Chapter 112 - Preparations (Patreon)

<---Chapter 111 - Military Industrial Complex   | Table of Contents | Chapter 113 - Grand Exhibition --->

Two days later...

Wez panted as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, his grimy hands shaking violently as he struggled to lift up the handles of the wheelbarrow in front of him, its content loaded with chopped wood. He could feel the coarse surface of the handle slip past his blistered, callous hands, the sharp edges tearing through his palm in a gash and unveiling old wounds earned over the last month.

"Hey, whats the hold up?!" A Nest guard shouted over the crashing gnashing sounds of large metal presses flattening freshly smelted steel out from a blackened furnace, rivers of slag coursing and hardening through a depressed trough while slaves like Wez use their tools and bare hands to pry apart the slag.

Wez swiveled his head quickly, noticing the long, tired queue of other slaves waiting for their turn, the vertical elevator in front of him already descending with a creaking sound, heralding the next batch of wood to be fed into the never-ending furnace. He watched in horror as the Nest guard stormed up to him, metallic boots clicking against the soot-covered floor of the sweatshop. "Sorry, sir, I-"

"Get this cart moving now!" The guard roared right into Wez's ears, deafening him. "If you don't want to work, I'll give your meal to someone else!"

"No, sir, sorry, I'll do it now!" Wez summoned whatever strength he had left of his malnourished body, his once taut skin now dangling by his biceps as he knelt down and gritted his teeth to lift the cart by his shoulders, swapping over to his hands once the weight had been balanced on the rickety wooden wheel beneath.

"Anyone else trying to slack under my watch will get their next two meals docked! Plenty of others hungry for your position!" The guard scolded the rest of the slaves, all of whom kept their gaze low, unwilling to incite any beatings or thrashings. Wez himself hurried along the path, pushing the cart along a designated route that ran along the conveyor belt, steel bars, and beams passing him by in a blur as his eyes focused ahead, though his mind was already on the verge of breaking.

I deserve this... Wez was a far cry from the haughty villager he was, regret welling in his heart for ditching the other villagers. He did not know that the foremen in the refugee camps of Ocra were actually slave traders, providing Nest with free labor to sell goods and production capacity to Harrison. The sweatshop was right beneath the military-industrial complex, though Wez doubted that any of the engineers and technicians above knew what was happening down here.

As Wez continued, he noticed there were significantly more guards than usual, while the slaves he passed were emotionless, their eyes staring into the distance. They operated billows, used arcia etching to reinforce steel armor plates meant for the frontlines, and operated heavy machinery to sand the edges down, all moving like clockwork on a never-ending schedule. Wez's mood was equally at rock bottom, feeling as if this was penance for him leaving Lisa behind. If this could happen to me, then the villagers in the refugee camp, they...

He shook the thought out of his head instinctively, unwilling to consider what happened to the villagers. For all he knew, they could have been equally enslaved and raped, the children forced into dangerous work just like he saw in the sweatshop here. The slaves came from all over Versia, some even from places he had never even heard of. Not that anyone was willing nor had the energy to talk about the good old times without breaking out into tears.

As Wez's mind drifted, he failed to notice an uneven shallow ditch in the ground, the rickety wooden wheel falling in and causing the entire cart to topple onto its side. Even Wez was caught off-guard, his own body stumbling over face first and hitting the cart, injuring him. The resulting scatter of chopped wooden blocks alerted a nearby Nest guard while the slaves around all averted their gaze.

"YOU! What the fuck?" The Nest guard hollered, charging right toward him with an iron stick and immediately hitting the injured Wez right on the head. The impact temporarily disorientated Wez as he staggered onto all fours on the ground, using his hands to try and block the incoming strikes. The Nest guard's subsequent words were unintelligible to Wez as he was hit over and over again, blood from his skull coating his ears and vision, the world blurry in both sight and hearing. He cowered as each strike from the iron stick sent a jolting pain through his nerves, his body and limbs twitching while the guard rained blow after blow on him.

"You there, pick up all the fallen blocks and cart them off! Furnace #4 needs it right now!" The guard jabbed violently at another slave working the billows. The slave did not argue, immediately rushing to the fallen blocks and collecting them, ignoring the bleeding, groaning Wez on the floor.

Wez could feel his life ebb away, the pain from the wounds slowly becoming unregistered in his mind, as though they were never painful to begin with. Lisa... Culo... Jakub... I... He was about to give up the ghost when he realized that Lisa must still be in the refugee camp. No, I have to make it up to them... I have to get out of here, I have to help them! I can't die just yet!

The guard swung the iron stick down once more, but this time, Wez caught it with his bare right hand, ignoring the shocking sting of the metal biting into his flesh, digging into the gash he had already gotten from the cart. The astonished guard was taken aback as Wez rose to his full height, towering over the guard, face covered in blood and arms red from the beatings, a fury unlike never before in his eyes despite his deteriorating muscles.

Without a word, Wez let out a battle roar, grabbing the jaw of the Nest guard with his other hand and squeezing with all his might, his iron grip from decades of woodcutting in the village coming to bear on the guard's chin. The guard mumbled incoherently, his voice muffled by the gritty soot-covered palm of Wez, a sickening cracking sound heard as Wez crushed the guard's jaw as hard as he could.

The other slave that was collecting the wooden block widened his eyes in shock as he watched Wez collapse the guard's jaw inwards. Blood and meat interspersed with teeth fell out of the guard's mutilated mouth with a plop onto the ground, the guard keeling over and letting out a horrible scream in pain. The scream echoed over the raging furnaces and din of metalworking, the slaves nearby all stunned by the sudden change in schedule.

"I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" Wez slammed his knee into the guard's face, sending him sprawling. His life was now running on pure adrenaline, the blood thumping in his ears as his mind went into overdrive, looking for a way out. Unfortunately, the scream also attracted the attention of three Nest guards, who rushed over only to find the barrel of a handgun aimed right at them, wielded by the other slave who had taken the opportunity to grab the injured guard's equipment. Before any of the three could react, the slave fired everything he had, five pellets shrieking out through the air.

The pellets slammed into the guards, one killed instantly with his head pierced, the others maimed and injured as they scrambled out of the way, ducking and hiding behind machinery and other slaves at their workstations. The other slaves were equally panicking, wondering what to do next. Wez could see the hesitation in his eyes - but he did not need their help to choose what to do next.

With a battle cry, he charged forward with the iron stick gripped in his injured right hand, aiming for the nearest Nest guard. But before he could complete his third stride, a deafening explosion resounded through the sweatshop factory, echoes of metal crashing and superheated water bursting out in a thunderous rage across the walls and ceiling. Wez turned around to see a blinding light, one of the furnace's walls having been blasted apart by unknown forces with billowing smoke threatening to engulf the entire underground cavern, the light from mounted arctech lanterns already blanketed out by the growing wave of dust and dirt surging towards them.

Wez hurriedly shielded his eyes as the shockwave of air and gusts of smoke buffeted him, nearly toppling over as he felt the drying blood on his skin flicker off from the sheer force. The other slaves shouted and screamed as they took cover as well, crouching and hiding behind machinery as towering metal frames began to waver unsteadily while sounds of gunfire and fighting erupted in the distance.

"It's a raid! It's a raid! The Ghosts of Versia are here!" Rumors and cries carried over the air, reaching Wez and the slaves. Wez's heart surged with confidence, knowing that even if it was a hoax, it may be enough to galvanize the other slaves to action. Without hesitating any further, Wez charged towards the nearest disorientated Nest guard, slamming the tip of the iron stick right into his neck before forcibly twisting it off, the entire left side of the guard's neck left gushing with blood as he collapsed.

"FREEDOM!" Wez roared out through the smoke, his voice carrying over the unorganized screams and shouts. "FREEDOM!"

Some of the slaves blinked, their eyes filling with recognition as they began to attack their nearest Nest guards, using anything and everything they could find on hand. Arcia etchers, drill bits, and even ladders were utilized to fight against the guards, resulting in multiple gruesome deaths on both sides. The Nest guards were even more disorganized, one of the leaders trying to activate his arctech radio as he huddled behind a pillar: "Reporting, Sweatshop at Section 46B is under attack! The Ghosts are here!"

Instead of receiving a reply, there was nothing but static. The leader frantically tried to dial and tune the radio to another channel but found only blaring static on the radios. "What's going on? I don't understand!" Yet the leader soon found himself surrounded by slaves who had found his hiding location, Wez stepping forward with an iron stick in tow, blood dripping off its length.

"Don't you try anything!" The leader warned, slowly reaching behind his back to grab a holstered handgun. "We're all working for the glory of Versia! Your labor is important to the country - don't you know that Raktor is about to attack us? Think about what you are doing!"

"I know what we're doing - we're being exploited!" One of the more uncouth slaves spat at the leader, but the leader had a grin on his face, already ready to pull out the handgun, when he suddenly felt an iron grip clasping his wrist from behind, arm locking him. A sharp kick to the back of his knee had him topple over, pinned down onto the ground while Wez stood in disbelief.

"Lisa...?" Wez mumbled as the throng of slaves rushed forward, wanting to take their chance to beat up the source of their pain for months, some even having been here for years. Yet Lisa used her free hand to pull out a rifle, aiming at the slaves gathering around and forcing them back.

"We need him alive for our revenge! Anyone who tries to kill him will be shot on sigh- Wez?" Lisa, too, was taken aback at the sight of the bloodied Wez. However, the sight of Lisa still alive and doing well caused Wez's adrenaline to plummet significantly, Wez finally noticing that he had a pellet wound in his stomach, the blood staining his meager slave clothing.

As he collapsed onto both knees, he saw Lisa rush up to him while two other armed Ghosts captured the leader. Lisa hurriedly popped a health potion vial, pouring it right over Wez's wounds, but there was too much blood loss for Wez to stay conscious any longer, his eyes struggling to stay open. Before Wez's vision faded, he could only see but not hear Lisa frantically shouting into an arctech radio mounted onto her shoulder.

***

Wez's eyes shot open with vigor, and he immediately tried to sit up, only to feel a terrible headache and a sharp, painful sting emerging from his guts. He found himself in a different room, a smaller underground room, though it was filled with the groans and moans of other injured slaves as well, all being treated by unknown strangers. He felt a thin fabric beneath his back, a bed with minimal cushioning, though far better than the hard floor he had been sleeping on in the sweatshop.

He tried again to move his arm, but he felt a gentle hand push him down, the owner of the hand sitting next to his bed and feeding him another health potion vial which soothed his aching head. "Don't move, Wez. You're too injured for a single potion to heal in a day."

"Lisa..." Wez croaked, his voice dry as he gazed upon the familiar face of Lisa, though from her expression, it was clear that a lot had changed since their last meeting in the refugee camp. "I... I'm sorry..." He averted his gaze, unable to look Lisa right in the eyes.

"I heard what you did today. There's nothing to be sorry about. Glad to see you're still willing to stand up and fight." Lisa smiled, patting Wez on the shoulder. "How did you end up there?"

"The foremen... he sold me at a dock in the tunnels..." Wez's voice trailed off, his mind struggling to recoil from the horrible beatings and punishment he endured at the start. "I tried to escape, but..."

"It's okay, it's okay. You're safe now." Lisa comforted him, her head swiveling around. "I'm going to go tell Culo that we saved you."

Wez nodded weakly, watching the confident Lisa move through the medical room, her posture and demeanor more decisive than ever. She used to be a clueless girl, only in charge because of her father. He was more surprised when he noticed others calling her for advice and orders, clearly in the leadership position. What happened here?

Within a few hours, Wez recovered slowly, being fed health potions and stamina potions on a regular basis. He had raised clear objections against getting such potions, knowing that it was a luxury and an expensive one to have an Alchemist brew. Yet Lisa ignored him, only eventually bringing him out into the central chamber to show him around when he was well enough to walk.

The sight was astounding, with dozens of Ghosts and other logistic workers all moving, planning, and working in a central main chamber hall. Rations, potions, armor, and weapons were carted non-stop to and fro, new shipments being carried in on large sacks. Even children pulled their weight, taking care of other still injured slaves as well as fixing up torn clothing and sewing new bedding for the Ghosts. Wez could only stare in amazement at the tall stacks of potion crates, the potions numbering in the thousands while shelves were stocked with sealed water flasks, enough to flood a forest if they wanted to. "What in the Goddess's name is happening here? Are you preparing for the end of the world?!" Wez exclaimed to Lisa.

"This? This is just one of our bases. There's four more like this across this layer." Lisa grinned with clear pride, having built up over the last few weeks. Fresh recruits from rescued slaves were familiarizing themselves with the Aspis MK2 repeater and poor arcia crystals, the training led by Feldon and a few other veteran Ghosts. In another training hall, they passed by, Sasha was drilling basic hand combat skills into the trained Ghosts, demonstrating by spars.

Deeper along the hallway was a row of arcia etching stations in yet another chamber. While it was not as massive as Wez's sweatshop, there was enough for a motley crew of a dozen arcia etchers to fix up any damaged engravings. Other chambers connected to the central chamber each had a designated role - administration, operations planning, ration and supply packing, and an engine room to power the lights and other machinery in the base. As Wez and Lisa walked past a room, he noticed a fearsome man step out from a doorway, his height slightly above Wez and with the air of a domineering leader. Wez could already feel an unknown pressure, intuitively knowing that he should never cross this man.

"Lisa. Any issues with the jammer?" Kyle spoke with gravitas, each word measured and straight to the point, his eyes stern.

"No, sir. Worked perfectly." Lisa gave a slight salute, almost prompting Wez to salute as well out of a desire to fit in.

Kyle glanced at Wez, but summarily ignored him as unimportant. "Good. I trust there's no issue with our radios then?"

"Yes, no interference at all."

"Perfect. And this is...?" Kyle turned his attention to Wez.

"My old childhood friend. He'll be an asset for us - a great fighter."

"Understood. I'll leave the training to you." Kyle walked past the two of them, and Lisa saluted again even though Kyle had not turned around.

"Who was that?" Wez whispered hastily to Lisa. "He doesn't look like a Versian."

"He is the only reason why I am able to rescue you today and be in such a position." Lisa glowered with pride. "That man will be the savior of Versia - whether or not he's at the front or at the rear. And it doesn't matter if he's Versian or not. Anyone willing to fight against the Versian state is someone I can work with."

"You..." Wez's eyes widened with realization. "You're the Ghosts of Versia! How did-"

"We can reminisce about history later." Lisa brushed off Wez's question, leading him to another room where other healed slaves were gathered, all of them able-bodied men and women, some as young as 15. "I need your help to fight. To fight as a Ghost against those who enslaved you. Are you in? Or are you going to run away like before?"

Wez didn't even think twice, accepting Lisa's offer in a heartbeat with a firm handshake. "I won't let you down again. I won't let anyone down anymore."

Lisa smiled, reaching out to give Wez a tight hug. "I forgive you. Now don't die on me, and we'll get to go back to our village in due time."

Wez nodded, joining the group of fresh recruits. Not all who were rescued wanted to join, and thus, his group was clearly composed of strong motivation, grit, and desire. He could tell that some wanted revenge, others wanted to fight for justice, and others simply wanted to have the strength to stand up for themselves. For him, he saw this as redemption.

Over the next week, the training was grueling. They cycled and rotated through various regimens: weapon training course, physical combat, and mapping. They were barely allowed to sleep, though they were not as fatigued as they should have been, thanks to the non-stop usage of stamina potions that kept them going. The crash course was brutal and unforgiving, with some of the recruits unable to handle the mental strain and instead falling out to work as an etcher, scout, or supplier. Though their group started at two dozen, they were filtered down to just five by the end of the crash course.

Wez knuckled down, braving anything the Ghosts threw at them. Nothing the course did was worse than what he had experienced at the hands of the Nest guards, the beatings, whippings, and scars fresh on his skin and mind. He followed every instruction to the letter, the strenuous schedule forging him and honing him into a new Ghost. However, the training was only just that: training. In order for the fresh recruits to be accepted, they needed to be drilled in live combat.

At the end of the training week, Wez relaxed in a changing room, leaning against the wall as he sat on a thin bench, his other squad mates resting too and checking their gear. "They should just let us have a go at some of the captured Nest prisoners. Let us fight them one on one." One of the fresh recruits that he had bonded with over the week-long training course spoke while dismantling his Aspis MK2 repeater, cleaning its parts and assembling it over and over again, drilling the motion into his head.

"Feldon said they are too weak for us." Another replied as he polished his armor plate, checking the engravings for any bad grooves or dirt stuck. "Supposedly they got something better for us to fight."

"What, rats? I've already killed three skulking around the base. Actual rats, not those Nest rats." Yet another recruit joked, earning a wave of laughter through the changing room that was interrupted by Lisa stepping through the doorway.

"Gear up. Your squad is moving out of the base as soon as possible. Full weapons and supplies. Gas masks, too. Geraldine will be your lead." Lisa gave the order with a matter-of-fact tone before leaving. Wez didn't hesitate, scrambling to his locker like the others and putting on his gear, his muscle memory checking each and every facet of the loadout. He slotted a thick armor plate into a woven fabric vest, masking it and then slinging the repeater's sling over his shoulder, donning a simple helmet, and moving out.

As soon as all of them were organized in the changing room, the veteran Ghost Geraldine came and led them towards the very end of the hallway, past barricade, barbed wires, and defensive repeaters mounted and connecting to pulsating arcia fuel packs. Most of the recruits' minds were already bursting at the seams with questions about where they were going, but their training had them drilled into the hierarchy, keeping their mouths shut.

Wez found himself descending a cramped tunnel leading into a large rectangular corridor that was already well-lit. As Geraldine had them march down the corridor, he noticed other logistic workers carting wheelbarrows filled with poor arcia crystals, stuffed into sacks that were subsequently hauled up to the main base itself. Where the hell are we going?

His answer came soon enough as soon as they reached the end with Geraldine waving her hand outwards. "Welcome to the Rotten Cave. This is where we collect all of your poor arcia crystals that you use in the Aspis MK2 Repeater."

The recruits stared in shock at the towering pillars of trash, the smell already causing some of them to gag. One of the recruits could not handle it, vomiting a little in her mouth underneath her gas mask. In the distance, there were sounds of fighting, and other squads of Ghosts were also doing their own apparent training.

"You'll be killing rock spiders - quota is 100 crystals for the whole squad before you are allowed to return. I'll be assisting only if your life is in danger." Geraldine warned them. "And I can only react so fast."

The recruits nodded, the squad gingerly stepping through the new environment. Some places already had poles with mounted arctech lanterns providing bright light on top of the already bioluminescent fungi and flora scattered around the area. Wez looked at another returning squad, their armor and gas masks coated in black icky goo from head to toe, while one of them had a gaping hole in their legs.

Within minutes, Wez's squad was thrown into the fray, delving deeper into the cave to find a horde of rock spiders numbering in the dozens charging at them. Their training kicked in, though some of them flustered a little. Yet, thanks to the firepower of the repeater, they were able to easily tear through the rock spider armors without breaking a sweat. The original fear had begun to dissipate, and Wez, too, found newfound confidence in dealing with the rock spider over an hour.

However, suddenly, a tremor rumbled through the cave, originating from the far horizon beyond where the Ghosts have explored, the darkness enveloping the view ahead with no mounted arctech lantern poles. Wez squinted his eyes, seeing a large shadow rushing towards them, smacking its way through piles of trash and refuse. Behind the squad, Geraldine's face paled beneath her gas mask, frantically shouting to the squad. "It's a noxious salamander! Quick, retreat!"

The squad had never trained for this, and they began to panic, some rooted to their feet. Wez began to run, but noticed one of the recruits standing still, frozen in fear while the maw of the salamander slowly came into view, illuminated by the glow around as it lunged towards the stunned recruit. Wez himself charged forward, tackling the recruit out of the way as the salamander's maw crashed into the ground, only gulping mud.

As the salamander's beady eyes turned to face Wez and his squadmate still struggling to get up from the sludge, Geraldine quickly ordered the squad to open fire, the barrage distracting the salamander briefly. The gap allowed Wez to pull his squadmate up to his feet, the two escaping while the salamander recoiled from the withering fire.

However, the Aspis MK2 repeater could only fire so long. Within a minute, the canisters went dry, Geraldine picking up the rear as the squad beat a hasty retreat. Geraldine frantically spoke into an arctech radio. "Contact! Contact with salamander!"

As soon she had said the words, a sonic boom erupted through the cave, a single projectile tearing through pillars of trash and hitting the salamander right on its snout. Instead of it deflecting, the projectile ripped into the flesh easily, lodging itself right in the very center of its head before its skin began to bulge erratically, a dull muffled explosion inside that caused bodily fluids to burst out of its orifices.

The sonic boom frightened the squad, even causing Geraldine to take cover, unsure of what had just hit them until Kyle's smooth voice came in over the radio. [Hit confirmed, Sasha. Salamander eliminated. Proceed with resupply and resume training.]

Geraldine stared in shock at the dying salamander before looking up to see Kyle perched on the top of a pile of trash, observing them quietly. He was apparently giving orders to Sasha, who wielded a long pole of sorts embedded with basic arcia crystals, which could be loaded with a strange pellet that Geraldine had never seen before. "Y-yes, sir!" She scampered to her feet, hastily urging the squad to go back to the start.

Kyle didn't pay the retreating squad any mind, focusing on his own practice. "Looks like the improved railgun should be enough to pop a human head."

[Sir, I think it'll do more than that. This railgun could destroy anything.] Sasha replied telepathically.

"I doubt that." Though Kyle had clearly improved the railgun beyond its former strength, he somehow felt that Harrison would have something up his sleeve for certain. "How's the handling?"

[Hard. The recoil is immense. I doubt any other Ghost would be able to handle this gun.]

"Then we don't have a choice. You'll be the designated sniper for the exhibition."

After they had completed their practice run, Kyle and Sasha returned to the base. With only a week left to the exhibition, Kyle had been working day and night to improve his chances of stealing the exosuit. The Ghosts of Versia now numbered two hundred in total, forming an effective rebel strike group that could raise havoc anywhere he wanted. Originally, he wanted to attack Harrison at the Grand Exhibition, but it was a risky maneuver, especially when there were inklings of an exosuit being brought up. Despite Sasha's infiltration, Yona's understanding, and the training of the Ghosts, it was not enough information for Kyle to truly ascertain the level of defense and firepower that he was dealing with. He could not determine if Harrison had perfected the arcia exosuit or not, making it a blind attack at best. Until I steal the exosuit and use it to make my own, I cannot guarantee a complete win.

If he brutishly launched an attack, Nest and the military would be sure to come charging down to kill them in full force. Kyle wondered whether it would be worth it but eventually decided not to. "Our main objective is to steal any technological innovations Harrison has on display - nothing more. Despite our progress in developing the rebel movement, it would be foolhardy to fight a civil war now." Kyle explained his revised plan to the others, holding a meeting in the operations room.

"So just a simple in-and-out, fast and quick. Are you sure, though?" Yona warned. "This could be your last chance to see Harrison - when the war begins, he might be holed up in a bunker somewhere even I don't know."

"The start of the war will lessen the pressure we face and also allow us to continue building our strength," Kyle replied.

"I agree. Two hundred fighters is hardly enough to occupy even just the Versian parliament if we wanted to. The guards in there alone already number two hundred - it's too risky to try anything now. We'll just have to find Harrison later in the chaos of the war. Eventually, he would slip up." Dekar nodded.

"We should attack now." Lisa disagreed vehemently, jabbing at the map of Tenar. "Even if our strike fail, we have plenty of backups and escape routes to make sure the movement survives." She pointed out the different tunnels that had been scouted out thanks to the clearing of the Rotten Cave. "We can easily evacuate to Desham or Creuliz, depending on which base we're being attacked from."

"Once we evacuate, there might be no coming back. This means we would lose everything we've built here. It would be impossible to ferry everything of worth out of the bases just on our backs alone." Feldon countered. "If I were Nest, the moment I find out about the extent of the third layer and fourth layer, I would do everything in my power to clamp down any entrances or exits, maybe even collapse them! If we leave to Desham, we will lose access to Tenar, which is the seat of power."

"The plan is final. Next week, the Ghosts of Versia will infiltrate the Grand Exhibition and steal everything of worth. Our main target is Project Aurtla and Project Guryi, which are reported to be displayed in these two buildings. Under no circumstances can we reveal that it is the Ghosts who stole it. Yona will put out a few more anonymous contracts for such a heist to mask our movements." Kyle concluded. "Sasha will be working as oversight with the new railgun in case we are compromised. All Ghosts will be positioned at their designated location, ready to strike in any scenario. Understood?"

The rest of the leaders nodded in unison, though Lisa still had a question, raising her hand. "Sir, if Sasha is acting as oversight, who is actually stealing the Projects?"

"Me."

<---Chapter 111 - Military Industrial Complex   | Table of Contents | Chapter 113 - Grand Exhibition --->