《The Seventh Layer》


 The hallucination

    A pale, skinny boy no older than fifteen sat groggily at the foot of his bed. A section of discolored, burn-scarred skin stretched from the left side of his chest, wrapped around his shoulder, and covered him down to the middle of his forearm. Under his burn scar, a smaller, thin, pale of slightly discolored line of skin marred his ribs. Lucian reached into his wooden nightstand and took out a tube of cream. He applied the cream over his burn, wincing every so often. Even after two years, it still bothered him. When he was done, his scared hands pushed his dark brown hair out of his hazel eyes as he stood. The light fixtures on the vast ceiling above his house had not yet come out of night mode, but on a day like today, Lucian couldn''t afford to take any chances. He opened his old wooden wardrobe and rummaged through it. He soon pulled out a wrinkled, dark blue, standard-issue long-sleeve dress shirt and pants, both with the number thirteen embroidered on the left shoulder and right pant leg.


    After getting dressed, Lucian opened his door and walked toward the kitchen. There, he made toast and eggs for three. Of course, they weren''t real eggs and toast, but he had bought the most accurate substitutes for today because it was his sister''s and mother''s birthday, who were still asleep in the room across from his. Lucian wrapped two plates in insulating foil before sitting down to eat his portion. When he was done, he grabbed a pen and paper from the counter and wrote a short message:


    "Happy birthday, both of you!"


    He slipped on his beat-up black sneakers, then grabbed his old, school-distributed phone and put it into his pocket. He tried to slip out of the front door as quietly as possible, but the metal door made a small creak when he closed it, but not loud enough to wake anyone.


    He turned and looked down his long street, where identical houses were copied and pasted on each side, green pavement in place of actual grass, stretching as far as he could see in the dim light. His gaze lingered on a house exactly like his three spaces down from his own. To his not-so-distant left, he saw lights of every color and tall buildings sprouting up, almost touching the ceiling. In front of him, however, he could see his destination towering over everything else. He looked up at the lights on the vast ceiling above that mimicked what he could only assume was the real sky. With a sigh, he began his long walk to the government citadel of his floor.


    Around an hour of walking later, zig-zagging through the mostly empty streets, he arrived. Looking up at the concrete, brutalist-styled building, Lucian took a deep breath and walked in. A woman sat behind a wooden desk in the middle of the room. She wore the same clothes as he did, but instead of numbers, her uniform displayed a house sigil; two black daggers pointing downward toward a golden wreath¡ªthe sigil of House Julius. The woman looked up from the paper-thin computer screen.


    "What are you here for?"


    "Pillar conscription."


    The woman raised an eyebrow, not just at the lofty response but also at the clear distaste in the young man''s voice.


    "Name and designation?"


    "Lucian Vitara, Designation 507893."


    The woman typed something on her computer, then gestured to a hallway to Lucian''s right.


    "Third door on the right," she said absently, looking back down.


    Closing the door behind him, Lucian looked around the small, bright white room. In the center was a cushioned black chair, connected to the ground by a metal pole. A thick-gray wire dangled from the ceiling, connecting to a white helmet with a dark visor. Next to the chair, a glowing panel protruded from the floor at about waist height. Next to the panel was a human sized pod that measured everything down to someones white blood cell count. In the right corner stood a white metal door. As Lucian noticed it, the door opened, and a tall blond man wearing a white lab coat entered the room. He smiled at Lucian.


    "Mr. Vitara, 507893?"


    "Yes, sir."


    "My name is Doctor Furgeson. I''m a doctor for the Pillar Conscription Agency, and I have been put in charge of pillar recruitment for your floor."


    The man spoke in a funny accent, one that Lucian had never heard before, somehow making him sound more articulate.


    The man walked over to the panel and typed on the screen for a few minutes while Lucian stood there awkwardly. When he was finished, the man looked up and noticed Lucian''s curious expression.


    "Before we begin, I just want to make sure your medical information and history are correct," the doctor said, opening the pod''s door.


    The man tapped on the panel screen for a few moments, then gestured to the pod. Lucian stepped up and in. As the door closed, the pod went dark. It whirred and beeped as it measured every inch of Lucian.


    After a minute or so, Lucian was let out.


    The man nodded to himself and typed his findings on the panel.


    "Five foot eleven and one hundred and thirty pounds," the doctor said, turning to Lucian. He taped a few more times on the panel.


    "Treated for third degree burns at Bellrow hospital at thirteen?"


    "Yes, sir. It was my first day at the community service factory."


    The man nodded again. He asked a few more questions about Lucian''s dental history, whether he had ever been prescribed pills, and other routine topics. After the man finished correcting the information, he asked,


    "Do you know anything about how pillars are tested and measured?"


    Lucian scratched the back of his head.


    "Not really. My father was a pillar, but he died when I was young, so I never really got to ask him questions."


    The man gave Lucian a confused look.


    "He was?"


    He swiped around on the panel for a few moments, then looked up.


    "There is no record of your father being a pillar. It says here that he died in a work-related accident at Factory Seventeen." The man scrolled down a little farther. Lucian was a bit confused; he had never heard of Factory Seventeen.


    "According to the records, he died shortly after you were born." The man gave Lucian a hard look.


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    "You really shouldn''t lie during a government test, no matter how insignificant you think the lie is, it will ultimately show on your behavioral chart."


    Lucian blinked. He had no idea what a behavioral chart was, plus he really didn''t want to argue with someone so early in the morning, but something about the way the guy said what he said rubbed Lucian the wrong way.


    "I don''t want to argue with you, but I remember my father and his occupation. Maybe your records are wrong."


    The man gave him a sad look.


    "Ah. I understand."


    Lucian gave him a strange look. Then his eyebrow twitched as he understood what the man meant. This idiot thought he was embarrassed about his father not being around. Lucian opened his mouth to defend himself, but the man raised his hands in a placating gesture.


    "I don''t want to argue with you. Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. Please take a seat."


    Doctor Furgeson smiled and gestured to the machine.


    Lucian sat down on the chair and sank into the big cushions. His burn twinged slightly. Even the armrest cushions felt like they were trying eat him.


    "Why is it so... squishy?" Lucian asked, failing to find a better word for it.


    Doctor Furgeson snorted.


    "Well, sometimes people thrash around during the test, so it''s completely for your safety."


    Lucian paled a little. Doctor Furgeson saw his face and hastily added,


    "Oh, don''t worry. This test is completely fabricated."


    Doctor Furgeson gestured to the helmet suspended by the wires above Lucian.


    "All this does is scan for a core, and if it finds one, it uses your dormant core''s essence to put you into a hallucination of sorts. We measure the length and strength of the hallucination to somewhat accurately predict how strong you would be if you were selected to become a pillar. So, this chair is only really needed for the strongest bloodlines and a few occasional outliers, so you should be fine."


    Lucian relaxed a bit.


    "What kind of hallucination? And what do you mean dormant core?"


    The doctor put on a thoughtful expression.


    "Anyone who has the correct gene to become a pillar manifests a core around ten to twelve years old, but they can''t tap into their essence until they recover a shard from outside the tower. As for your other question, it''s kind of hard to answer. I guess the best way to explain it is that the hallucination depends solely on your subconscious. So basically, it''s kind of like a dream, but a little more real."


    "Whats a shard?" Lucian asked, confused.


    The doctor shrugged in response.


    "That''s a question for your teacher. If you have a core, you''ll be assigned a teacher when you wake up. Now lean back so I can strap you in."


    "Strap me in?" Lucian paled again.


    "Yeah, don''t worry, it''s standard procedure." The doctor raised his hands in a placating gesture. "It''s just to make sure you don''t flail around and hurt yourself."


    The doctor pressed a button on the panel. Worn leather straps dropped out of a hidden compartment in the chair''s armrests, and another two from the bottom of where Lucian''s feet rested. What little comfort Lucian had left was expunged from him. The doctor walked around the chair, strapping him in¡ªfirst his wrists, then his ankles, and finally a strap around his torso that came from the back of the chair. Then the doctor reached up and started lowering the helmet.


    "Don''t be nervous; I''ve been testing people all night, and I haven''t seen more than a twitch from any of them. Again, this is all a precaution. That''s even if you have the capacity to become a Pillar. It''s more than likely that I''ll put the helmet on you and nothing will happen. The formation of a core, especially in someone from outside a bloodline, is rare."


    The doctor stopped the descent of the helmet. Then, with a hesitant look on his face, he said,


    "If you are strong, there is something you should know. The hallucination you generate will... not be pleasant."


    "You''re mentioning this now?" Lucian asked, a little annoyance creeping into his voice. He didn''t much care for pillars. All he really wanted was to go about his daily life. He wasn''t exactly happy with his current circumstances, but he wasn''t sad either. He certainly was not willing to run around killing abominations out and inside the tower while having to listen to floor lords moan and goan about something or other like his father had told him about, but if he did have the capacity to become a powerful pillar, this was very important information.


    "Yeah, sorry," the doctor replied, scratching his head sheepishly.


    "Actually, I feel kind of silly for telling you this. Statistically, only one in every hundred thousand of the one in every ten thousand people with a core coming from outside an established bloodline are born with a powerful enough core to invoke that kind of hallucination, but if you are that one in a hundred thousand, the hallucination will pick out a place for you to reach or a task for you to complete before you can leave. But don''t worry, they don''t usually last very long. Even if they do, a day in the hallucination is around a hour in the real world."


    Lucian was starting to suspect that this wasn''t just a hallucination. Maybe this is the real test¡ªto see if the people who could become Pillars should become them. Like a twisted personality test. Maybe Doctor Furgeson would be watching whatever Lucianexperienced on that panel.


    "How will I know what I have to do?"


    Doctor Furgeson shrugged.


    "Honestly, I have no idea. I''ve never presided over someone who went through a hallucination of that caliber. But it doesn''t matter; the chances of you being that powerful are slim to none."


    The doctor smiled.


    "Now relax. Once I put on the helmet, the hallucination will start instantly, or it won''t start at all, meaning that you have no chance of becoming a pillar."


    Lucian nodded and prayed for the latter.


    As the helmet''s visor covered his face, Lucian closed his eyes.


    Lucian was no longer sitting; he was rocking back and forth, the wind cutting deep into him despite his olive green jacket. His feet sloshed as he stumbled on the rocking floor. There was water in his boots from the last wave that had crested the small, tightly packed metal ship. Lucian clutched himself, the wind biting even deeper.


    In between his arms was a long, sleek rifle. Its body was wooden, but the barrel was stainless steel. There was no Ion battery protruding out of the bottom like there would be if he were still in the tower. There was a metal cover on the top of the gun right above the trigger. On the right hand side, next to the metal cover, was a small bolt. Lucian pulled back the bolt and exposed the bullets underneath.


    Closing the metal cover and pulling his eyes from the very old-fashioned gun, Lucian looked around at what he suspected were his crewmates. He counted about thirty of them, all shifting and looking around nervously. One of them threw up over the side. They all had on the same outfit as he did: a green steel helmet, olive jacket, pants and boots, a pack slung over their shoulders, a belt filled with what looked to be grenades, along with a tan bag, and a pistol holster on their hip.


    Lucian looked up at the gloomy sky imitation over his head. His eyes went wide. The clouds he saw were not still images like what might be shown on the roof of his floor. They moved, rolling across the sky as faint blue lights crackled inside them. As Lucian was distracted, a fat drop of water hit him right in the eye. He blinked it away, then stared slack-jawed up again. This was not a projection; this was real. Lucian was staring at real clouds.


    Lucian hurriedly looked around, trying to soak up every little detail. He grabbed the chest-high side of the ship and stared out to sea. There were more boats like theirs, cutting through the water. Lucian lost count around eighty, each filled with people dressed in the same uniform as Lucian. He had never seen a ship before but had heard about them from his sister, who loved to learn about the world before the tower. He smiled at the thought of being able to brag to her about seeing some in person. Well, as close to in-person as someone could get. Lucian tried to look in front of the ship, but his line of sight was blocked by the taller front side. He could only see if he craned his neck out over the water, which, despite his excitement, he was not willing to do.


    A man at the front of the ship turned and faced the others on the small boat.


    "Remember, you can''t dig in on the shore. You have to advance! Get up to the beachhead. Stay low and don''t bunch up! We have three minutes."


    Just then, a loud whistling came from the sky. It got louder and louder as whatever was making that noise approached their ship from above. A fountain of water shot up directly to the right of the ship, water spraying high into the air. The boat rocked, and Lucian tumbled to the ground. His helmet prevented him from slamming his head into the metal side of the ship. Lucian forgot about this just being a hallucination, he forgot about his family, he forgot about his job, he forgot about everything. Because right now, Lucian had a small scratch on his cheek. He touched it gingerly, wiping away a little bit of blood. It stung. Lucian had been cut before, and it wasn''t the sight of blood that shocked him¡ªhe had seen enough of it for any queasiness to have long since disappeared. It was the fact that he felt the pain of the cut.


    A pit dropped in his stomach. Because he could now hear more whistling in the air.

 Beachhead

    The water all around the small ship writhed as more projectiles slammed into the sea, determined to sink the small boats. Some had already succeeded. Fires bloomed in the foggy distance. Lucian could faintly hear the screams of those aboard the now-sinking ships. Cold sweat slid down his face.


    "Stay low!" the man in front screamed over the exploding sea. "Jamerson!"


    Someone at the back of the ship, holding a big pole alongside his rifle, responded.


    "Yes, sir?"


    "Come up front with the Bangalore. I want you up the beach as fast as possible!"


    "Yes, sir!"


    A figure behind Lucian began pushing toward the front. As he passed Lucian, his forehead bent inward, red painting the side of Lucian''s face.


    Another man, wearing an armband marked with a red cross on white, scrambled forward to help, but Jamerson was dead before he hit the floor. Blood pooled beneath the corpse''s head, stretching toward the crouched crew.


    Sound faded from Lucian''s ears as his vision locked on the lifeless body. Everything else blurred. His hands began to tremble.


    It wasn''t like he hadn''t seen someone die before; he had. People in the community service factories worked quickly, desperate to meet the daily quota and get back to their actual jobs, but rushing often led to mistakes.


    In the two years since he''d become eligible for shift selection, he had seen four people get caught in heavy machinery¡ªone of them a close friend. It was always a mess. The factory would shut down, shifts logged and postponed, and cleanup crews would arrive to gather what was left of the unlucky worker.


    A workplace accident was one thing. But this... the cold, uncaring butchery was something completely foreign to him.


    A cold fear crept into him. He realized he had no idea where he was¡ªor, for that matter, when. Who was shooting at him? Why? None of this made sense. The hallucination was supposed to come from his subconscious, so why was he here?


    He had never taken any history classes, nor had he ever been interested in the subject. This wasn''t fair. It was bad enough being a pillar¡ªand a particularly strong one, from what he could tell¡ªbut...


    Lucian felt like an idiot. That doctor¡ªif he even was a doctor¡ªhad lied to him.


    Lucian touched the cut on his cheek.


    Completely fabricated, my ass, he thought. This was probably a test to see how well he could hold up under pressure¡ªor something just as annoying.


    A hand gripped his shoulder, and sound rushed back, slamming into his eardrums. Lucian looked up into a tanned face¡ªthe man with the red cross armband.


    "Vitara, you alright? Did you hear the Captain?"


    "Y-yeah, I''m fine. What did he say?"


    "Grab the Bangalore and stay put."


    Lucian nodded, shifting over to where Jamerson''s body lay. He wrenched the Bangalore out from under him, the action feeling heavier than it should.


    It struck him then that the man with the cross had called him by his last name instead of his first which he found that a bit odd.


    At the front, the Captain caught Lucian''s eye and nodded.


    "When we hit the beach, find me at the beachhead!" The Captain yelled to the rest of the ship, his voice cutting through the explosions and the sharp patter of bullets bouncing off the hull.


    "We''re nearly there! Prepare yourselves! As soon as the ramp drops, get up the beach!" he commanded, gripping his rifle tightly.


    "If you dig in anywhere else except the beachhead, you will die! Do not bunch up!"


    Lucian looked around. Some of the men were praying. Others looked like they might be sick. A few were. But all of them were terrified.


    The screams from the beach were audible now¡ªpiercing cries of pain, frantic shouts of orders, and guttural wails of fear. Lucian braced himself for the inevitable. He could do this. He just had to meet the Captain at the beachhead. It couldn''t be too hard.


    If this really is a test, he thought, they wouldn''t let me die before I had a chance to prove myself, right? Dying or not dying here is basically a lottery. That thought did not give him comfort, especially at the memory of what happened to Jamerson.


    Lucian took a deep breath. He would be fine. He had nothing to worry about. All he needed to do was figure out how the Bangalore worked, and then¡ª


    The ramp dropped.


    Most of the first two rows of men were turned to red mist as bullets rained into the metal coffin.


    Lucian had just enough time to hurl himself over the edge of the boat, the feel of bullets streaking past him as he dove. The frigid water shocked his system; he instinctively tried to gasp for air, but salty water invaded his lungs. Lucian''s eyes opened wide, and he instantly felt a sharp burning sensation.


    He kicked frantically toward the surface, but his equipment dragged him down. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision as he weakly clawed at the murky, red-streaked water. He choked on the foul-tasting water. He had no more strength left. He tried to haul himself towards land, but it was useless.


    Suddenly, a strong hand plunged into the water and hauled him upward. It was the Captain.


    Lucian gasped and sputtered, coughing violently as sweet, life-giving air finally reached his lungs.


    "The beachhead! Move!"


    The Captain hauled Lucian along as bullets pinged off the ship behind them and tore into the sand at their feet. Gasping for breath, Lucian ran with the Captain and a few other men from the ship, heading inland from the water.


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    Almost everyone who had tried to run out the front of the ship was dead. Lucian had no idea how the Captain had survived.


    Ahead, strange, large, steel, three-pronged structures dotted the sand¡ªjust big enough for two or three men to huddle behind for cover. Not daring to slow down in the open, Lucian braced himself for the sharp sting of his old burn as he slammed into one of the metal structures. To his surprise, the only pain he felt was from ramming into the solid steel. A second later, another man rammed into the metal structure, the man with the cross armband.


    The Captain and another man clustered behind another metal structure, about five feet to Lucian''s right. Bullets zipped past as a few more men from their boat dropped, trying to reach other spiked barricades.


    Of the roughly thirty men who had been alive and well on the boat just two minutes ago, only about ten were still moving.


    Still sucking air, Lucian glanced back. Other landing crafts were making landfall behind them, while some had already delivered their payloads.


    As the ramps of the landing crafts dropped, bullets screamed from small concrete boxes perched above the beachhead. The boxes had narrow slits, about chest high. Fire bloomed out from those slits. Bodies fell and blood pooled, mixing with the salty sea.


    Most soldiers leapt over the sides of the crafts after witnessing the front rows being slaughtered. More didn''t. About half the landing force barely made it to the beach.


    Lucian tried to crane his neck to get a better look at the concrete structures, but the moment he peeked out from behind one of the spikes, a bullet ricocheted off his helmet. The impact sending him reeling.


    Lucian landed on his back in a daze, his helmet rolling. The man with the red cross grabbed him and pulled him back into the shadow of their salvation almost as soon as he hit the ground.


    The medic¡ªLucian guessed that''s what he was¡ªgripped Lucian''s head, scanning for blood.


    "You''re alright. You''re alright," the man said, his tone steady, trying to calm Lucian''s panic.


    Somehow, Lucian hadn''t let go of his rifle or the Bangalore.


    "Th-thank you," Lucian managed, finally catching his breath.


    The medic snatched up Lucian''s helmet and handed it back. As he put it on¡ªnow with a dent marring the front¡ªLucian glanced toward the Captain. He wasn''t there.


    The Captain and two other men were about fifty feet up the beach, taking refuge in a small crater. The Captain glanced back and gestured hurriedly for Lucian to follow.


    Lucian took a deep breath. It didn''t matter if this was really his subconscious or a strange test he was being subjected to. The unfairness of his situation bit deep as he exhaled and took another breath.


    If this is a test, he thought, if I''m being watched, I should do my best to pass so I can get the hell out of here.


    There was no reason to subject himself to this odd form of torture, bad scores be damned.


    The medic dug around in his pack and pulled out four silver cylindrical canisters, each with a pin sticking out of the top.


    "These are smoke grenades," the medic explained, handing two to Lucian. "I managed to swipe some from one of the other companies. On the count of three, throw both of them as fast as you can¡ªthe first in between us and the Captain, the second as far as you can. Then wait ten seconds for the smoke to cover us."


    Lucian nodded and readied the grenades.


    "One... Two... Three."


    Lucian and the medic pulled the pins and tossed the first two grenades between them and the Captain, then threw the second volley about fifty feet in front of the hole where the Captain was taking refuge.


    The smoke sprayed from the canisters, immediately enveloping its close surroundings.


    "One... Two... Three..."


    The Captain and the other man were obscured as the cloud grew.


    "Four... Five... Six..."


    The gray cloud spread, covering nearby troops.


    "Seven... Eight... Nine..."


    The gunners in the closest concrete kill box swiveled their guns and fired blindly into the fog.


    "Ten."


    Lucian and the medic sprang out from behind their cover and sprinted for all they were worth toward the Captain as bullets parted the smoke around them.


    Lucian lost sight of the medic as he ran. He felt a tug on his left shoulder but didn''t pay it much mind. He ran until the ground beneath his foot disappeared. Weather it was a crator from one of those whistling projectiles Lucian didn''t know, but for that moment that hole was the only thing that prevented him from dying instantly.


    Lucian let go of the bangalore to try and catch himself. Halfway into bringing his right hand around to cushion the fall, he heard a faint ting.


    Heat exploded behind him, engulfing his right side and throwing him sideways.


    Everything hurt. His whole right side felt like it was on fire, and for some reason, his right eye wouldn''t open. He opened his left eye without trouble and sat up, trying to get his bearings.


    It was only then that he registered that he was no longer standing. The smoke was dissipating, more so around him, and the people who had used it for cover were being mowed down.


    Lucian paid no mind to that. He looked toward the beachhead and spotted the Captain.


    It wasn''t until he lifted his right hand to wave to him that he realized¡ªhis hand was missing. A mangled, fleshy stump was all that remained. Huh¡­ That''s weird; I could''ve sworn... Lucian glanced around. Well, I don''t see it anywhere.


    He touched what was left of his right eye and frowned. His one working hand came away bloody, small red clumps sticking to the tips of his fingers.


    He looked around again, a deep sense of worry creeping in.


    The Bangalore... Where is it? It was entrusted to him; he had to bring it to the Captain. He had said he would.


    Hands were hauling him up and pulling him backward. Lucian tried to break free. They didn''t understand; the Bangalore was needed for... For... What did the metal pipe do, anyway? He smirked at the thought of the Captain battering away bullets with the metal sword, deflecting them back at the concrete structures.


    Lucian winced as he was dragged into a hole in the ground. He turned to see three men with white armbands treating injured soldiers.


    "Are they uhhh... uhhh... okay?" Lucian slurred. For some reason, Lucian was having trouble speaking.


    One of the men looked up and rushed over to help the other man drag Lucian.


    "Christ! How is he alive?!" The man who rushed over asked hurriedly. "Here, set him down."


    "Hell if I know," a familiar voice said. Lucian looked up at the medic who had given him the smoke grenade.


    "I... I lost the sword. Thank you for... for the..." Lucian couldn''t finish his sentence. He was having trouble doing much of anything right now.


    "Relax, Relax. Just take deep breaths; you''ll be alright." Two strange-looking men were hovering over him, pressing white cloth on his right stump, the right side of his head, and his left shoulder.


    "His side!" One of the men hurriedly pulled a knife and started to cut what was left of his coat off. A piece of Lucian fell away with the cloth. The man gagged, and Lucian''s vision faded.


    Thats when the real pain set in. Only Lucian didn''t have the energy to scream like he so desperately wanted to.


    The medics tried their best, but it was all in vain. The blood would not stop.


    "Hes gone." A voice said. "Theirs no chance. Go help the others."


    Lucian could feel life leave him. He tried to cling to consciousness, but it felt like trying to stop a river by grabbing it.


    Another voice, Lucian didn''t recognise it, wispered into his ear, but at the same time came from all around. It echoed, as they were no longer on the beach.


    "Thats not really how I expected that to go. You know I really thought you''d at least be able to make it to the beachhead."


    Lucian wanted to talk; he did, but he still felt like he was in pieces. It was enough trouble trying to focus on the words of the strange man. He thought it was a man. Lucian could barely make out a heavily shadowed figure sitting on... something a little to his left.


    A ruffle of cloth echoed from that direction as the figure shifted forward to peer down at Lucian, Two white orbs burning into his bleary eyes.


    "Anyway, I''ll give you another shot, as a courtesy, you could say. Please try and actually shoot back at the people trying to kill you." Lucian thought he heard a tinge of amusement in the strange man''s voice.


    Lucian jolted up in his blanket. Familiar far-off whistles pierced the air, growing louder as the projectiles descended, then an explosion, sounding and feeling diffrent then the ones from the beach but still recognisable, rocked the small wooden room he was in.


    Cold sweat began to roll down Lucian''s cheek. He knew that sound. But he wasn''t on the beach, or¡ªjudging by the smell in the air¡ªnowhere near it. Rot permeated the air like a cheap cologne. A thick fog lay just beyond the doorframe, a veil to the bloodshead taking place outside. Gunshots rang both close and far.


    He Shivered.


    He was on another battlefield. The test continued.

 The Trench

    Lucian sat rigid as another odd sounding explosion rocked the small room. The memory of what had transpired mere minutes ago was still white-hot.


    He flung his blanket off and Proffered his right arm. He opened and closed his right hand. It was as if it had never been missing. There was no reason to check his eye; he was seeing perfectly, and his side seemed to be in working order as well.


    Lucian breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever had happened to him in the previous battle hadn''t transferred with him. Lastly, he pulled his mud-stained, dark green wool shirt back to peer downward at where his burn and knife scar were supposed to be. Pale, smooth skin lay pristinely where they had been.


    Huh. Lucian thought as he let go of his shirt. He rolled his shoulder and grinned. The absence of pain was immensely satisfying.


    Thinking back to the beach, he was pretty sure he knew what caused his death, but the voice, on the other hand... Lucian didn''t know what to make of it. Was it the proctor of whatever simulation they had him in? Was this all part of the testing? Lucian had no idea.


    Shaking his head, Lucian finally took in his surroundings. His bed was positioned in the back right corner of a dark, damp wooden room, and what he assumed to be his rifle, boots, and trench coat were left on the ground lazily next to his bed. More beds lay in rows up and down the room. Roughly fifty in total. Some beds were occupied, some weren''t. Drabby-looking men slept uneasily, their coats and rifles lay haphazardly on the ground. Lucian tried to look out of the doorway but it was shrouded in fog.


    Looking back at his gun, he noticed it looked similar to the one he had used on the beach, with a few varying details. The barrel was shorter but had a bayonet. The bolt on the top cover was longer, ending in a ball that jutted into the air. On the underside of the gun was a gray shoulder strap.


    Lucian sat up and tugged on his boots, then he rose to his feet and shrugged into his trench coat, hearing a clang from his left pocket. He thought about leaving his gun, but if he was on another battlefield, which seemed likely, he did not want to be unarmed. Plus, what the stranger had said still bit at him.


    "Please try and actually shoot back at the people trying to kill you."


    Asshole.


    He had no idea how it felt to have machine-gun fire rain down on you with little to no cover as you tried to run on ground that made your feet sink into it. Then again, maybe the stranger did. Who was Lucian to say? How many times had the stranger seen the battle on the beach play out with diffrent test takers?


    Come to think of it, that had been the first time Lucian had walked or ran on anything that wasn''t metal, wood, or concrete. It hadn''t registered until just now, On account of the impending death that had Waited for him at the time.


    Making up his mind, Lucian slung his rifle over his shoulder and stepped out into the fog.


    The sound of war was permeated by the sickly smell of rot, the sun barely peaking out of the foggy horizon.


    His boots squelched as he turned and surveyed his claustrophobic surroundings. A mix of half-rotted wood and mud surrounded him, extending as far as he could see both to his left and right. The earthy sent was new and pleasing to him, even with the undercurrent of rot. It was like a breath of truly fresh air. In front of him, the earth slanted up so someone could belly crawl to see outside of the trench, which is what some people were doing. Every so often, there were indents surrounded by barbed wire, each with a mounted gun operated by two soldiers in the middle.


    Every man was dressed the same as Lucian. A dark grey trench coat, dark green pants, and thick shirt, complemented by thick wool socks, dark brown boots, as well as mud brown wool gloves. They all had the same gun as Lucian slung over their shoulder as well. Lucian dug around in his pockets for his gloves, the cold begining to seep into through his coat, but he didn''t find anything other than loose ammo and a red-stained rag.


    He decided it would probably be a good idea to get his bearings outside of his trench, so he began to crawl up the slanted side of the trench. He was nearly to the top when an odd boom shook the earth. Lucian dropped to the slanted earth, waiting for another. It didn''t come. He checked the other soldiers'' faces to make sure he wasn''t going crazy. They looked the same, other than the rag they all had over their nose and mouth.


    Why would¡ªLucian''s thought was cut short by another odd sounding boom, this time further down the trench.


    Lucian didn''t really have much experience with battle, even with what he had been through on the beach. He had no notion of war tactics, but this seemed a little idiotic. Why would whoever was in charge of the enemy force waste bombs like this? The trench looked like it had been here for a while, so they must have it zeroed in by now¡ªso what was the problem? Or rather, what was Lucian missing?


    Lucian scrambled the rest of the way to the top and gazed out onto pure carnage. Bodies, both new and old, littered the visible area, some dressed like Lucian, some in a muddied dark blue. Craters peppered the land, half filled with murky water. Ten feet in front of the trench was a barbed wire fence. Bodies dressed in dark blue stuck to the fence like flies all up and down the trench.


    Lucian''s stomach was doing somersaults; the stench of rot sunk deeper into his nose. But Lucian began to smell something else too. The only way Lucian knew to describe it was as onions. The air around Lucian began to turn yellow. He began to cough.


    "Hey, Lucky!" A tan man with dark hair behind Lucian shouted.


    Lucian thought he could make out where the smell was coming from. Around fifty feet away from the trench was a crater blooming with the yellow mist. More of the same craters were in a line, all exuding the same smoke.


    "Lucian!" The same voice that had called for Lucky shouted again. Still coughing, Lucian turned to one of the men now crouching at the bottom of the trench. The soldier who had called his name frantically gestured to the cloth that was around his head.


    "Mustard gas, you idiot! Put your mask on!"


    Lucian had no idea what mustard gas was, but judging by the man''s tone, it was no laughing matter. He hurriedly pulled out the red-stained cloth and tied it around his face. The man gestured for Lucian to come sit by him near the bottom of the slant. So with a little hesitation, Lucian slid down and did so.


    "Are you...crazy? Do you...wanna die?" The man puffed in between a coughing fit.


    "No, I... just wanted to see... where... the..." Lucian couldn''t finish his sentence; his coughing was more intense than the man''s.


    "I... told ya... Lucky." The man coughed. "...Shoulda come down. We''ll know... when they''re comin''. It ain''t... mustard gas, though. I couldn''t say... what this is."


    Lucian was not a fan of the nickname.


    He was gasping now, the red of his feeble mask turning a brighter, newer shade. A whistle blew in the far-off distance. Another, then another, tens of whistles blowing. But not the kind bombs make when they''re about to decimate someone, but rather the kind in the factories that signal when your shift is done.


    "Up... the trench now. Before it gets... real bad." The man began to heave himself up the trench, unshouldering his gun in the process.


    Lucian''s cough only intensified as he clawed his way up beside the man. As he reached the top and clumsily slung his rifle over his shoulder, the mounted guns began to fire blindly into the yellow fog. A moment later, screams and bullets tore out through the poisonous mist, piercing the ears and flesh of Lucian and his comrades.


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    Mud kicked up all around Lucian, staining his already ragged trenchcoat and blood-soaked rag. Still coughing and now beginning to gag on the blood and phlegm infecting his lungs, Lucian shakily took aim as the screams and gunfire slunk closer.


    A shadowy figure stumbled into view, their leg dragging. The man who had called him lucky fired once into the shadow''s chest, then pulled the bolt back, discharging a shell casing, sending it hissing into the mud. The shadow crumpled to the ground, a wet slop enunciating the kill.


    Lucian observed all this the best he could while trying not to cough himself to death. He understood the process of firing his rifle now, but what he didn''t understand is why, as soon as the figure dropped, the man hauled himself over the trench, bent the barbed wire fence with the butt of his rifle, and dropped to his knees near the body, then began wrenching at the dead man''s face. No, not his face, his mask!


    Two more figures, this time at a full sprint, burst out of the fog. Lucian raised his rifle but hesitated for a mere second. And that''s all it took for the front-most figure to raise his rifle and put two bullets into the chest of Lucian''s ally, who had not noticed them and was still desperately wrenching at the mask.


    Lucian fired.


    The rifle bucked hard into his shoulder as the front-most soldier jerked half around, Lucian''s bullet eating into his shoulder. Lucian worked the bolt and fired again, this time into the man further back, leaving a hole through his neck. He worked the bolt again and put a hole through the first man''s chest, finishing him off.


    Lucian did not marvel at his apparent talent for marksmanship, he thought only of the lives he had just taken and the man he had let down. He wanted to go out and check on the man that had first helped him, but more figures appeared, all wearing the same eerie mask. The guns of the men lining the trench lit up as they discharged. Lucian fired with them, working the bolt and flexing his finger with a detached feeling.


    This was just a hallucination, right? The people he was killing were just figments of his mind, right? Honestly, he was angry with himself¡ªwho cared if they were real? These guys dropped gas bombs, which were currently making him cough up part of his respiratory system.


    To hell with compassion.


    Lucian picked another target and squeezed the trigger. Nothing but a click came from the rifle. As his target was taken down by someone else, Lucian rummaged around in his coat pockets, pulling out a few loose rounds. Pulling back the bolt, Lucian jammed the bullets into the open space. To test if he had done it right, Lucian picked a target and squeezed the trigger. The bullet dug into the man''s stomach.


    As Lucian and the others continued to fire into the onslaught of men, their vision began to grow dim, their coughing intensified, with flesh peeling away inside of them and coming out with every cough.


    Lucian wheezed as he chambered another bullet. He needed one of those masks; the cover of the trench didn''t matter if he drowned on his own blood.


    Just as Lucian thought this, someone was up out of the trench and sprinting toward the fence. Bending it down and crossing, they found a body with one of the masks. Kneeling in the mud, they feverishly wrenched the mask off and slammed it onto their face. The person didn''t stop coughing, but it looked like they were breathing easier. That was all it took to break the soldiers'' conditioning. More and more people broke from the line. The promise of clean air was too sweet.


    As more and more people broke and ran into the killing field, the enemy soldiers began to take notice. Both sides slaughtered each other. Mud flew and blood splattered as men died. The trenches line continued to fray, the desperate men dying almost as fast as the enemy force. With the trenches depleting firepower, the enemy grew closer and closer, eventually making it to the barbed wire fence.


    A soldier beside Lucian screamed and clutched his neck, red gushing. A man in blue stepped over a bent portion of the fence and charged towards Lucian''s part of the trench. Lucian, begging to any god there was that he wouldn''t hit the mask, put two bullets into the man''s chest. The corpse in blue fell three feet in front of him.


    Lucian gave no thought to the other attackers. He was up and over to the man in an instant, prying the mask away. Coughing and spitting, he peeled the red-stained cloth away from his face and slipped the mask on as he scrambled back to the trench.


    It was a rubbery thing, with glass for eyeholes and a cylindrical filter sticking out of where the mouth would be. Two straps stuck out of the top of the mask, crossed at the base of Lucian''s skull, and met at the bottom of the mask.


    Lucian''s quick gulps exposed him to the metallic taste of the filter. He didn''t care. The blissful taste of mostly clean air was all that Lucian cared about. He still coughed, but there were no more chunks of meat, although there was blood. As Lucian lay there, gasping, he did not notice some of the men turn to him¡ªno, to his mask¡ªand stare hungrily.


    There was a hand, two, yanking on his mask. Lucian thrashed, jumping up and bringing up his rifle, expecting to see blue-clothed men. He mentally kicked himself for being so na?ve. It wasn''t the attackers; of course his side would be just as desperate as he was not thirty seconds ago. Still, the soft betrayal stung him a little.


    "If you want a mask, go out there and get one! Don''t come at me because I did what you couldn''t!" Lucian raged at the men around him, his mask somewhat muffling his speech.


    They slunk back from him, somewhat coming to their senses, realising infighting wasn''t going to help them survive, but not all looked like they wouldn''t try it again if Lucian gave them the chance. He hurriedly ducked back down to where he originally was lying as he felt the breath of bullets roar past.


    The enemy force slunk closer as more of the trench dwellers died. Some were now starting to die from the poison, suffocating on their own fluids. The bodies of the dead men in blue began to stack and give the living ones some cover. As the live blue soldiers were able to take refuge, their shots began to get more and more accurate. More of Lucian''s companions died around him. As Lucian tried to pick out a live target, he heard a loud boom come from behind him. The all-too-familiar whistle cut through the poisoned air. Only, for once, it didn''t hit him.


    The blue-clothed men scattered as their ranks were obliterated. The piles of dead bodies exploded, sending bits of them across the battlefield. It was vile. The only twinge of empathy Lucian felt was for the poor souls who ran out to procure themselves a mask. Only a few lucky ones had managed to get one and get themselves back into the trench.


    The bombs cleared the yellow fog, giving Lucian a better look at the carnage wrought upon the opposing army. And it was truly an army. Rows upon rows of men lined the killing field. The loss of life terrified Lucian. Each person out there had a family, friends, an entire life outside of this single barrage of uncaring slaughter.


    And they were wiped away.


    Lucian was having trouble looking away, so it was he who first saw the blue-clothed men who were closer to Lucian''s trench than their own, more then a thousand, ran for all they were worth toward him.


    Lucian turned to the haggard men, who were doing their best to celebrate while still coughing and choking.


    "They''re charging us!" The mask muffled his voice, but they heard him all the same.


    A hush spreaded over the men like a wave. They looked back to the killing field in a singular slow turn. The bombs fell farther now, eating away at their enemies trench. More men turned and began to charge Lucian. The closest enemy soldier is about 50 feet away, closing fast.


    The ragged group of people still alive in the trench begin to take positions again, their cheeriness gone as quickly as it appeared. Lucian turned down to his empty pocket, then to his nearly empty rifle.


    He has three bullets left.


    The closest soldier falls to a single gunshot. The floodgates open. It is again a slaughter as the trench dwellers fire into the mob. Lucian doesn''t fire. He saves his bullets for the inevitable melee.


    The bombs drop back down from the trench of the enemy and chase them toward Lucian''s force.


    The mass of muddied blue rolls closer. Their front line is pushed over the spiked fence by their rear and is trampled as the fence falls.


    Lucian cursed whover had the bright idea to fire the bombs so that they would push the enemy towards him. The men around Lucian were out of bullets. They back up deeper into the trench and stand, preparing their bayoneted rifles, positioning them near their hips, ready to catch the enemy.


    Lucian shoots the man in the knee who''s about to jump down on him. The man falls screaming and trips the next one behind him. Lucian bayonets the second man in the neck. The men beside him surge upward to catch the first wave. Bodies fall as the melee starts, hundreds dead on first contact.


    Another sea of blue crests the trenches opening, they tower over Lucian on the backs of their dead friends. They fire downward into the trench. The men around Lucian die. A ping comes from Lucian''s rifle. He raises it to fire. Nothing happens. Lucian surges upward and stabs the thigh of one of the enemy. He reaches up and pries the man''s bayoneted gun as he drops his own and fires once, twice, three times into the now unarmed man, rage fueling each trigger pull. This man dared to try and kill him? Even after the gas, the blood, and guts, he and his compatriots dared to subject him to more? Fine! Just try it.


    Lucian fires into the next man to take the previous one''s place, then to his sides as the men around Lucian are overwhelmed.


    Lucian is a beast as he swings around him with his newly acquired weapon. Killing, maiming, anything he can do to stay alive. Anything he can do to inflict the most pain on his tormentors.


    He barely feels the bullets enter him, adrenaline steaming hot in his veins. The blades are annoyances as they enter his stomach, his legs, his arm.


    The mud is cold on Lucian''s back. The last thing before blackness is a dreary sky, slightly masked only by the fogged lenses of the gas mask.


    Pain is the last feeling that leaves him.

 Deal With The Devil

    Lucian dies. And is reborn again and again, bouncing across battles that took place¡ªGod only knows how many years ago.


    As he is repeatedly subjected to death upon death, he begins to collect bits and pieces of information on where he is. The beach where he fought was called Normandy; the day he stormed it was affectionately named D-Day, which took place during a war called World War Two. His second battle was just a regular day in the trenches of World War One.


    It seemed to Lucian that he was being ping-ponged back and forth between these two great wars. Lucian dropped bombs from great flying metal machines, he jumped out of the same metal machines, parachuting down into active war zones, he manned machine guns, he attacked towns and cities, he held towns and cities, he was a commander, a common soldier. He had done it all.


    Each time he died, he could feel his mind shed a layer of sanity. A person could only die so many times before their mind began to unravel itself.


    That''s why, when he died for the one hundred and fifty-third time, it was a pleasant surprise to find himself in a pitch-black void. Maybe he had finally died. Maybe, just maybe, it was finally over.


    Lucian tried to steady his breath, but it was no use. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping, clutching his chest, his heart beating a mile a minute. This was beginning to become a common occurrence. His body was having trouble accepting the fact that he was no longer mortally wounded and was trying to heal and do damage control where it wasn''t needed.


    Suddenly, a vaguely familiar voice called out to him from the darkness.


    "Much better than last time we met," the shadow clapped as it stood.


    "You alright? I didn''t pull you out too early again, did I?" The shadow inched closer, inspecting him.


    "No, you''re not bleeding," the shadow said matter-of-factly. "Ahh, I see. Well, take your time. I hear it''s quite jarring¡ªdying, I mean."


    Lucian huddled there, gasping, trying to get himself under control. The memories of every torturous life seared themselves into his brain like a burn scar, making it impossible to think or do much else.


    The shadow, growing impatient, waved his hand. A sparse wooden chair with thin armrests seeped out of the ground and into existence next to Lucian. A copy of the same chair appeared right behind the shadow. It sat lazily, like it was waiting for someone who was late.


    "We are on a schedule, so please hurry and collect yourself." The shadow crossed his arms and began tapping his finger.


    After a while of Lucian shivering and heaving on the cold floor, he clambered into the offered chair and faced the shadow, still breathing heavily.


    "Well, I''m sure you have your questions. Ask away." The shadow slouched in his chair. If it had a face, it would most likely be grinning.


    "What... what the hell was that?" Lucian''s brain began to restart, and anger started to take the place of his panic. "Those people I killed... were they real?"


    "No, no, they were not. I am glad you asked that, though." The shadow seemed a little proud of Lucian for whatever reason, but Lucian didn''t really have the mental fortitude to grasp why.


    "I must admit I have conducted this test before, but not to this extreme. Special circumstances, you see."


    "Special circumstances? What could possibly warrant that type of test?"


    "You, my uneducated friend, have two cores instead of one, so I thought I would up the ante a little bit to see if you could be trusted or be capable enough to handle that power."


    Lucian ignored the insult and raised his eyebrow. "So that''s what the P.C.A. really does? Figure out if people can be trusted or are qualified to become pillars. I knew it."


    The shadow chortled and waved his hand. "No, you mistake me. I am not a part of the P.C.A., nor am I a part of any other organization responsible for pillars. I am here on my own business."


    "Could you be any more vague?"


    The annoyingly smug shadow shrugged. "I really can''t say much until you become one of my blessed, which can''t happen until you awaken one of your cores."


    "One of your blessed?"


    The shadow shifted. "Listen, buddy, we''re getting off topic here. The reason I''m doing this to you is, in short, I am investing in your potential. In the future, we will each have things that the other desperately wants. If you agree, I will give you what you will want when that time comes, and I hope you will do the same."


    "There are literally a million ways to interpret that," Lucian said, deadpan, a bit of the anger leaving him. He was beginning to think that he was in another life but had just gone insane and was now seeing things.


    The shadow facepalmed. "Listen," he said slowly. "I can''t tell you very much right now because I have a certain restriction placed on me. What I have told you is all I am able to. The reason why I am trying to make the deal now instead of when you awaken your core is because¡ª"


    The shadow cut off abruptly. He sat there motionless for a moment, then his whole body convulsed and nearly fell out of his chair, catching himself on the armrest. Golden fluid leaked out of the shadow''s golden eyes and spurted out of its chest. It sat there, slumped for a moment, and then steadily righted itself.


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    "See, I told you, restrictions."


    "Are you... alright?"


    "Yeah, I''m fine. We need to hurry, though¡ªthey''ll know this is happening now, and if they find out that it''s you I''m talking to, they''ll¡ª" This time, it was the shadow that cut himself off.


    Lucian weighed his options. He could be crazy, so the only consequence of agreeing with the shadow would be the loss of his sanity. On the other hand, if this was real and his test had been interrupted, he could be dealing with a rogue pillar or something else just as dangerous.


    "And what? Am I just supposed to trust you? Some shadowy figure claiming to be interfering in government testing, saying that he wants to be my friend after sending me off to fight in two of humanity''s cruelest wars?"


    "A shadow? That''s what you see? How odd... Maybe it''s to do with... never mind. Do you want my help or not? I''m sorry for the test¡ªit was in bad taste. I promise to have your best interest at heart."


    The shadow glossed over what amounted to some of the worst months of Lucian''s life like it was nothing.


    "You promise." What a joke.


    Lucian thought about it for a moment. Assuming he wasn''t insane, he could trust this shady figure and reap rewards that supposedly he would desperately need. However, the shadow could be trying to scam him for something. Maybe it was a monster from outside the tower? Lucian had never seen one in person before, but he had seen pictures on the internet. They came in all shapes and sizes, but he''d never seen a human-looking one before. Maybe it was another Pillar that somehow hijacked the P.C.A.''s testing and was just messing with him. A million possibilities zoomed past Lucian''s mind.


    Lucian''s life had been uneventful. He had never done anything meaningful for anyone. He was just living, one day at a time, rotting away in that factory. But if he was going to be forced into becoming a Pillar, the pinnacle of humanity, he was going to live that life to the fullest. He would be the best.


    Screw it.


    "Sure, why not? What''s the worst that can happen?"


    A white line appeared where the shadow''s mouth should have been and curved upward.


    The shadow laughed.


    "Oh, you have no idea." The shadow shivered, ecstasy playing at his glowing white eyes.


    "You, my friend, have just made a deal with a god."


    Lucian felt a knot form in his head¡ªa mass of something pushing slightly at the center of his brain.


    "This contract is legally binding under Article Seven, Paragraph Thirteen, Lines Three through Fifteen of the Tower Pact."


    A phantom wind played with Lucian''s hair as a faint pain touched the inside of his skull.


    The shadow stuck out his hand. Lucian took it. The thing smiled.


    "When you find a fragment, shard, whatever people call it these days, save it until you kill enough monsters to jump-start your core¡ªthen absorb it," the shadow explained. "Your teachers will tell you that absorbing a shard is the only way to do it¡ªto awaken your core, I mean."


    The shadow''s speech began to quicken. He began to look around nervously. "But that isn''t the case, although it is the fastest. You might be thinking, ''Well, if I can find two shards, I''ll just absorb one, awaken my core, then use the other.'' No, that won''t work. You will only be able to handle absorbing a shard once¡ªthe process of absorbing one is tedious enough."


    The edges of the dark place where this odd conversation was taking place began to fray.Lucian''s light headache turned into a storm of broken glass in his mind. Lucian screamed and clutched his head, hunching over in the chair, red flowing from his nose and ears.


    "I''ll let you sleep for a bit!" the shadow called over the now howling wind. "When you wake up in the real world, you''ll find a ring on your finger! Do not, under any circumstances, take it off! It will hide your second core from anyone who takes a close look at you!"


    Lucian''s headache started to subside a bit, allowing for speech, but he still felt like he was being stabbed.


    "I... was already... scanned," Lucian groaned, still clutching his head.


    "Not to worry! I took care of that! I told you I was on your side!" The shadow was basically yelling at this point over the wind. Then, one of its glowing white eyes winked at Lucian as his eyelids grew heavy. The last thing he remembered was curling into a ball and clutching his head, a blissful sleep enveloping him. At least he wished it was.


    Nightmares of what he had done and gone through attacked him, making him relive the worst of what had happened to him. Guns fired, bullets killed, bayonets stabbed, mortar shells exploded. Men died. And so did Lucian. Again and again. Was he crazy? Did he imagine his brief reprieve with the shadow? Was this all in his head?


    Lucian tried to huddle into a ball, but his limbs were snugly shackled. Sweat slicked his chest, stinging his burn. His whole body shook. Then he realized he was shaking, and then the rest of his surroundings.


    He was no longer on the beach, nor in a trench, nor anywhere close to a battlefield. He was in a dark room, lying in an overly cushioned bed. Wasn''t it supposed to be a chair? An IV was injected into his arm, giving him slight discomfort from when he thrashed around. Wires slithered under his hospital gown and stuck to his chest and stomach. A heart monitor beeped in the corner.


    Lucian settled back down into the bed. Its too-squishy nature didn''t bother him that much anymore. It was nice to sleep on something that wasn''t solid or something close to it.


    The lights of the room burst to life, igniting his bright white surroundings. The door in the left corner of the room burst open, and a man and a woman hustled in wearing blue scrubs.


    The woman started tapping at a panel at the foot of Lucian''s bed, while the other began to check Lucian''s vitals on another panel that was connected to the wires stuck to him. The leather straps undid themselves and were sucked back into the sides of the bed. Lucian sighed as he sat up and rubbed his wrists and ankles. There were itchy red marks from where they had eaten into his skin.


    A hint of fear bloomed in the eyes of both the nurses. They nervously glanced at Lucian every so often but never met his eye.


    Lucian was about to ask the two nurses where he was, but as soon as he opened his mouth, a man as imposing as his citadel walked into the room. With a wave of his hand, the nurses bowed to him, and then, surprisingly, to Lucian. Lucian was about to get out of his bed and do the same, but Lord Julius waved him back down.


    "There will be no need for that, son." The lord''s voice was gravelly and deep. He outstretched his rough hand and, after a moment, Lucian took it.


    "Lord Julius, I''m honored." Lucian knew Pillars demanded certain privileges, but having the ruler of your floor come personally check in on you was another thing entirely.


    Lucian knew his sharp face from his portrait in his old classroom, as well as from ad campaigns from the government making him out to be the pinnacle of benevolence and justice in all of the tower. Despite having lived thousands of years, his full head of black hair was perfectly styled, his beard perfectly fitting his sharp features with no sight of wrinkles, all of this was complemented perfectly by a pristine black suit, and a gold tie and watch.


    This man now standing at the side of Lucian''s bed was as close to a deity as one could get as far as a common person like him was concerned.


    So why was it that he was paying Lucian a visit?