Monday, 6 May 2024, 9:53am
He scrutinizes the corporate-military motif that seems to shroud the sprawling facility in a sense of banality. Probably intentional, he thinks, though an exception lies in the tower ahead of him. It reaches up like a blade trying to cut its way into heaven.
A triumphant display of human engineering and hubris, he considers, as he futilely shields his face from buildings' luminance burrowing into his cornea. But in his attempt to safeguard his eyes, they suddenly meet his own in the mirror-like glass of the megalithic structure.
He winces at the sight, quickly averting his gaze from the reflection.
Despite his psychological preparations, his inner-mind begins its sovereign quest, seeking out new and fantastic ways to feed into his fears of failure.
He slaps his forehead, hoping to reset his crumbling resolve and rally his convictions.
"Victory or Death!" he mumbles, yet the words echo like a roar through his mind, hardening his resolve, and he faces the man in the reflection.
"Reyn Mitchells, top 5 graduate of Brannon-Brook and future recruit of GAARD!" he thinks to himself with an assertive smirk aimed at his reflection.
A chuckle follows. His anxieties find pause in his playful self-deprecation, but Reyn's self-psychology is quickly cut short by a loud, auditory slap to his chest.
"Welcome, graduates of Brannon-Brook!" A mighty voice booms across the courtyard, rattling windows and toppling weak constitutions.
Reyn's ears pop, his chest tightens and an uneasiness settles upon his abdomen, his bodily cells all assaulted by the shockwave of sound. He searches for the source of his latest misery, but instead he would find before him stood all, but a god.
"For those of you who don't know me, I am Glenn Foster, Senior Officer for Aetheric Integration and Training here at the Global Agency for Aetheric Research and Defence. I'll be overseeing your stay with us during your recruitment period. I think I speak for all of us here at GAARD, and perhaps all of humanity, when I say we are very excited to see the results of the Brannon-Brook initiative. We all have high hopes for your performance at today's assessments…" Glenn Foster's words ooze from his mouth. His deep, sultry voice triggers sensual nerve endings as it moves through the ears of some graduates. He was well known for his striking good looks, accomplished singing career and valiant efforts in the defense of 4 gate invasions.
The group of graduates surrounding Reyn start to break into excited murmurings at the sight of the famous archaner, openly admiring the magnificent man that was prostrating himself before them.
"Ok, settle down, graduates!" Glenn's voice booms again, louder and more forceful. It quickly drowns out the childish chatter, whipping hair and clothing into disarray. The graduates are summarily silenced. "I know you're all excited to see the results of your hard work and training, but first, why don't we start with a little tour of the place, eh?" Glenn says with a beard-breaking smile as he theatrically swings his arm toward the GAARD HQ's main administration building's entrance.
He leads the gaggling group towards the building while praising their achievements at Brannon-Brook and future recruitment into GAARD as he takes them through a large beautifully arranged garden that leads to the main administration entrance from a small courtyard.
Its tranquil ponds abound with floating plants and lazy fish skulking along the water's bottom. Tiny bonsai-like trees line its perimeter and an army of colorful flowers invade the ground surrounding them, all split intwine with a perfectly placed stone path.
Though almost none of the graduates would care for the pristine views as they move through the landscape feature, all are firmly focused on Glenn's words and certain features of his physical form. His tremendous stature and short silver hair basked effortlessly in the sunlight as his approachable smile hid behind a thick beard that seemed to shrink and expand as he spoke. Billowing in the breeze of his own voice. A presence exuding confidence and authority and demanded respect through his sheer size and overwhelming strength.
As the group nears the entrance, Reyn turns his head up to the tower a last time. The HQ lies nestled deeply, thought not very secretively, in the green, rocky foothills of the Tahtali Mountains of central Turkey.
The dance of the Mediterranean sea could be seen as glimmerings of light reflecting off the highest windows, while the peaks of the Tahtali soar over the Agency complex from behind. A 10 kilometer-square, maximum-security, multi-purpose compound built with the collaboration of most governments to spearhead the defense against the gate invasion. Reyn soaks in the sun-drenched views, absorbing its natural beauties and starting to feel at harmony, his bodily vibrations in sync with all around him. His mind feels more at ease and his heart lightens as anxieties seem to be gently blown away by the soft, mellow breezes rolling down the mountains around him. He finishes his mini-meditation with a deep breath and long sigh, ready to start his new life as an archaner and to carry on the proud legacy of his mother.
"Move your bloody arse you damned plug! You're getting left behind. Again! I swear, mate. That bloody brain of yours!"
Reyn's mental tranquility is shattered all at once. He twists his head as he glances at the barking figure approaching. All calm and clarity forsake him in the face of the forthcoming catastrophe of crudeness that is his friend, Ghazal Merkaan. A 20 year old Arab-Englishman who had elected, of his own volition, to become Reyn's closest friend since his earliest days at the academy. Ghazal was the only thing that kept him from spending most of his academy days buried in books or plugged into training simulations and VR headsets. Socially unfiltered and morally unrestricted, Ghazal is the complete opposite of Reyn's more introverted nature, yet the two men had grown to share a strong fraternal bond over their 3 years at the academy. Though Reyn could never acclimate to Ghazal's crudity and impertinence, nor understand his inexorable successes with women.
"Wait, you finally figured out how to snag Joze?" Ghazal questions teasingly as he approaches Reyn, greeting his best friend with a friendly and sincere slap to the chest. "Don't worry, princess, the Great Ghazal's got your back, right?"
Reyn tries to recoil from his friend's crude moral support but Ghazal hooks his arm firmly around Reyn's neck and reels him in close. "Seriously though, mate. Are you alright?" he asks, a slight worry creasing his brow. "Don't flake on me! We are in this together. I know you're stressed, but just breathe. Four seconds in. Four seconds out. Done!"
"Funny, I heard that's the name of your sex tape." Reyn snickers. "Four seconds in. Four seconds out. Done."
"Ha! You fucking wanker!" Ghazal chuckles, smacking Reyn again on his chest for good measure.
"You can relax Gaz, I'm good."
"That's my boy! And I'm sure there's nothing to be worried about. ARCH-types, they're linked to the psyche. Mental fortitude and whatnot. So it'd make way more sense for someone like you to get a support type, yeah?"
"Ugh. Don't remind me."
"I'm sorry, mate, but your arse won't make it a minute on the frontline. The aetherian gods would have to be cruel to give you an offence type. Support makes much more sense!"
"Right… why does that kinda feel like an insult though?"
"Just the truth, my pluggy friend. You have a strong mind, for sure. You'll definitely have a high resonance… but you're just not built for battle. Probably trip over your own thoughts if they weren't stuck in your head. You need to get out of your own damned head, Reyn. I keep telling you, mate."
Reyn sighs, it's another truth that's unbearable to hear. He didn't know if it was his nature or nurture. Perhaps triggered by puberty or something else entirely. But ever since he could remember having complicated thoughts, he's always had them filling up his head endlessly with possibilities and probabilities, complicating his actions and feelings as he tries to make sense of the vortex of mental correlations overpowering his mind. Indecision and anxiety have grown to become his default response to these irrepressible stimulations.
"But, you being mommy's little princess and all, perhaps you do get a cool hybrid-type, like her? Or something outlandish, like that dude that can fold shite. Did you see that? He went bonkers in the Berlin battle! Tearing through etties left and right, absolutely brutal that…"
Reyn tries to focus on Ghazal's diatribe but the mental barriers he had prepared for the day begin to buckle under the crushing weight of his single, most pressing fear. He turns to Ghazal and whispers anxiously. "What if I have no resonance?" The thought spoken aloud sends a shrill of trepidation down his spine, draining ever more of what little hope he tried desperately to lean on.
"Oh, then you're shite out of luck, mate. Three years of hardwork and millions of credits in government investment down the shitter. Oh, and you'd be pissing on your mum's legacy, too." Ghazal explains eloquently with a pout and shrug. "So snap out of it, plug. You have to stay focused here. Four in. Four out!"
"I - ah, fuck. Yeah, ok. You're right." Reyn struggles, his friends' words choking him with their vulgar truths. "I'm ready for this. but I..."
"Argh! No, stop it! Piss on that pessimism, mate! The blood of Lunara Mitchells burns in those veins!" Ghazal yells out as he lifts up his chin proudly and throws up a triumphant fist. "Reject the Impossible!"
"Ugh, stop that!"
"Then get your shite together, man. You're here cause you've already proven yourself, right? You're fucking worthy! And we didn't get conscripted and forced to suffer three years of Brannon-Brook, fucking mind-raping, us just to give up now! So, nut up, soldier!"
"Yeah, right, ok, Gaz, I get it, man. You're right!" Reyn says with a defeated sigh.
"Of course I am, princess…", Ghazal laughs, increasing his pace as he pushes Reyn through the crowd of fellow graduates. "But forgot all that, Looks like this thing is about to get started!"
"Welcome, graduates." A gentle voice greets as soon as the group enters through the large automated doors of the administration building, its busy lobby featuring all manner of exhibitions, displays and decorations across its vast expanse. Just beyond the doors, a middle-aged woman stands patiently awaiting the group's arrival. She is corporately-clad in the typical sleek, black, chinese-collared, 2-piece suit that acts as the standard uniform for GAARD's agents, while the intricate etchings of her ARCH-unit were clearly visible beneath her short, dark-blonde hair.
"Agent Linda McCain is a stalwart of the organization and my right hand. She will be your primary point of contact during your first few weeks here at GAARD. If you have any questions, please direct them to the ever-accommodating Agent McCain here."
"Thanks Glenn, charming introduction as always." Agent McCain responds as she leers at her superior, soaked in sarcasm.
"Always a…"
Glenn is suddenly interrupted by the blaring clamor of crashing glass and metal and screeching rubber. In the road outside the lobby entrance, dust and debris billow past the building and the group all stand in motionless dismay as a large, armoured military vehicle skids across the asphalt and comes to a slow, grinding halt, throwing up generous amounts of rubble and sparks.
The mangled machinery lay in front of them unmoving, its wheels spinning helplessly as they pointed to the sky, like a capsized chelonian.
"Oh, oh shit! I'm sorry! It slipped!" A voice rings out faintly, seeming to emanate from the sky outside and all eyes across the lobby move in unison as they observe the stupefying scene. The air and ground around the crash-site warps and bends, as if reality was being crudely reshaped by invisible hands. The armoured transport begins to rattle intensely until it suddenly flicks itself off the ground in a peculiar pirouette and rises into the air, taking with it most of the rubble that was deposited across the pristine pavements. Then, revolving in a aetherically-charged bubble of physical pressure, it hoveres still for a moment before the entire agglomeration starts to shape itself into a strange, floating, semi-sphere. An instant later, the vehicle, debris and anything else in the floating sphere implodes into a single point, crushed into a basketball-sized orb of melded metal and stone.
The rumpled ball then bobbed through the air over the courtyard water-garden, followed by a short woman with flowing blonde curls in a remarkably elaborate garment, covered in colorful flowers and fruit. She wistfully waves at her audience as she passes, until her eyes find Glenn's. Despite the distance and tinted-windows between them, Reyn clearly notices a very guilty looking grimace sour her face as her body sinks into itself, deflated and defeated. She quickly increases her pace and she disappears out of view and all occupants of the lobby stretch their necks trying to peep where she flew off to.
"Vera fucking Vertaski!" The vocal outburst erupts from Glenn as a thundering crack of his voice. It knocks over a number of graduates and lobby occupants and shatters a few windows while cracking many more. The faint siren-sounds of car alarms and panicking wildlife could be heard singing their songs in the distance.
"Ah, shi - My apologies, graduates. It seems there's been an… incident during training with one of our Strike Teams, which I need to urgently look into. I will leave you with Linda here who will lead you to the aetheric resonance assessment. Good luck!"
Once outside, Glenn steps one foot firmly into the air and swirling molecules support him as he rises and abruptly blasts off in a burst of molecular vibrations that seem to tingle every muscle in the graduate's bodies.
"And that's our Gatling Gun Glenn for you." Agent McCain groans as she waves down her blown-back hair and settles her suit while an annoyed pout pinches her face, "Make sure you follow your commands during training… else you'll have him to deal with. I'd try to stay on his good side."
"That was Vera!" Reyn madly whispers to Ghazal as the group moves through the lobby. "Split Nova! If she's here, Ayame's here!" His eyes are nearly ablaze with excitement at the thought of possibly meeting his idol. All notions of Brannon-Brook graduates' soldiery eliteness crushed under the might of Ayame's vice-grip hold on his heart.
"Oh, god." Ghazal groans as he grips the side of his head. "You're gonna be fangirling, aren't you?"
"Fuck! Yes!" Reyn snorts. "I need her autograph, Gaz!", but his vibrating phone grabs his attention and the flashing news notification immediately sours his mood.
"INVASION IMMINENT? G.A.A.R.D. warns world governments to immediately strengthen evacuation protocols and aetheric defense measures in the latest meeting with delegates at the bi-annual I.G.S.I. Conference."
He reads intently as the notification scrolls down his phone's screen. It's been almost 14 months since the last invasion, a gate opening above a major city could happen at any open moment. Strike Teams would once again be called to action to bring down the enemy invaders and close the gate. A city will be left in ruins and humanity will once again have to rebuild its hope in a survivable, sustainable future.
Reyn brushes aside the thought as McCain gestures for the group to follow as she leads them through the lobby. The air tastes remarkably clean and crisp but the surroundings feel stark and sterilized, a typical modern corpo-military look-and-feel with a cold and uncaring aura pervading the place. Some graduates shudder as they enter, less the temperature affecting them than the ambience.
As McCain guides them, a captivating sight forces an involuntary reaction from one of the graduates. "The Shimmer Cube!" they shriek nerdly as Paolo Santos pokes out his head, entranced by an otherworldly radiance. Soon, everybody's eyes are captured by the brilliant kaleidoscope of coloured light dancing from a display along their path.
"Pretty convincing, right?" McCain says with a boastful grin. "Took us a while to get the light fragmentation right, but still, it's nothing compared to the real thing."
The group huddles around the lobby's main attraction where a semi-translucent cube spins inside, its interior a blur of shimmering colors all suspended in an oscillating display of dazzling light.
"It's a fascinating piece of our human history." Agent McCain starts, "A nearly complete visual replica of the Lunar Artifact. The original aetherite sample. Discovered during the Apollo 15 lunar mission of 1971, the Lunar Artifact, commonly known as the Shimmer Cube, was humanity's first introduction to aether. It would take 20 more years of intense study and research of the cube before we would even begin to discover its aetheric origins and harness its potential to bend and transcend the limitations of our physical reality. Through the inspired contributions of Dr. Yar…"
"Merde! Quelle perte de temps!" a voice breaks from the group, interrupting the agent's speech. "Enough with time wasting, just take us to the damn resonance-assessment, lady!"
"Shut the hell up, Fontaine!" Ghazal snaps, reprimanding 22 year old Frenchman, Lucien Fontaine, a fellow graduate, known for his short temper and penchant for disregarding authority. "Let the lovely lady do her job, you uncivilised frenchie!"
"Garce insolente!" Lucien rasps.
"Please excuse our uncouth classmate.", Ghazal grins sheepishly at the agent. "The resonance plays with his mind, you know. Please continue, Miss McCain."
"Thank you Mr. Merkaal." McCain nods, taking a long smirk-filled look at Ghazal. "And it's Agent McCain. As for you, Mr. Fontaine." She turns her attention to Lucein, her smirk dissolving into glare. He twitches as the agent's intimidation seems to crawl up between his legs and disarm him of his masculinity.
She lifts her right hand as her ARCH-unit starts glowing and with the flick and twirl of her finger, Lucein is lifted firmly into the air and dragged through the group, his plodding feet scraping the floor awkwardly underneath him. The aether in the air around him vibrates with shimmering energy as the agent's telekinesis maneuvers him effortlessly until he is suspended helpless and whimpering before her.
"Your behaviour today will be noted." Agent McCain snarls. "Insubordination will not be tolerated here at GAARD. We have rules and you will respect them! Failure to comply will result in appropriate discipline. Understood?"
"Yes, Agent McCain. Apologies." Lucien splutters, averting his timid gaze and trying desperately to slip away from his aetheric imprisonment until the agent drops him to his feet with an ego-destroying thud.
She finishes her lecture on the cube and leads the graduates along, noting the occasional display or exhibitions, until she suddenly stops in the center of the lobby. McCain turns her head toward the ceiling and motions for the graduates to do the same. The group tilts their gaze up in unison, some eyes widening in awe while others let out their bewilderments audibly.
"Above us, we see the world's largest mural of the famous painting by J.P. Shulzer. 'Victory or Death'. Already considered one of the greatest artistic works of the 21st century." McCain says proudly as she lectures on the origins of the artwork. "A powerful dedication. A testament to one of the most important moments in recent human history. The moment Strike Team Captain Joseph Brannon and the members of Warden-Unit brought down the gate guardian and secured the liberation of Bangkok during the Fourth Invasion Gate defense."
The mural displayed a sight familiar to most people on Earth, but one that academy graduates would see everyday in the main assembly hall of Brannon-Brook. A masterful recreation of a pivotal moment.
"Reject the Impossible! Victory or Death!" The words stood immutable, etched boldly into a striking banner beneath the mural. It was the famous battle-cry uttered by the Vice-Captain before their final confrontation with the colossal construct, and now the official motto of GAARD's Strike Teams. The agent continues her speech regarding the event, going on to describe the two week battle that would finally end in the construct's defeat and the collapse of the Fourth Invasion Gate, humanity's first true victory in their 15-year long war with their invaders.
"You ever get tired of seeing that?" Ghazal whispers as he leans over Reyn's shoulder.
Reyn shrugs. He couldn't deny the fact it was an impressive, if ostentatious installation. It hung more than 15 meters above them, and yet, one could clearly make out every detail of the auspicious artwork. The rubble of fallen buildings and infrastructure filled its beautiful backgrounds, the charred, frozen and mutilated remains of countless E.T.A.E.s were scattered across the scene and in its center, Joseph Brannon stood triumphantly over the fractured core of the defeated gate guardian with his famous warhammer, Veiltear, at his side. Behind him stood the remaining members of Strike Team Warden-Unit, including vice-captain Lunara Mitchells, the Queen of the Elements and Reyn's mother.