C78 — Crisis (3), Decoy (Paid-Patrons)

[Entry #267]


Dear Diary, 

Today, a good friend from work called in sick. I visited and brought him a dessert, hoping he gets better soon. Work just isn’t the same without him. It was a tough day at the office, with several colleagues absent, and rush hour was the worst. I ended up covering for three people, and my boss refused to pay extra. Capitalism, am I right? 

But enough about work… There’s news of a new disease spreading around New York. Details are still scarce, but I heard it’s pretty serious. Honestly, I’m not too worried. They said similar things about Ebola and H5N1, and nothing catastrophic happened. I’m sure the CDC will contain it soon, and life can go back to normal. 

[Entry #268]


Dear Diary! 

It’s been three days, and my absent colleagues have returned. He said he’s feeling better, but from the way he was coughing, I think he’s not being truthful. I bet Andrea called them and threatened to fire them. That soulless witch. At least I got a chance to sit near him and take care of him. I was so excited! He even sneezed into my handkerchief—I’m never washing that again. 

Do you think he’ll agree if I ask him now? He must see how sincere I am! 

[Entry #269]


Today was terrible… He and the other colleagues have all taken sick leave again. The office was practically empty when I arrived, with only Austin, Andrea, and me working. Thankfully, it’s a slow day, but I’m starting to get overwhelmed by the workload. My limbs are sore, my stomach feels bloated, and my eyes itch. 

Maybe it’s just the work catching up to me, but I bought some meds just in case I picked up the flu from my colleagues. Andrea, of course, is as healthy as ever.

Why do good things happen to awful people?

[Entry #270]


My coughing fit is getting worse, and my stomach hurts… Whatever this is, I don't think it's just a regular flu. He’s absent today as well. Austin too.

I don’t even know why Andrea insisted on keeping the office open. There were less than a handful of us working! Bitch.

[Entry #271]


Oh my God! I found red rashes on my stomach today! They look really bad, and there’s a terrible smell too.

I feel like I’m rotting from the inside out, but I can’t be sure.

What on earth did I contract? I can’t find any disease that matches my symptoms online. What’s happening to me? I can’t afford to go to the hospital; I’ll never financially recover! I still have student loan debt to repay and—God… Why do bad things happen to good people? Please let this be nothing!

I’ll visit him tomorrow… He was sick too.

I hope he’s fin–

— [Infinity] —


A gunshot jolts me from my contemplation.

Looking up, I sigh as a CryNet Enforcer takes down another infected, while his partner aims a flamethrower at the growing pile of corpses. “Incoming!” Someone shouts, as a swarm of ‘Ticks’ emerges from behind a locked door—alien scarabs created by the Ceph to harvest and repurpose the dead tissues of the infected.

It’s been a month, and although the Ceph’s main force hasn't arrived yet, the invasion is now in full swing.

“Biological weaponry…” I mutter. Real nasty stuff.

I flip the page, silently observing my the men I’ve painstakingly trained obliterate the skittering horrors. 

The monowire systems I’ve helped integrate in their Nanosuits have provem devastatingly effective in close to mid-range combat. But there are still rooms for improvement—there are always rooms for improvement. “Sergeant, behind you!”

I hum a tune, eyes still glued to the tear and blood-stained page, as I tilt my head just enough to avoid the bullet meant for the scarab that just lunged at my neck.

It doesn't matter anyway. 

My immune system is nearly two hundred times more efficient than a baseline human’s, and their stingers can’t pierce my reinforced skin. That certainly doesn’t stop the aliens from trying, though. “Keep up the good work, guys!”

[Entry #272]


[I went to his house today… and… Oh God. His intestines were spilling out in bubbing mass, his eyes bleeding red. I’m scared. I’m so scared. Is that what’s going to happen to me? I haven’t told anyone about the rash.

The CDC just issued an official warning, quarantining everyone suspected of having the Manhattan Virus. They say no one who goes into quarantine ever comes out. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die!]

“Wh-Why? You’re supposed to help u—” A gunshot cut the infected short. A small mercy. The infection’s final stage robs its victims of everything: Body, dignity, and mind. Trapped in a living coma, they’ll relive the virus’s agony until the Ticks arrive to feast.

This way, death will come before that horror.

Fewer corpses meant less risk of further infection, and less biomass for the Ceph’s purposes.

This is a win-win for everybody…

[Entry #273]


[I’m dying. The skin of my stomach hangs loose, almost touching my thighs now… I kinda look like a granny. Insensitive, I know. I just figure I get to be, dying and all. If anyone finds this, my name is… Was Paulina Petersburg. I was 27 years old. I loved K-Dramas, chicken nuggets and Jazz.

Was a straight A’s student all my life; graduated from a prestigious University and was working as a sale manager—not much to manage, truth be told.

My parents died when I was really young, and I never really had any friends growing up.

I’ve had a lot of regrets in my days, but even a failure like myself doesn’t want to just… Disappear from the collective consciousness, you know? So, if you’re reading this, please remember me. That’s all I ask. In return, I give you my bank account. Not much in there, but it’s enough for an used car.]

Even if it doesn’t seem like, here and now.

“Huh… Was that bitterness I tasted?”

I toss the bloody diary onto the pile of corpses and gesture to one of the CryNet troopers.

"Burn it." Pulling a cigarette from my pocket, I light it using the burgeoning flames and drag a lungful of the smoke.

"Rest in peace, Paulina." I mumur. "You'll be missed."

God, that was fucking bleak,

And way too fucking real…

“Sir, reporting!”

“How much further?” I dragged on my cigarette, glancing back at the CryNet soldier.

“Approximately 3.5 miles to the tunnel’s end, sir. Most hostiles and infected have been neutralized, sir.”

Neutralized—what a nice replacement for ‘brutally murdered.’

“You guys can handle the rest?”

“We can, sir.”

“Then finish up. I’m off for a drink. You spot anything suspicious—”

“Shoot first, ask questions later, sir!”

“Attaboy.” Patting his shoulder, I stumble out of the subway station, hands in my pockets.

“Did you see that?! He acknowledged me!!!”

Emerging onto the deserted street, where nature’s song had replaced humanity’s, I sighed. Panic, riots, looting—it was all there. 

In the early days of the Manhattan Virus, when the official fatality rate was a deceptively low 30% instead of the actual 100%, the city had tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, albeit with a tension not seen since the Ebola outbreak, the Unabomber and 9/11.

Then the official death toll climbed. 

It didn’t matter who you were or what medical access you had; the virus claimed everyone. Within two weeks, riots and looting exploded. Some fools thought it was a chance to get rich quick, though they wouldn’t be spending their loot anytime soon, not with airborne nanites the infected were spreading with every cough and sneeze.

Then the riots quickly escalated into full-blown rebellion, both inside and outside Manhattan. Those trapped inside soon realized the military presence surrounding the island wasn't there to help them, but to contain the disease, while the people outside were desperately to help their loved ones.

By the third week, with several military checkpoints on the verge of being overrun, a new directive came straight from the White House: ‘Kill on sight anyone trying to breach quarantine or suspected of being a carrier.’

It was the president's directive that allowed private military companies like Cell to operate beyond their usual constraints. 

The military couldn’t fully mobilize due to logistical nightmares, the National Guard was overwhelmed and unable to effectively contain the M-Virus outbreak, and that’s when Jack struck a deal: He'd handle the virus, taking the brunt of the bad press, while the government managed the quarantines and evacuations.

He kept his word, and the US government upheld their end of the bargain.

With the combined efforts of Cell and the National Guard, most of the uninfected had been evacuated. 

Manhattan was now a virtual ghost town, but everyone has left.

Many remained despite the evacuation order. Some were lifelong residents—too stubborn to leave;

Some stayed with infected loved ones,

While others—the theorists—too paranoid and distrustful of both CryNet and the government, refused to believe the warnings. 

And, to be fair, their fear wasn’t entirely unfounded.

One holdout was Mr. Bricks, owner of a pub in a nicer part of Manhattan.

“‘Sup, Magnus! The usual?” He calls out, polishing a glass behind the counter of his otherwise empty establishment.

“The usual.”

“A shot of Bourbon coming right up, and a free Manhattan for my favorite cash-cow.”

I roll my eyes. “Dude, I’m your only cash-cow.”

“Touché. Here, drink up.”

Once the shot is served, I slowly sip on it. In my opinion, alcohol shouldn’t be consumed excessively; just enough to take the edge off.

“Changed your mind yet?” 

“Nah… A captain’s gotta go down with his ship. This place is my life’s work. Out there, I have got nothing. Besides, who’ll make your drinks if I leave?” 

“You’re stubborn as an ox, old-timer.”

I chuckle, clinking my beverage with his.

“But seriously, Manhattan’s about to become a war zone soon. You’ll be playing and paying with your life if you stay.”

“I’ll be fine. What about you buys in camo?”

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “I never said I was in the military.”

Which I’m not, but his guess hit uncomfortably close.

“What gave it away?”

“Asides from the fact you waltz around like you own all of Manhattan? How frequent you visit, and how much you smoke. That in your hand is what, the third pack today?”

“… The fourth.” I shrug while the clock ticks away.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but… Just what on earth is happening here? I get the blockage, but you boys seem like you’re gearing up for the fight of your lives.”

I gaze at him—more like scrutinize—as I weigh my options. “Well, why not? Have you ever seen an alien before, Bricks?”

“Immigrants?”

"No, I mean real, humanoid squids flying around in massive spaceships, firing plasma, and can open wormholes across galaxies."

“You’re preparing for first contact—that’s what you tellin’ me?”

“First contact happened years ago… That’s why the US nearly went into all-out war with the North Koreans. They discovered an alien ruin, and worst came to worse.”

“Nice joke. Nearly got me the—” The words just barely escape his mouth when an explosion takes place. A district away, a skycrapper crumbles to dust, the impact of the explosion and the destruction shattering every window in the establishment.

"They're here." I mumble, thankful for it, because I was getting really tired of just watching the news and cleaning out the subway. The infected think they can hide there, but with the Ceph Ticks, the military, and Cell on the hunt, they're more like trapped rats. “Well, I do hope your insurance covers alien-invasion, ‘cause shit is about to get real, Bricks.”

Above, several ships and life-pods enter the atmosphere—flaming balls that incinerate everything in their path.

“Urgh… Of all the fucking time. If I had known, I wouldn’t have worked so goddamn hard in my 40’s. Fuck.”

He's scared, terrified even—I can see it—but no one can say the old man isn’t courageous. Stretching my back, I toss my handgun to him. I’d give the dude Equality, but that’d definitely dislocate his wrists. “Do you have a basement? Hide down there, and don’t come out unless it’s me.”

“Nah… If I’m dying, I’m going out swinging. Let’s give these alien-fucks the good ol’ American welcome.”

“You look like you can barely run five miles, the fuck you gonna do, tickle the aliens to death? Just leave the dying to us young folks.”

“I’m already a dead man walking, Magnus.” His words hit me like a physical blow as he rolls up his shirt, revealing a horrifying constellation of boils erupting from his skin.

My stomach lurches.

I knew… I think I knew from the beginning.

“Let me have this.”

More Ceph pods slam into the building beside us as I force a smile and flick Bricks a cigarette. “Guess you’re getting your wish sooner than expected… Try to keep up, old-timer.”

Kicking the door off its hinges, I summon my spear and turn to face the Ceph emerging from their pods. 

They screech—a surprisingly primitive action for such an advanced race—and I roar back, “Welcome back to Earth!”

A gunshot cracks the air, blowing the helmet off the squid-faced alien.

On the rooftops, several squids shimmer, their silhouettes turning to a confusing web of distorted light filtered through their own version of the Nanosuit—the original Hargreave later adapted for humans.

Advanced Ceph Assault Units, the only enemy in the game capable of cloaking like Nanosuit soldiers… And not just one, but five by the look of it.

“My… I knew you lot would be interested, but I didn’t expect this kind of turnout.”

Hargreave and I had agreed that revealing my existence to the Ceph was the best course of action, hence why we intentionally let a few Ticks escape.

The Ceph's goals weren’t fully explained in the game, but from what I remember and Hargreave’s own speculations, the Ceph were systematically seeding worlds.

He believed they’d reached an evolutionary bottleneck and needed genetic samples from other species, and which human on the planet can compare to me in terms of genetic. It's not even a flex, just a fact. F-Rank, low as it sounds, brought me far above Humanity. I'm the perfect genetic specimen, and however advanced, the Ceph will not let that slip by.

By revealing myself, we had hoped to draw their attention away from Alcatraz and the Cell operatives. Hope granted.

With a roar, I leap in front of the drop-pods, Senza spearing through metal and alien alike, impaling the hibernating Ceph inside. 

Immediately, Ceph Assault Units pounce on me.

Bricks guns down the first before it reaches me.

I slice through the second with a sweep of Senza, the Mystic Code ripping through metal like butter. The third clashes its blade-mounted forearms against the shaft of my speae (A/N: Don’t even). Still, in spite of its momentum, I’m stronger.

For all the power their biology and technology grant them, the Ceph still adhere to the laws of physics.

My flesh does not.

With a forceful shove, I smash our locked weapon against its helmeted face, revealing the semi-translucent squid beneath.

“Get fucked.”

I taunt, my fist punching through both the energy field and the armor on its chest as I hurl the squid at a Devastator Unit—a massive, exoskeleton tank with a plasma RPG mounted to its wirst.

I smirk as the Advanced Ceph explodes, taking the Devastator with it. The explosion that follows a Ceph’s death was engineered to deal maximum damage, and it would have, if it were the average soldier they’re dealing with. But for me, they’re more like squid grenades I can toss at their comrades like candies.

All around us, the Ceph Grunts and Commanders—the infantry of their species—start unleashing fire. Bullets don’t concern me much. Even armor-piercing rounds do little more than cause bruises that heal in seconds. However, the plasma bolts they fire… Those hurt. It almost feels like I’m getting punched by Kirei. ‘It burns too.’

Not too bad, but it’s definitely a little irritating to the skin.

Activating [Super-Charged], I unleash [Primeval Reversal]. Though Magecraft is nearly impossible to wield in this Universe, the [Tree] and its Perks fortunately operate by a different set of rules, thus any Spell I had pre-stored in [Super-Charge] will still unleash its full effect.

Even without Magecraft, I still have 7 [False Stars] at my disposal—3 were used to charge the Emerald Heart Cauldron, along with this charge of [Primeval Reversal] and 10 [Apollo’s Glare].

This should be sufficient for the skirmish the Ceph have initiated against humanity.

Above us, more Ceph Dropships soar past, their blinking red LEDs flashing as they release more pods down on us. Bricks would have been crushed if I hadn’t yanked him out of the way. If he’s scared, though, he’s doing a pretty good job of hiding it. “Holy fuck, they really are aliens. God…”

“No God, I’m afraid.” Not in their Universe, at least.

“Just advanced aliens playing God.”

Night hasn’t fallen yet, but the submarines should be making their move. I hope Alcatraz won’t miss Prophet. Although the development team’s choice of a silent protagonist didn’t sit well with many, I’ve always been a fan of the marine.

“What the FUCK?!” Bricks shouts as massive metal tentacles erupt on the horizon, tearing through Manhattan, latching onto buildings and streets like giant claw-machines.

Everything they touch crumbles into rubble and dust;

Everywhere they go, destruction’s brought onto Manhattan.

“How are we supposed to fight that?”

"We're not gonna.” I smile. “The person who will is someone else; I'm just the motherfucking decoy."