he can charge his weapon a second time, a massive legendary dragon swoops down through the trees. Its purple scales glint beneath the sunlight above as its jaws unhinge, snatching the Courser up from the very spot he stood. Flapping it's broad wings, lifting rocks and leaves and surrounding debris, the dragon's teeth clamp down hard on the Courser, piercing his body, breaking his limbs, and crushing his skull in a solitary chomp. Satisfied by its mouthful, the beast lifts off, soaring away to the nearest mountainside.
“I was done with his ranting,” says a voice. “Boring!”
Stunned, Cicero snaps his head around and sees a familiar face.
“Dragons are so easy to tame,” the voice continues. “Such dumb, simple creatures. Oh! They think they're so smart because they can talk! Well, that man was talking and now he's dead.”
Stunned, Cicero says, “M–Mr. Theo?”