Light poured through the doors as they opened, blinding Stone. She tilted her head back, a hand starting to lift over her eyes, and stopped. She realized... she couldn’t see out of her left eye.

Ooze dribbled down her socket, over her cheek. When she moved, something fell from her face. Stone looked down to see that white ball with a forest green iris rolling across the pavement. She surprised herself when she went to pick it up, only to watch her eye slide away from her, falling into a crack in the earth.

That was when she noticed the missing fingers on her hands, most of them gone with only her thumb, index, and middle fingers remaining on them both. Her skin was peeling off, revealing raw muscle tissue of yellow and orange bubbling underneath. Her right forearm opened up to reveal a piece of bone shining through.

Bones weren’t supposed to shine. Not like that.

Stepping into the bloody daylight, she canted her head and wondered why the red bones jutting from her body were shining. She glanced down, hand over her chest, to see metal-like ribs sticking out of her.

She should be screaming but, opening her jaw, it only clacked. Much like other parts she was missing, most of her mouth was gone.

The streets were paved with eerie silence. The snow had completely melted in the wave of heat. A hot wind blew through. Any bodies piling the streets withered, reduced to ash. Cars were turned over, leaving frail skeletons behind the wheel. What should have taken months if not years to decay left bodies in a rapid state of rigor mortis.

Steam billowed down one of the many avenues she trudged. While there was nothing left of the people, cars and buildings remained, though rapidly corroding, making the place appear many years abandoned than it was.

---

As she thought, in the end she had nothing.

---

The streets were empty, quiet as a ghost passing through. She must have walked for miles before her body couldn’t carry her an inch further past the road sign over the freeway revealing the exit out of Ashwater.

In the middle of the freeway devoid of traffic, the operative collapsed to her knees. Her one eye closed, feeling the blood dry and peel off her cold face. She tilted her head to the sky, desolate and red with strange seams drifting into the burning clouds. Like a hundred ribbons falling upwards, fading into black. Was it real, or were her eyes playing tricks?

Get up, Stone said to herself, only the words were not spoken. She had no lips anymore, just as parts of her face were missing, and her hair had gone. She no longer felt the need to breathe, with her lungs rotting from the inside and melting through her ribcage.

Yet she was alive in the most peculiar way. Pushing her body onto her side, she moved into a crawl. Then she helped herself onto her feet again, her knee rattling before giving out.

Stone heard a small, pathetic sound, and realized that she was the one making it. She reached for something, anything, before her remaining three fingers on her right hand clasped around a metal rod sticking out from the ground. What remained of a street sign poked out. Stone ripped it from the steaming asphalt.

Using the rod in place of her ruined leg, she staggered on into the gray mist.

---

The freeway opened up to her.

In the shattered side mirror of one dilapidated truck, now the casket of a skeleton slumped in the driver’s seat, Stone caught herself in a brief reflection. Her scars were hardly the least defining trait about her anymore. Shining material poked from her skull. It looked like pale red steel, but pristine. She had lost all of her teeth, and her head bald. She was a dying animal, carrying itself on its last legs. Something like her had no right to live.

I deserve to die.

Why wasn’t she? How was it that she was here, staring down miles upon miles of endless freeway, to the interstate across the Blue Mountains, where corpses were encased in metal tombs.

---

Stone...?

“Stone?”

Stone was on her side, gazing into the crimson horizon and an end of the world. When a man’s shiny loafers stood in front of her field of vision, she had a passing thought to greet Death in kind. He stood beyond her line of sight, with her only eye close to the ground and seeing only the man’s knees as he crouched over her. A gentle touch came over Stone’s scalp, stroking the raw, peeling skin.

“Let me take a look at you.” Hands gripped her shoulders, sustaining her onto her knees. Her strength ebbed, head bowed until fingers reached under her chin.

In front of her was a man of rust-colored hair and sharp gold eyes. He was tall, possibly over six feet with his stature. His giant hands caressed her chin into his palm as he brought his thumb over her cheek.

While his face was foreign to her, his voice had rang familiar.

Agent Tremond.

Gregory Tremond.

“Seems that you’ve inspired quite a bit of chaos, haven’t you? This would be my fault, I imagine,” he said and sighed.

---

He flipped his wrist, revealing a silver watch.

“What a mess. The Chancellor is dead, although it sounds as if his son lives. He’s in urgent care right now, at any rate. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Stone?”

Stone didn’t reply. Couldn’t.

“Nevertheless, you were successful,” Tremond continued. “You did well, Sergeant. I promise you that once this is done, you’ll be right as rain. Although you won’t remember this conversation, so I suppose there’s no point in colloquies, yeah?”

Agent Tremond laughed. He let go of Stone, forcing her to support herself on her knees. The man rose over her. Her head drooped, from seeing his fancy white dress pants to his clean loafers once again. Although her vision was spotted, she still heard things very well. Such as the sound of a gun cocking as Tremond took one out of his vest, and released the safety.

She felt the cold end rest against the top of her head. Stone closed her eye.

Wasn’t this where she supposed to be seeing her life flash before her?

“Goodnight, sleepyhead,” Tremond told her in a soft, soothing voice.

The trigger pulled.

Stone was fond of the sound bullets made. She was born in war, and lulled by a tune burrowed into her brain that she knew so well.

[PSYCH PROFILE] Subject Freyja (Q-056)
SUMMARY: Project's mental health notes on Subject Q-056, who would later be called Rey. Events take place nearly 100 years prior to Seraphim ASCENT.

Von der grossen Sehnsucht
SUMMARY: Of the Great Longing.
Massive NSFW TRIGGER WARNING for sexual content.

Memory
SUMMARY: As she thought, in the end she had nothing.

Bird Song
SUMMARY: Held him down, broke his neck, taught him a lesson he wouldn't forget.

I'm Not Me
SUMMARY: Consider this a final gift to you.

their tears are filling up their glasses
no expression, no expression.

go back

Dr. Stransky: “April 25th.

Dr. Stransky: “It has been fourteen months since the first launch of the twins, Subjects Q-Zero-Fifty-five and Zero-Fifty-six. Also known as FREY and FREYJA.

Dr. Stransky: “Against the director’s counsel, I have requested to conduct a psychological profile on the surviving subject, FREYJA. The board has grown cynical since Subject FREYJA destroyed her brother during their first observational trial over a year ago. Fratricide is, of course, a matter in which the project administrators take very seriously, and Subject FREYJA had been dispatched accordingly. However, my team was able to reassemble her remains and activate her vessel as of two days ago. She hasn’t spoken a word to me since, but something about her tells me that she remembers what she did.

Dr. Stransky: “Until then, we have been ordered to confine her in Glass House — a ten-by-ten chamber with a surveillance unit to study her from. So far she has remained quiet, unresponsive. The director is skeptical that the bureau will continue funding the project on a defunct war effort.

Dr. Stransky: “Defunct war effort... It almost makes me sick to hear those words. But this was mine and Lucas’ aspiration, and the bureau was our only chance at getting the subsidies to make it possible. In order for them to help us, it is our responsibility to help their war.

Dr. Stransky: “In order to prove that Subject FREYJA can still be an asset, I have inquired the bureau to allow my research in the psychology of the artificial life my husband and I have created. Too many of our resources have been poured into this project for us to forego future endeavors, regardless of what the bureau intends to do with them.

Dr. Stransky: “They are, after all, a part of us now.

Dr. Stransky: “At the risk of being scientifically unsound, I have faith that Fi... Subject FREYJA will come through, even though her brother has not.”

---

Dr. Stransky: “May 15th.

Dr. Stransky: “The board has decided to allow me time with FREYJA, so long as I am under close supervision while in the subject’s presence. This means that a member of the bureau, a Dr. Jonathan Quayle, has been transferred to the facility to oversee FREYJA’s development. In addition my husband, Dr. Lucas Coffey, has volunteered to aid me in my studies.

Dr. Stransky: “I have agreed to these terms, and I am eager to begin research. Come next week, I will be meeting with Subject FREYJA in private. My husband will be working with the bureau’s researcher to sate any curiosities the man might have.

Dr. Stransky: “I want to believe that what we have done is right. If I can prove that FREYJA is capable of developing mental stability, then perhaps there is hope that our work has not been wasted.”

---

Dr. Stransky: “May 30th.

Dr. Stransky: “Subject FREYJA has already made some steady progress over the course of our time together. In spite of her hostile nature during the first observational trial, she now appears docile, and has been surprisingly compliant to the questions that I have asked her. In return, she has asked me questions of her own. She’s questioned about her brother, FREY, seemingly having absolutely no memory of the event.

Dr. Stransky: “I can’t help but feel sorry for her. She is like a child, trapped inside of a violent storm. Her body and mind act as two separate forces — if I can confirm that her brother’s death was a result of human error and not an act of senseless violence, the board may spare her. I am overcome by a need to do what I feel as right. This, to me, is the right thing to do.

Dr. Stransky: “I met with that researcher recently as well. Jonathan Quayle. He seems to undermine what my work means to me, but has developed a peculiar fascination with my work. I see him sometimes in the surveillance unit, watching Subject FREYJA inside of Glass House. He claims he is simply studying her patterns, but something about his presence makes me uneasy.

Dr. Stransky: “Another matter that troubles me are the things he says to her. Calls her ‘salamander’ sometimes.

Dr. Stransky: “Either way I find I do not care that much for this man, but FREYJA’s survival also depends on what he reports to the bureau.

Dr. Stransky: “As... strange as it might seem, I feel like she is another daughter to me. I did help to create her— me and my husband both. Her flesh and blood are our own, as was her brother’s.

Dr. Stransky: “Although the director has thought it unwise, I... I have started to call her by the name of Fiona, but only when we are together.

Dr. Stransky: “Lucas still does not know.”

---

Dr. Stransky: “June 2nd.

Dr. Stransky: “Subject Q-056, please state your name.”

Subject: “You know it.”

Dr. Stransky: “Yes, but I would like it if you told me.”

Subject: “Subject Q-056. That is it.”

Dr. Stransky: “I want you to tell me your real name.”

Subject: “The one that the project has given this vessel?”

Dr. Stransky: “Yes.”

Subject: “Designation: Subject Q-056. Codename: FREYJA.”

Dr. Stransky: “Do you know why you were given this name, FREYJA?”

Subject: “Negative.”

Dr. Stransky: “We have gone over this before.”

Subject: “Say it again.”

Dr. Stransky: “Fiona...”

Subject: [In the same tone:] “Say it again.”

Dr. Stransky: “Okay.

Dr. Stransky: “Freyja was the Norse goddess of love, magic, war, and death.”

Subject: “Love and war.”

Dr. Stransky: “Yes.”

Subject: “You have assigned this vessel that codename, as you associate it with love and war.”

Dr. Stransky: “It was not my idea to—”

Subject: “This vessel was also born with a brother. You called him FREY.”

Dr. Stransky: “Correct.”

Subject: “In this mythos, did Freyja also kill her brother?”

Dr. Stransky: “No, she did not.”

Subject: [Silence.] “...He calls this vessel the shell of a goddess, too.”

Dr. Stransky: “Who does, Fiona?”

Subject: [No answer.]

Dr. Stransky: “Who calls you this?”

Subject: [No answer.]

---

Dr. Stransky: “June 10th.

Dr. Stransky: “I fear that progress with the subject has come to a standstill. She does not respond to all of my questions, or attempts to avoid them altogether by changing the topic.

Dr. Stransky: “For instance, she asked me today if I hate her for what she did to FREY. I didn’t know how to respond. It seems like such a long time ago, and my current work has been such a great distraction that I might’ve forgotten about that day entirely. The fear I felt when I watched not only our work, but also something that my husband and I have created with our own DNA disappear before us. I was angry, yes. But I also saw a chance to make it right with FREYJA.

Dr. Stransky: “Even more troublesome was when she wanted to know more about love, because she claims someone has used such language at her recently. When I tried to pry for more information, she seemed to shut down, like she was hiding something from me. The only reason she would do so was if she possessed her own agency, a sense of free will. Which is good for me, but bad for the bureau. They have no use for a ‘weapon’ with a mind of her own.

Dr. Stransky: “I do hate that word, though. Weapon. What Lucas and I have created was a life, not a tool.

Dr. Stransky: “I have recently discovered that she has a quaint taste for opera music. She even asked that I play Andrea Chénier for her this morning, so I did.

Dr. Stransky: “She cried. I have never seen her cry.

Dr. Stransky: “Honestly, I do not know where these old opera recordings have been stored. Somewhere in the facility, I presume. I believe that someone may have perhaps left them behind as a gift. However, that moment was the one time that I witnessed a mixture of emotions from her. She says she feels joy and sorrow, but is unable to discern which one. I find it to be a distressful existence, not knowing the difference between pleasure and tragedy; that it is all the same to her.

Dr. Stransky: “File note. It would appear that the subject has made unauthorized contact with another staff member. Uncertain as to who ‘he’ is. I will request an internal investigation with the director. Worst-case scenario, should the security division decline my request, I will take these matters into my own hands. I cannot condone this unorthodox behavior, neither will I be party to them. Especially when such contact could have detrimental effects on Fio... on the subject’s psyche.”

---

Dr. Stransky: “June 12th.

Dr. Stransky: “Investigation request has been denied. Project board has insisted that, due to ‘Subject Q-Zero-Fifty-six’s unstable nature’, such accusations made by an artificial life form cannot be taken seriously. If I am to push further, they may discontinue my research under the claim that I have become ‘too attached’ to my subject.

Dr. Stransky: “Furthermore, the bureau has rejected my decision to delay Subject FREYJA’s second observational trial. While I believe that confinement has been psychologically taxing on her mental health, I cannot allow the bureau’s military division to step in at this time. The subject has been far too unstable to grasp the basic concepts of right and wrong, and putting her on a battlefield would be a grave mistake.

Dr. Stransky: “I have discussed these matters with FREYJA myself. She now fails to regard the moral quandaries regarding the death of her twin, though she does agree that it was wrong. I have made adamant arguments with the director that handing Subject FREYJA over to the bureau in the near future may result in friendly fire.

Dr. Stransky: “Dr. Quayle has taken a particular concern in this, and has offered to help me with FREYJA’s mental state.

Dr. Stransky: “If there is another issue during the final observational trial, they said that Subject Q-Zero-Fifty-six will be terminated so that the project can focus on the weapons development of the Battle-Brave.”

---

Dr. Stransky: “July 7th.

Dr. Stransky: “Something is wrong. Something with this project has gone terribly wrong. I don’t know who I can trust anymore. My own husband does not believe me, and claims that I have become too soft on the synthetics. I cannot help what I believe, that subjects like FREYJA and Heimdall, and even her late twin FREY, are more than just ‘pieces’ on a game board. They. Are. People.

Dr. Stransky: “Heimdall himself has expressed emotions on a large scale, revealing jealousy and compassion with his creator, Lucas. Heimdall has even developed a sense of protectiveness over the members of the project in ways that he was never programmed. Today, he asked whether or not if my marriage was going all right. He appeared concerned over the distance between me and my husband as of late...

Dr. Stransky: “I did not tell him about the divorce being final. I felt he did not need that on his conscience that I truly believe exists.

Dr. Stransky: “FREYJA, on the other hand, has been distancing herself more. I’m afraid that whoever has been making unauthorized contact with her has been manipulating her in some way to keep secrets from me.

Dr. Stransky: “Once again, I have no means of adding truth to my convictions, but I am confident in what I know. Worst case scenario, I have decided it best to withdraw FREYJA from the project. The director will never approve of this, let alone the board. But I will do whatever means necessary in order to protect my flesh and blood — even if I must sacrifice my life in order to do it.”

---

Dr. Stransky: “August 9th.

Dr. Stransky: “The paperwork just came in this morning. Two weeks after her trial, the board has made their decision. Subject Q-Zero-Fifty-six, Subject FREYJA... Fio...

Dr. Stransky: “Fiona is confirmed for termination.

Dr. Stransky: “What I have learned is that they will strip her of her identification and trash her come the day after tomorrow, once the paperwork for the procedure has been processed and finalized.

Dr. Stransky: “I feel sick to my stomach when I read who had authorized this decision. It did not take long for me to find out that it was Lucas who had sent the request. I believe that it may have been a retaliation... He is trying to punish me. I can’t explain it, but I no longer feel safe here. No one will believe me when I try to tell them that Lucas is the one behind Fiona’s reverted behavior. It must be him. I keep telling myself that there has to be some other way, that I ought to reason with him, but Fiona is adverse to this. She has revealed an odd emotion to me when I bring up my ex-husband with her. I’m certain that it’s fear.

Dr. Stransky: “Dr. Jonathan Quayle has agreed to help me. We have discussed an escape plan for Fiona to leave the facility. With his influence, it may be possible to spare Fiona that fate of being tossed in a dumpster like one of the lab rats.

Dr. Stransky: “But he agreed. Jonathan has planned to hack into the security mainframe, allowing us enough time to get out. If we succeed, we will all leave together. Or at least Fiona will...

Dr. Stransky: “After tonight, no matter where we go, none of us will be safe. In the event that we are caught, this will be my last entry.

Dr. Stransky: “To anyone who finds this... I don’t know what to tell you, and honestly, I doubt there is anything I can say that will justify my actions, other than the strength of a mother’s love. I have no other words for it. I love Fiona. I love my daughter. I thought at one point that Lucas did, too... I suppose it’s within our nature, even for a man like him, to hurt the ones we love.

Dr. Stransky: “For Fiona’s sake, I have decided to play some tracks from Dido and Aeneas for her tonight. Jonathan has told me that it’s her favorite. It’s silly, but... I want to make her happy.”

hopin' to fade and
disappear into the white

go back