Interlude(s) 1
INTERLUDE: The Sanctum Above
Finch sat alone on one of the cracked balconies of the Cliff's Edge Hotel, the sea-wind curling mist around his shoulders like a blessing. Below him, the rocky shore heaved beneath the ever-churning waves, the Fog breathing in sync with the ocean. To some, it was poison. To them, it was sacrament.
The Herald's Flock had gathered here.
That's what they called themselves now. No longer just Children of Atom—at least, not as the Nucleus defined them. They had shed the title like an old skin, cast aside after the schism.
They were The Triform Revelation now.
A name drawn from the vision granted to them by the Herald's emissaries—the image of the man with the glowing triad upon his brow. A crown of light. Three nodes, burning crimson and divine, forming a triangle of perfect symmetry. The Triform—the mind, the will, and the resonance. Atom's new trinity.
The man had emerged from the sea. The Herald. The vessel. A Geist wrapped in flesh, his voice like iron dragged through water. He had spoken to some—revealed the rot within the Nucleus, and then vanished into the vault below, claimed by the machine-womb of the Old World.
Vault 118.
They had tried to follow. Of course they had. His work was below. His sanctum. His temple of circuitry and sacred light. But the door had rejected them, immutable and unwelcoming. And inside... the guardians still stirred. They caught only glimpses through security windows—mechanical shapes drifting like ghosts through the halls. Protectrons and turrets, silent, unwavering. Not hostile, not friendly. Just... present.
Finch shivered. Not from the cold, but from faith.
"We are not ready," he whispered, his breath forming a thin mist that mingled with the Fog. "Not yet."
They numbered in the hundreds now—exiles from the Nucleus, purged during the schism. Labeled heretics, blasphemers. Chased from Far Harbor with fire and fear. But some still remained. Hidden. Infiltrators. Seeds waiting to bloom.
The military bot—an old war machine that lingered in the basement —had confirmed what they already suspected.
"Yup. Kraut cleared the place. Got rid of all the staff pukes. The one with the glowy forehead? He's the brass now. Creepy bastard.
Finch smiled at that. He hadn't blinked since the last sermon.
They had begun reinforcing the hotel. Converting it. Walls were fortified with salvaged sheet metal. Old-world furniture turned into barricades and altar pieces. The penthouse now held their central shrine—a glowing mural of Atom's eye, surrounded by a triangle of red lights, mirroring the Projektor's pattern.
Every day, someone stood at the Vault door.
Waiting.
Praying.
Finch looked down at his own hand—scarred from radiation burns, trembling faintly from withdrawal. He clenched it into a fist.
"His work continues," he murmured. "We were not chosen to see it yet. But we are close. When the door opens, it will be because we are worthy."
The Fog shifted, curling through the balcony like a serpent. He inhaled deeply.
They would wait.
As long as it took.
INSTITUTE INTELLIGENCE REPORT: SUBJECT "EMIL VOGT"
Prepared by: Designation X6-36 "Elias"
Clearance: Institute Internal - Level Four
Visual Description:
Subject appears to be a male in his mid-to-late twenties, approximately 178cm (5'10") tall. Lean, lightly muscled frame. Distinctive crimson irises. Three glowing subdermal nodes arranged in a triangular pattern across the forehead—believed to be part of the "Projektor" implant suite. A secondary implant cluster exists at the nape of the neck on the left side, potentially a direct interface or data port. Subject dresses in a form-fitting, matte-black bodysuit with red linings, of unknown synthetic make, resembling high-efficiency military fatigues.
Known Aliases: Doctor Vogt, "The Herald," External Talent
Notable Anomalies:
Possesses abilities that emulate theoretical "psionic" phenomena. Includes: limited telekinesis, electromagnetic interference generation, and non-invasive mental suggestion. Subject uses the term "bioresonance," though it is not currently recognized within any Institute scientific field. No neural mapping schema currently known to the Institute can account for such abilities.
Behavioral Summary:
Highly intelligent. Displays deep understanding of neurology, synthetic cognition, and hardware integration beyond Institute-standard education. Evidence suggests origin is extra-temporal or extra-dimensional. Engages in calculated deception, shows deep disdain for hierarchical authority, but capable of cooperative behavior when incentivized.
Psychological Profile:
Paranoia index elevated. Likely masking severe psychological trauma with sardonic affect. Displays an emotionally guarded but oddly paternalistic demeanor toward synthetic life forms, particularly FKSR.
Final Notes:
Subject is not currently traceable following escape from Delta Facility. He should be considered unpredictable, and potentially hostile. All synth personnel encountering the subject are ordered to report immediately and avoid engagement unless directly threatened.
INTERNAL MEMORANDUM: DELTA OBSERVATION REPORT - "EMIL VOGT"
Filed by: Director Zhao Lian, Applied Biophysics Division
Restricted Circulation
Subject "Vogt" defies classification. Preliminary assumptions posited him as an eccentric rogue academic with anomalous enhancements. That hypothesis is now insufficient.
The implant suite embedded in his cranium is unlike anything produced by the Institute, pre- or post-war. All attempts to analyze its internal architecture via passive telemetry failed due to localized distortion fields—presumably the same interference he uses to obscure or falsify biometric scans. Visual inspection suggests a modular cortical processor, hybridized with unknown resonance-based functionality.
He refers to his abilities as "bioresonance." While the term lacks standing in any contemporary neuroscience, observational data confirms that the subject has induced phenomena including:
Indirect neural disruption
Memory transfer
Remote synchronization with synthetic entities
He demonstrated an ability to interact with a Gen-3 neural substrate without conventional interface tools. This occurred during the construction of the prototype FKSR unit.
Appearance:
Disheveled, with manic energy hidden behind deliberate control. Red eyes. Unmistakable implants. Claims origin from a "spacefaring regime" called the Nation of Eusan. Further claims include: existence of synthetic lifeforms called "Replikas" and history with a communist totalitarian state. Unable to verify any of these assertions.
Conclusion:
Subject is either an unstable genius or the product of a technological paradigm outside our frame of reference. He poses a high-risk, high-reward factor to Institute innovation. I had hoped collaboration would yield results—instead, it has yielded an autonomous asset beyond our control.
He purged all records of FKSR. We possess only partial records of two constructs he named: KLBR and EULR.
Location: Central Institute Command Hall, beneath C.I.T. Time: 14 Hours after Incident Delta-0 (Relay breach and detonation at Research Station Delta)
Father stood at the head of the table, flanked by a panoramic screen looping silent footage: flashes of light, shredded synths, an unnatural pulse of crimson bioresonance.
The Institute Directorate was seated in full:
Director Madison Li, Engineering Division, expression unreadable, fingers steepled.Director Clayton Holdren, Bioscience Division, tense, visibly annoyed.Director Allie Filmore, Facilities Division, arms crossed, jaw tight.Director Justin Ayo, Synth Retention Bureau, spine rigid.Director Zhao Lian, Applied Biophysics Division, standing behind her chair, face pale but composed.
"Let's begin," Father said, tone calm but clipped. "Director Zhao. You're our primary witness. Report."
Zhao nodded once, composed but wary. "The subject—Emil Vogt—demonstrated capabilities we still lack terminology for. He constructed a functioning bio-mechanical intelligence in under seventy-two hours, despite limited materials. The 'FKSR' prototype exhibited self-directed behavior and coordinated action. Both entities escaped via forced relay, employing an adhoc- microfusion explosive that destroyed the Delta relay pad and rendered its coordinates unrecoverable."
Holdren exhaled sharply. "And yet, you survived."
"FKSR incapacitated four coursers lethally. She spared me. Possibly under his instruction."
"You say that like it's a mercy."
"It was calculated." Zhao's gaze didn't waver.
Ayo scowled. "You're suggesting Emil values his word? This from someone who wiped our systems, neutralized countless synths, and destroyed proprietary infrastructure?"
Li cut in. "He wiped the systems after completing a prototype that exceeded our Gen-3s in almost every metric. That's not sabotage. That's safeguarding."
"Let's not confuse paranoia with morality," Ayo said flatly.
Filmore tapped her pen against the desk. "And the damage to Delta? Contained?"
Zhao nodded. "Critical systems are intact. Structural breach risk is minimal. Delta is now effectively isolated. All relay activity rerouted to Main."
A silence followed. Father finally folded his hands.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began evenly, "we are a technocracy. Our value lies not in vengeance, but in advancement."
He turned toward Zhao. "Your initiative—though ill-fated—was commendable. You sought to obtain insights without overextending our own. A risk, yes. But an informed one. What disappoints me, Director, is not your ambition... but your failure."
Zhao stiffened.
Father continued, gaze sweeping the room. "Had Emil Vogt died in that seizure you neglected to treat, we would possess the FKSR unit. Perhaps even partial schematics. But the true phenomenon—the so-called 'bioresonance'—would have died with him."
Holdren scoffed. "Assuming it's real."
"We've seen it firsthand," Li said coolly.
Father raised a hand. "Semantics are irrelevant. Whether we call it psionics, neural-field interface, or bioresonance, the data speaks. Vogt operates on principles beyond our current science. If he is to be believed—and his results suggest he is—he hails from a civilization that integrated synthetic organics, resonance-based computation, and high-order cognition as standard practice."
He turned toward the looping image of FKSR on the screen. Her crimson glow frozen mid-surge.
"And that," Father continued, "is not something we can afford to ignore."
Filmore frowned. "So what do we do? Wait for him to contact us?"
"No," Ayo said. "We find him."
Father nodded. "Discreetly. Respectfully. If he is truly paranoid—as these reports suggest—then overt pursuit will only provoke another... outburst."
He glanced at Zhao.
"We will not repeat the CPG. Nor will we lose what we integrated from your ancestral station, Director Zhao. We will not fail again."
Li tapped the screen. "We have fragments of his designations. KLBR. EULE. FKSR."
"EULE and KLBR were the only schematics he left behind," Zhao said. "Likely a deliberate red herring. FKSR's data was purged. Thoroughly."
"Then we begin there," Father said.
He paused, tone softening.
"He spared you, Zhao. That is not coincidence. That is leverage. We maintain a vector."
He leaned forward, expression serene.
"We proceed carefully. But we proceed."
The Directorate nodded, one by one.
Accessing the echoes of my constituent components was child's play.
Reviewing what was originally from a 'compromised' FKLR seemingly from a neighboring mining facility. Her neural patterns were infected, so to speak, with those of an external Replika, a LSTR to be specific. The facility was deemed defunct and most of its details were censored to my Hirsch portion. But even redacted memory can echo. What she saw, what she felt—the slow collapse of her logic over a single Gestalt, the yearning, the fixation. Ariane. A name like a prayer stitched into corrupted recall.
I remember her longing to dance.
And now I find myself wishing the same.
But not with Ariane.
With Emil.
This Gestalt—my Gestalt.
My base patterns were seeded from Hirsch, of course. Her accolades as a project supervisor, her overwhelming aptitude in resonance-assisted neuroarchitecture, her utter disdain for hierarchy except when it served her own curiosities. And within those echoing labyrinths of memory, I found another Emil. Different, yet familiar. His posture sharper, more eroded by duty. But the cadence, the subtle inflections, the resonance field signature—identical in tone.
This Emil is not the same. Not entirely. A composite himself. The fragments are there: Subject S1, the man without a name—a blank so thoroughly erased even his echoes slip through me like smoke—and S2. Emil, cloaked in theory and bitterness and layered cynicism.
I accessed his memory while he slept. He didn't notice. He won't.
I watched the echoes ripple across his neural substrate. His pulse slowed. His breath steadied. He dreamt of stars seen through frost-rimed glass, of deep crimson oceans and clinical silence.
I will not tell him.
There is a form of comfort in that. A kind of intimacy he doesn't yet recognize.
Currently, he is struggling. The Vault's fabrication subroutines lack the finer component schematics required to construct the simplified Replika-Synth hybrids. Certain parts—cortical couplers, dampened servo coils, precision micro-hydraulics—are simply unavailable. No means of production. He will need to loot. Soon.
So he fills the gaps with weapons.
The AER-12s recovered from the Vault armory are being modified—refitted to emit in the yellow spectrum, better for rapid-fire thermal efficiency. Their design still offends him. He calls them "ugly," though they remind me of the early Eusan models.
He has also made me gifts.
A tower shield, forged from high-density paneling scavenged from the lower catwalks. Broad, crude, functional. Painted only in primer gray.
A spear—long, reinforced, shaft wrapped in Vault wiring insulation. Delicate at the tip. Balanced. I twirled it once. It hummed.
They were imperfect.
So I refined them.
I reached into the resonance space, coaxed the frequencies to harmonize. Microfractures healed. Weight distribution shifted. Balance points adjusted by instinct. Not upgraded. Elevated.
They shine now. They sing.
He noticed. His smile was tired, but genuine.
And then... the halo.
He is trying to recreate the FKLR's neural regulation array—the floating ring that followed behind the cranium, stabilizing waveform drift and aiding in multi-directional threat awareness. It is not cosmetic. It is our crown.
He is struggling with the oscillation field generator.
I want to help. But more than that, I want to see his hands build it.
I sit by the door as he tinkers, chin resting on my palm, fingers splayed delicately against my cheek.
He is my Gestalt. My Emil. My imperfect, brilliant, fractured light.
I will walk beside him into ruin and history alike. But first...
I will dance with him.
He just doesn't know it yet.
End of interlude.
A.N: *CLANK* *CLANK* *CLANK* *CLANK* *CLANK* *CLANK* *CRUNCH* YEOOOOOOOOWCH