Degastani Delinquents Part 3
28 Sep 2017Stryker Aune
This story is Stryker’s point of view, and the continuation of a collaboration of a wing mate, Monolith Preacher. You can read his side of the story here
Black Omega Holdings Degastani, Degastani 1, Deep desert
Stryker’s vision was blurred. What he managed to see through the haze was a large dark space, with the twinkling and dancing of golden motes. A dark figure, more like a shadow, moved about in his line of vision. The huge bodybuilder blinked his dry eyes and took a deep breath. The arid air accosted his dry nose and it stung. He blinked again as the dark figured moved out of his line of sight. He tried to turn his head, but found that it was firmly held in place. A dull pain throbbed in his shoulders, down his bulging arms and thick lats. He tried to move them, and found they too were held firmly in place. Blinking again the vision started clearing. He gazed down at his bare torso. Bandages had been applied to the various cuts and wounds he had sustained.
That’s right, the ambush…
His last memory faded when a group of Fredegi had jumped him. He’d tossed one off like a rag doll, and had crushed the skull of another when he was struck with a stun stick. In his enraged blood wrath, he knocked the stick out of the hands of the wiry youth, when he felt another strike his back. More waves of electrical energy surged through his massive body as the fanatics slowly wore him down, and his brain finally seized and a sphere of black engulfed his vision.
The huge man looked up and caught a glimpse of his mechanic prosthetic of an arm. The clawed monster had been tampered with. Whomever this dark figure was, they’d tried to remove it and found that they couldn’t. Parts of the outer housing had been twisted and bent in. Each of the clawed fingertips had what appeared to be indentations. Clearly an attempt to dull the wicked extremity. Stryker smirked inwardly. The whole device was a prototype designed to withstand hard impact. Insanely durable, it could rend through solid plates of durasteel as if they were mere tissue. He flexed it and found that it responded.
The dark figure stepped into his line of view. He felt a thumb pull his eye open and a bright light blinded him.
A soft low voice danced about the enclosure. The accent was hard to place. Not quite Imperial, though it was there, hidden under a layer of the desert dwelling Fredegi “Ah good, you are awake.” The intrusive light was removed.
Stryker’s voice was cold and collected. “Who are you?” he said, testing the restraints holding down his feet. Flexing his tree-trunk thick legs, he felt straps dig into the muscle.
“A friend.” The figure moved about the small enclosure. “I am here to determine what kind of a man you are.”
Stryker could more clearly make out his surroundings. The cave was hewn from natural sandstone. He gazed up and saw that the cave, though narrow in diameter, extended quite high, like a tower. At the top a circular golden ray of natural light shone in. He grunted his reply.
“I see.” The mysterious man stepped nearer. He was wearing the traditional garb of the Fundamentalist Fredegi. The ornamental cap was affixed to his head via a strap around the back of his crown.
Stryker felt a sudden pinch in his neck, and glimpsed the plunger of a glass barrel pressing inward, a warm sensation flowed through his body. He growled, “What is that?”
The dark figure smiled. “It’s an infusion of spice with a local herb, that brings about a euphoric sensation and hallucinations. Typically we use it for our spiritual walks to bring about divine revelation, but in this case, I’m curious to learn more about you, Mr. Aune.
Stryker allowed himself to experience a wave of warmth ebbing and flowing through his body. “And why do you care?”
“We care, Mr. Aune, because we know almost nothing about you, unlike your Preacher friend. And knowledge is power.”
Stryker knew quite a bit about physical power. He repeatedly used his superior strength to enforce power, but in the realm of knowledge, that was for the analysts. The beefy man kept his cool. “And what is it you want to know?”
The dark skinned man shuffled about, tinkering with a tool in his hands. “Let’s just see where your journey takes you, hmm?” He turned his hard dark gaze upon his captive.
Stryker felt his mind open. Not in a physical sense; the sensation was hard to explain. The center of vision was obscured by a small sphere of radiating light. Rainbows of colors radiated out from its center. But around the outside he could still see the world about him. He tightened his muscles, and as hard as he fought, he felt them relax. Visions started flashing before his mind’s eye as his subconscious was brought to the surface. He heard himself talk, but it was all gibberish in his ears. He tried to fight it, but failed.
Strykers head throbbed as if he had been struck with a blunt object. His throat felt like it was on fire. Raw and sensitive. The large man groaned as his eyes focused. The dark skinned Fundamentalist stood before the large man. His spindly fingers were wrapped about a clay cup which he held up to Stryker’s lips. Stryker sputtered as he felt the cool liquid pour over his stubbly chin.
“It’s not poisoned,” the dark man reassured. “If I wanted you dead, I would have had ample opportunity.” Hetilted the cup again. “Now drink this. Water is more valuable than than anything else on this planet.”
Groggy, Stryker wasn’t at all aware of what was going on as he drank, the cold water relieving the burning sensation in his throat.
The Fundamentalist's voice was soft, “Sven of Sowiio, you have had quite the pilgrimage. Though I had suspected by your sheer size and strength, it is now clear to me that you worship the god of strength. Tell me, was all this worth the sacrifice of your sister?”
The huge man was still unaware of his surroundings. “I don’t want talk about Freyja.”
“She spoke to me, from beyond the grave,” the man continued. “She spoke through you. You let her mind collapse, and failed to ease her pain. Instead, out of convenience you sold her off as a slave. Just to kill her years later.”
Stryker tried to shake his head. “No, that isn’t true…”
“Your subconscious never lies. You killed her and for what? To gain favor in your organization's eyes. In her eyes?” The cult doctor walked around the vertical table the bodybuilder was strapped to. “I saw all that you saw.” He placed a hand on the man’s huge shoulder. “Oh yes. I saw it all. You wanted so much more from her, didn’t you? You wanted to be intimate with her.”
Stryker wasn’t sure what the man was on about but deep down the thought had crossed his mind.
“You saw yourself working right up into her favor. Gaining power through her…” he continued.
“No, that isn’t true.” Stryker’s tone was dead.
“And what about the young man at the salvage yard?” The Fredegi’s voice was cold as he moved about the room. “You maimed him, and reveled in the name your peers gave you. Stryker, is that not so?”
The mechanic tried to shake his head in protest, but he knew the cultist was speaking the truth. Stryker had worn the title as a badge after he broke that man with a well placed blow with a plasma cutter.
“People started seeing you in a new way that you revelled in. They saw power, and that meant something to you. You took it and made it your god. That god will fail you.”
Stryker tried pulling at his restraints, the leather like material bit into his organic flesh.
The Fredegi had leaned in close, his hot breath upon the man’s thick neck, “But at the heart of it, Under all that crude muscle, all that bravado, you see yourself as absolutely nothing. And the one shot you had at actually becoming something you failed at, and now you are here, babysitting some Preacher, trying to pervert our ways.”
Stryker felt a wave of anger pulse through his body. He knew exactly what the Fredegi was referring to. He clenched his fists.
“Our ways are timeless and true. You are a failure, and you know it!” He stepped back. “She will never forgive you of it.”
Stryker grit his teeth. He felt warm blood ooze over his forearm as the leather dug into his flesh. His muscles tight, he pulled against the restraints. Deep within his endocrine system, a cybernetic implant activated flooding his system with mix of combat and performance enhancers. The pain ceased and the sheer rush of hormones granted him immeasurable strength. The wood groaned creaked and finally gave way in an explosion of splinters. His arms were free. He grabbed the straps around his legs, pulling them clean off. Hopping down, the giant man’s chest was slowly heaving. The Fredegis’ eyes bulged as he backed up slowly, stumbling and catching himself. Stryker slowly prowled forward, slightly hunched over like a feral animal, blood lust in his eyes. He moved quickly. There was a scream of anguish, as the huge man ceased the cultist by the head with his mechanical claw. Lifting him up, he restrained a leg with the other. Hoisting his victim overhead, he brought the life giving back down over his knee in a drop. There was a hideous snap as the spine was broken in two. With the skull still in his claw, the bestial man stood, dragging the lifeless body along the floor for about a meter until he squeezed the prosthetic, smashing the skull into a bloody pulp. Standing, chest heaving, the huge man released the lifeless mess that had been a man.. Casting his gaze about he was unable to locate his desert remlock and ballistic wear. Grateful he still had his shirt, pants and boots, he found a dark passage extending into what appeared to be the back of the small cavern. He made his way through it. The stone was roughly hewn from the face, and the path was merely dirt and rock that crunched under his booted feet.
The narrow path meandered around, and there was just enough light to make out the shadowy textures. Stryker knew that since there was light, that meant either people or a way out. He took soft steps, and heard the low throbbing drone of conversation. By the pitch he could tell it was a group of men. Given the nature of the small cavern they occupied, slipping past wasn’t an option and it was a matter of time before someone else would stumble upon him. Making a quick decision, he slipped out of the darker passage wrapping his bulging arm around a now surprised Fredegi, who gasped.
Strykers voice was a low growl, “Let me pass, or this one dies.”
A small group of males sitting on various ledges and stones, in a roughly a circle, looked up in surprise, their dark eyes twinkling from the luminous spheres of light that lay about. They stood quietly, hands outstretched. Stryker recognized the symbol. That abominable Preacher made sure that he knew the basics of the Fredegi culture. “You will meet the maker,” they said in their guttural accent.
Stryker wasn’t going to fall for it. He raised the clawed appendage, and made the same symbol. “Your rector is dead at my hand.”
The Fredegi cast glances to each other. “An Offworlder took his life, the heretic has defiled his soul!”
The young man struggling in the mechanic’s neck lock made a noise; “I am ready to die.”
Stryker released the youth and gave him a rough shove to the center of the room. “Not today, filth.” He knew that killing the man would lead to martyrdom and possibly send the other men into a zealous, murderous rage.
The young man spun and spat with venom. “You deny me a death!”
Stryker knew from the Preacher that the youth deserved to die, for being caught unaware. His honor was at stake, and he was going to play on that. “You don’t deserve the honor. You failed you tribe.”
The young man howled, and the others folded their hands behind their backs. Stryker assumed it was a sign of shunning. Suddenly the youth shot forward anger twisting his face.
Stryker took a step to the side, and brought a fist down hard on the youth’s back, sending him cartwheeling into the dirt with a little puff of raising dust. “You don’t deserve to die.” He sent his reinforced boot into the youth’s squishy side.
The young man doubled up, grabbing his gut and issuing a soft groan before slowly pushing himself up and standing to his wobbly feet. His head downcast, he pushed his way past the other men who did not look at him.
“You are still a heretic for taking the life of our holy man,” they said.
“Your holyman wasn’t Fredegi.” Stryker said, “he was Imperial.”
“Yes, we know,” said an older man as he stepped forward. “He was sent to us by the prophet.”
“And here I thought that you only accepted your own,” the bodybuilder said with a sneer.
“How very little you know of us. But the fact remains, you must still die,” the elder continued.
Stryker scoffed. “You should have posted a guard then if your holy man was of such value to you.”
“A spirit journey is no one’s business but your own,” he said, taking a step forward and crossing his arms.
“Ya, and since when have spirit journeys been used as a form of mind reading?” Stryker was seething, but his voice was level and collected.
“We don’t normally use it for that, but we needed to know what we were up against. But now we will never know,” the older man stated simply.
He’s lying... “Your man poked around in my head, and he paid the price for it. And so will you,” the huge man said, taking a menacing step forward.
The elder Fredegi held his hand up again. "We will give you the honor of defending your freedom in a duel. If you win, we will allow you to leave."
“And if I refuse?” Stryker took another step forward.
“You are not that stupid. We have hundreds of warriors at our call, and you wouldn’t make it one hundred meters.” He calmly held his hand up.
Stryker knew he was right. And he also knew how to hold himself in a pit fight.
“So be it.”
Special Thanks to Jemine Caesar for her edits and suggestions.