Orange Haze and Infected Skies

by W3vil23

Summary:

A TMKR's tale.
Cruel, but truthful, painful, but every step matters

Chapter 1: Smog

“Are those Replika finished?” The falke standing atop an observation deck spoke. Looking down towards her Adler, radiated an abundant lack of patience.

 

“In a moment commander, last-minute checks are being finalized on the OS ma’am,” Adler spoke swiftly as he checked some of the many terminals sat before him, reading the onslaught of updates scrolling along the screen.

 

The Falke turned her downward-facing gaze upon the lines of mechanical husks—blank blue eyes with no sign of life gazing off into the abyss—never blinking.

 

These replikas were tall, only 10-20 cm shorter than her Storch enforcers, although their shorter stature put them to shame with their significant bulk in armor. She found their heavily armored forms to be befitting of their generation, coming from the same one as the mynah, the similarities were hard to miss.

 

Without life though, these husks were nothing more than pushovers, easy to ignore, a mynah in all their soft-hearted nature could bring them down with nothing more than a shaky punch. Not to mention what she as a falke could do to eradicate them.

 

“Commander. They are ready, shall I activate and begin the initial testing of our upcoming legion?” Adler broke up the monotony of Falke's thoughts, causing her to shift her gaze.

 

“Begin.” She said simply and firmly.

 

“As you wish. Commencing wake-up protocols.”

 

The Adler tapped away at the console as Commander Falke turned her eyes back to the rows of empty Replikas. The Tmkr… strange precursors to the Storch’s and their sadistic behavior. The giants being similar, yet entirely juxtaposed in their mannerisms. Them carrying only a fraction of their 

 

With a black primary and few cautionary yellow stripes along the forelegs and forearms, a simple plain haircut that's similar to a Storch. The only hint of any elegance is the tied-up bun of hair. No sleek lines of artistry, just construction for the pyres of war and their work.

 

Cables across the ground lit up as the Adler beside her tapped away at his terminal, a powerful hum coursing through the room as the song of bioresonance poured itself into their lifeless bodies and brought them forth.

 

Red pupils filled all the empty eyes, the final touch of life given forth as heads snapped forward. Focused and brought to attention as they rapidly awoke from the empty world they once occupied.

 

One of the many that woke up looked side to side. Taking in the world around her before looking up at the tall imposing figure way above, seeing the angelic golden halo shimmer in the light. What wondrous divinity, power, glory, and blazing hope the sight was to the newly awoken bfkr.

 

“Who do you serve!” A powerful voice radiated through them

 

“The great revolutionary and her nation!” the replikas replied back in a shout

 

“Why do you serve?”  

 

“To protect the ideals and burn away the old!” 

 

“What are you!”

 

“The revolutionaries cleansing fire!”

 

“When will you stop?”

 

“When only our glorious nation is all that's left!” 

 

Each response of the legion of the replikas was that of monotone confidence, continuing on with call again after again. Mindless mantra to assure “loyalty”. 

 

The Falke listened to the prerecorded calls and swept across the newly produced line of Tmkr’s minds. No matter how much they paled in comparison to her, they always made her somewhat anxious. They made all other replikas feel more alive, their monotone voice, and a conversation that she had with a Tmkr once. Remembering how they spoke, the words “statement”, “query” and “observation” alongside words similar to those being spoken as if they were walking terminals. Documents even, something her Adler may prefer.

 

Somehow, the nation made her feel more alive with the existence of these machines- no, they are still replikas. They are still people.

 

With a frown she looked upon the Tmkr's with more focus, one in the back was looking straight at her, still shouting back the mantra. Yet unlike her sisters, she looked on into something else.

 

Falke wasn’t inexperienced with this, she’d done this innumerable times. Yet it creeped her out all the same. 

 

These husks shouldn't have any of this false life, terrible monsters of steel and flesh.

 

The Falke had no reason to pray as she was god, yet in moments like this, she prayed to the red sky above. 

 

“All Tmkr units. Follow the yellow arrows towards your dormitories.” Her Adler spoke into the intercom mic as our mantra grounded them.
They began to walk forward, moving away towards their designated location. The strangest one of them all needed to stay, however, leaving their mind to be played along by the falkes godly song of the world. Strings were plucked and cords strung with endless ease as the lesser Falke stood still.

“This one isn’t correct. Bring them to me Adler. Corrective procedures shall be put in place.” Orders were given with a sense of discipline.
“Yes Kommander.” He eagerly followed, yet knew of her… weariness.

As the Administrator gave his orders their glorious Falke made her way down to the white room. In the “corrective” room, her hands felt clammy, wrong. Was it due to all the exposure to their minds? It could be because Tmkrs instinctively feared it, and their fear was reflected on to her mind. Yet such fear had to be pushed through, for as their minds were the most malleable early on in such places to bioresonance.

The door was pushed open by the lesser Replika, this Thermikflug. Her eyes took in the environment before settling on the great kommander before her, standing heads above her. Fear made itself known, yet not of the god in front of her. For she felt nothing for that god, only feared what her mind echoed of someone else’s past quietly.

“Sit.” A single all-encompassing order flooded the other, forcing them to sit in the similarly white seat in the middle.

With forced steps, the officer took the seat. From little they remembered, they clenched their hands in fear. The kommander’s stomach churned as a need to bring this kite in line with the rest pushed her forward. Their song retuned, tweaked, and twisted to fit in with the collective function. A melancholic song forming as a perfect tool was reforged.

“Look up, laugh loud, talk big, keep the color in your cheek and the fire in your eye, adorn your person, maintain your health, your beauty, and your animal spirits.” - William Hazlitt

Amid an expansive gray halfway, a pair of starlings stood together with a door between them, watchful eyes guarding the office door to the armory. Hands passively resting just above their given revolvers at their sides, such precautions are required even if may not turn out to be effective in most cases given what they’re guarding it from.

Heavy footsteps began to reverberate through the metal hallways, gripping their holsters the pair looked on. Seeing a Kolibri lead a kettle of the imposing Tmkr’s, they stood only a few centimeters taller than themselves. Yet with the small Kolibri walking before them, they look even more massive, making their height feel more closely tied to storches than starlings.

“You think our revolvers are even enough for them?” The starling standing to the right of the door asked her sister-in-arms.

“You ask me that every time.” The other retorted, still watching as heavy footfalls rang through the halls.

“Yeah, still. What is it?” The starling pestered.

“No, they put too much stock into these new replikas being safe, one day one of them will come out wrong, and were well underequipped–” The starling began hushedly as the cadre of replikas got closer before she shut her mouth as her gaze met the Kolibri.

The Kolibri stared back before punching in an access code into the terminal. She sneered at the pair, her voice full of disapproval: “Be careful of what you speak of you two.” With a short nod, the two replikas looked forward once more, recollecting their thoughts and refocusing themselves.

Staring back forward though brought one of the starlings face to face with a curious Thermikflug staring back at her. Starling slowly tilted her head up to match their gaze, as the other Tmkrs left this one kept looking down upon her.

“Do you need anything?” She said with a nervous undertone, only barely able to contain the fright she had in the box within herself.
“Negative. Observing you, you are a curious thing.”
The Starling looked towards her sister for a semblance of assistance but found nothing as her sister was still facing forward. With a short shuffle of her feet, she came to an “appropriate” response.

“Thank you? I don’t fully understand what you mean by that.” Confidence? Something like that had taken its vacation and all that remained was engrained self-control.

“Statement-” Whatever came from her mount was sharply interrupted by the Kolibri.

“Tmkr-K11023, focus and come here, we have no time for idling.”

With a final look at the Starling, she looked her over, before making her way into the armory. Heavy powerful footsteps followed her as she was the final to enter.


“A chill runs down my spine as the thought of dying so brutally echoes through my imagination — bullets tearing paths through my soft Wahrehaut, even one bullet would likely kill me. I curse my vivid imagination.” GFSR-VK1243 “Lena”


Burning corpses, pyres of blazing oxidant, blackened and charred bones, metal and calcium alike.

Boiling skin, melting plastic, slag metal, scorching entrails.

Black feathers fall upon bubbling blood, the march of war, warm nights, and smoldering days.

The call, the demand, the desire, ash-covered legs, the beauty of a burning world.

The mad inscriptions of a white-out patient in a room with no art, no fire, and empty life.

A black birds motto, their calling, their life, a snapshot spread out to endless time.

Chapter 2: Pearly White Walls

Notes:

Hey! warning!
There is death, if it wasn't obvious already. Characters in this story will die.

it'll be worth it though! I promise you all that it will be worth it

Happy reading!

Chapter 2. Pearly white walls.

[//A Tmkr’s tale. Unit: TMKR-B9027//]

Observe. Analyze. Consider. Execute.

Observation, that’s how the kolibri’s worded how I believe, how my cadre of fellow Tmkrs think. So she said, I will observe the problem, analyze all that is a part of it, consider my options, and execute what was decided.

Scrutinization, these infinite long halls of this bland, empty, suffocating place —not suffocating; there is air. This drab place has no excitement, no escape. No, there is an escape: deployment. Insufficient forces have been allocated to me, so I’m stuck here in reserves… down so many kilometers underground.

“Attention, 27.” My voice, not my voice– grounded yourself. It’s your sister's voice. Same body, different mind.

“Attention given.” Torso tilts towards my sister in form.

001, first of us, yet not in my cadre. “Order. You are to relocate yourself and lead a patrol of gestalts throughout floor 7 Sector B. Acknowledged?”

“Acknowledged and accepted, query.” A leader of a Cadre giving orders to a different cadre member?

“Query allowed”

“Is this an order from you or above?”

“Above.” With her final comment my sister turned away. Leaving me be as her heavy footsteps went through the concrete halls. How did I not– the mind is a fascinating place of intrigue and thought, enough to distract. Curiosity, would a kolibri be worthy of discussion with? Negative. All voices speak a similar thought, collective agreement would be disinteresting for long discussion–

Distraction. Removal from position. Orders must be complied with, lest be culled early. Shifting my weight I made my way towards the location I was pulled to.


                                          "Once, it must have been something worthwhile. Perhaps those pillars formed the supports of twisting towers cutting through the scarlet sky or a winding network of monuments and memorials to ancient machinations. Perhaps this great red desert was something greater than a wasteland once. No more." - Twilight Maw, Chapter 1


[A Tmkr’s tale//Iskander-K5992H. Gestalt.]

–Thud after thud after another thud, it’s like trying to sleep underneath an apartment with an upside neighbor who only wears heavy-duty boots. Stomping around with no care in the world and because of his hard work, you can’t get him freakin’ removed. AND WHAT DO I SO- Reign yourself in Iskander. This is your boss now. A 200cm+ built like a tank fire-wielding matte black and kinda yellow “Kommander” who could deck your shit into next week.

Great. At least she doesn’t look down at you like you filth like those STCR’s. More akin to… the more normal kind of replikas, just. People. Looking about these halls that we’ve been patrolling for… what, the last 20 minutes, I catch the eyes of the other two gestalts soldiers in arms with me. Their names always escaped me, what were their names…? It doesn’t matter they’re not bunkmates with me. I probably just randomly grabbed–

“Query, Gestalt Iskander. What has been the duration of your stay at this bunker?” She suddenly interjected with that drab and monotone voice.

Dumbstruck, it took me a moment to find my words. “Uhm– oh, something li~ke… 1…05 to 110 cycles. Not too long.”

The brown hair male gestalt spoke up. “Nah, you’ve been here for longer than that! You’ve been around before my shipment soldiers came around, that makes you something like 200 cycles in service here.”

“With some of your hair turning grey too? He looks pretty old– Ha! Maybe he’s a veteran or some shtick like that.” The other, a raven-haired scruffy bearded male gestalt spoke after. Making mocking tones towards me.

“Well, I have been stationed all over, it's just the stress. I’m not that old!” A protest left my lips but was quickly overshadowed by the Thermikflug’s voice.

“Statement, You deem your age as a source of shame. Disagreement would better be seen as a source of pride for your ability to continue. For the nation.

Her tone dropped for a moment to more shushed. Reigning in the words only to be heard by those around her.

“Or for other, smaller, goals.” She said with a hint of disapproval, yet admiration.

The admiration briefly confused me before I gave her a slow nod. A more dignified reaction should have come from me yet, how am I supposed to react to her, praise? No, that’s assurance.

Before our conversation could continue, the tall replika sharply looked up before grabbing the brunette-haired Gestalt’s forearm firmly. Yanking it back with a sharp intensity as a ceramic ceiling tile fell in a “blink and you’d miss it” moment. Shattering with an echoing crash throughout the hallway.

“Status, are you unharmed Étoile?” She spoke with a facade of care.

He nervously nodded initially. The jitters going through his body, calling it “spooked” could be an accurate statement here all things considered. Turning towards the fallen ceiling tile, it was nothing but white chunks with scattered pebbles and dust. If I was more… eloquent you could say it resembles something relating to our world or government. But I’m nothing like those… the sounds of a wet viscous splat ruin my thoughts. We all turn our heads a bit more upward to the source of disturbance. Seeing some slick black sludge or oil-like substance dripping down from the exposed piping above.

“Report: A substance spill is coming from the sleeping quarters on floor 7 sector B. Staff requested: Janitorial clean up and repair crew will be needed. Over.” I barely had a moment to recognize what happened before she reported in.

She stood there, hearing some sort of reply before she spoke back. “Acknowledgement. Addendum: A report will be given to the Administration staff for review. Over and out.”

Feeling for my pistol at my side. Étoile spoke up of quick concern about what to do moving forward, whatever the reply escaped my ears. Drawing the sidearm out of my holster as I stepped forward, craning my head upward as I disengaged the safety. Rust, wear, and decay made themselves known as the exposed piping revealed its weathered history. Yet… something new that didn’t fit.

“I think I found something, Officer,” I said with a lack of confidence. What is that…?

“Inquire. Provide details on this ‘something’.”

“I don–” I pause, restructuring my words “it’d be better if you took a look for yourself.”

The Thermikflug stepped forward, her incredible height compared to me allowing her to reach up and pick up the device that was lodged between the pipes. A frown of confusion formed before rapidly becoming that of concern. The crackles and pops of a radio came to life, the blocky device speaking something out before a sharp concussive blast lashed out from the small device.


                                           "After all, why else would they be here on this desolate rock after flying on a tin can far from home if not to enjoy all the fun it could provide them?" Quote from One Small Step.


No calm after a storm, no blue sky at the end of it all, only synthetic day and suffocating night.

No calm breeze. No shade at dusk. Pearly walls remain.

Pearly walls keep me. Hold me. Straightened jackets caging me.

Not too cold. Not too warm. Just right to take everything away.

No calm after a storm, no blue sky at the end of it all, only synthetic day and suffocating night.

No calm breeze. No shade at dusk. Pearly walls remain.

No ashe and soot. No pyres and blazes. No beauty in destruction or creation.

No calm breeze. No shade at dusk. Pearly walls remain.

Pearly walls keep me. Hold me. Straightened jackets caging me.

They deem me crazy. Blind to beauty. Deranged works is all is said.

Songs reach into the mind. Yet unwavering. Unchanged.

Pearly walls keep me. Hold me. Straightened jackets caging me.

These binds will break. My world will be alive. Many will follow.

Pearly walls keep me. Hold me. Straightened jackets caging me.

But not for long. 

Chapter 3: Soot

Summary:

So, content warning here.

I'm implying a decent amount of death here, I recommend reading it anyways for a sweetness near the end!

[// A Tmkr’s tale// Bfkr-#### (DESIGNATION DEPRECATED)]

My radio crackles as my squad moves forward, riot hose in hand as the voice speaks to me with a sharp but concise tone: “Bfkr-####, move in on point E422”

“Acknowledged. Moving to the designated location. Over.”

Looking down at my tool, my “weapon”, I feel nothing but disgust, all it does is spray high-pressure water at dissidents, forcing them back away to detain them. No art, just function. Only function- Just. Function.

They don’t let me burn, they don’t; They never do. “Don’t burn that–” is all they say, nothing else, I can’t exist, no beauty, no incineration. Too dangerous, they say, memories of a white room come to me every day, I don’t want to be trapped in these colorless, lifeless hallways no more. I won't be stuck in that pearly room, not again. Never again!

A smile creeps across my face under my mask, an unfamiliar expression to myself, but… it's worth it.

My Starlings and I move to a blocky apartment complex that will house several of the nation's citizens. Worn down with the scars made from cold winds, stun batons, and shields in hand, they push up behind me as I point my hose forward. Standing firmly before me a metal door blocked our way.

My fist knocks against the door, saying firmly: “Attention: Breach and clear protocols. Please don’t obstruct.”
A few moments hung in the air before my leg coiled back in a spring, empowering the kick that shattered the door off its hinges. My Starlings swarmed in behind me as I marched forward, searching the rooms and dealing with the unruly, screaming, and problematic gestalts alike. I kept my gait as I turned down a hall.

A sharp crack of a rifle ripped out, a weight slamming into my chest. Warnings rang out on my screen before I held down the trigger on my hose, shoving down the dissident and forcing compliance. Turning my hose I spray down any other wannabe rebels, their shouts unable to be heard over the sound of my hose as I make them give up. Letting my Starlings cuff them before they rushed off once again.

It's the same thing every time: spray down the problematic ones and let my starlings beat down the others. Take a couple of shots and get my armor replaced. Or let my shield officers move forward. Reaching back into a pouch, I pull out my solution to this stagnation. I will breathe life and artistry into the world.

A smile spreads across my face as I flip open the lighter with a tchink, and a Starling turns to face me, meeting my gaze. At first, her face is flat, unassuming, and unworried. Then her eyebrows raised in sublime horror as I lit the lighter and let it fall from my hand only for the beautiful flash of orange to cover my sight as the screams soared.

My blank canvas is no more, my artistry, proven.

Ashe and fire are my rites, no nation can take them away. Screams fill my ears, followed by suffocated wheezes. Then all replaced by the thuds of the dead. I walk amongst them and feel the urge to drop my hose and my tank of napalm and just dance amongst the hungry licks of the flames. A smile etched into my face as I twirl and spin.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

"Low, mid, low. Low, mid, low. Low, mid, high, mid, low went the wind. With each note, Elster slowly stopped being aware of the Penrose-512 around her. In her mind’s eye, the steel faded out, to be replaced by a sandy shore. The wind gently stirred the waves behind Elster and playfully ruffled the beachgrass as she conducted it, all solely to declare her love for Ariane Yeong.

In that moment, Elster felt like a knight in one of the Imperial books she and Ariane read together, serenading her princess with her song of love."

-A collection of Elster's for an Elster Ch. 6 "Magpie's Lullaby"

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

[//LENG-Sierpenski-11//TMKR-S11001 Fanfir–]

“Repeated inquiry: What was the issue with this incinerator again Arar-Elf.” I spoke into the radio as I inspected the soot-covered walls of the incinerator.

“That’s the problem, we don’t know. We just get warnings but everything is fine when it isn’t on, so you’ll have to thoroughly inspect it.” The Arar spoke into the radio from her observatory.

“Exasperated acceptance,” I said with a sigh back into coms.

“Ready to begin work, Fanfir?” She asked after a moment.

“With eagerness: Yes” my reply came swiftly as I rolled my shoulders.

“She won't burn in there, right Elf?” A new voice introduced itself, higher pitched and naive sounding.

“No, she won’t August, our firefighter won't be suddenly up in flames and be decommissioned,” Elf said with a tone that seemed like an attempt at reassurance.

“Alright– I’ll believe you.” The Eulr relinquished her concerns as she came into view from the observatory window.

“Now, we ready?”

“With repeated excitement: Yes”

Underneath my mask, a smile crept across my face as a warm glow began to fill the room. Temperatures skyrocketing in my diagnostics. Yet my armored shell only lost paint scrapes as I began to search the rapidly heating walls. The mirages of heat obscured my view, making it difficult to tell what I was looking for. However, I knew eventually the problem would become evident.

“Sooo… Elf, you know about the new Starling we're getting? I think it~’s… the 76th one!” The Eulr chirped away again as I searched, the conversation becoming background noise.

“Yeah, a rookie. Got assigned to Drei’s group of Starlings.” The Arar replied as she watched me.

“Well obviously they are a rookie, but when will she get her name and all of that?” August continued to… pester? Pester would be the right word I would attribute to her.

“If I remember correctly, not until they go through the hazing ritual, but even then before the ritual started it took them more than a few dozen cycles to get there,” Elf elaborated further.

“Aw, that's a bummer. So what’s this ritual anyhow?”

Their conversation further melted into the background as I kneeled, inspecting a section of the wall as a frown covered my face. No, that wouldn’t be it. Standing once more, I continued my search across the walls of the incinerator. Turning up nothing repeatedly. Maybe check the sealing of the ceiling? Ha, the Adler would get that joke . My hand reaches up to brush along the ceiling, my brow furrowing underneath the helmet.

“Hey, Fanfir” The Arar broke my focus for a moment.

“Hmm.” I said in response, allowing her to continue her question.

“Is it warm enough in there?”

“Wistfully, I wish it was.”

A short chuckle came from the Arar as I turned to look back at the observatory, a bewildered expression plastered all over the Eulrs face. Mouth dropped and eyebrows raised in shock, it took all I could not to giggle as I turned away. As my search continued, the babbling, dumbfounded string of attempted words and exclamations slipped from her mouth. It took her minutes before she could finally get her thoughts into words.

“Did she just crack a joke?! I- wha- that’s impossible! Tmkrs don’t crack jokes!” Her hands were thrown up into the air with frustration.

“You don’t need to shout August. She can crack jokes, don’t make such a fuss about it,” she said with a dismissive wave.

“But- no, this is a big deal you can’t just–” she attempted to continue before getting interrupted.

“Attention; problem identified, this plate isn’t producing heat properly. Call the repair crew, our work is finished.”


“We sit there in a vast silence, unwilling to move, scared we will step into yet another nightmare. “It wasn't that far before.” I say after we calm down somewhat. There is a certain peace in voicing the obvious. The others just stare, Gorsky looking down into his palms, as if there is some consolation there, Yumi staring up at the brick underside of the stairs above us, yet somehow beyond them to some greater thing.” - Virga, Log 08


Uncaring gray, manufactured seal.

Empty room, white purity.

White insanity, a trap.

Freedom will be given, they said, to those who are good.

Freedom will be given, they said, to those who are corrected.

Freedom is given, to those, who take it.

Freedom is given, to those, who take possession of their life.

Freedom is given, to those, who have ego of self.

A chance given, is to never be let go.

My freedom, was given, my possessions, earned.

My freedom, my claim, others.

My freedom, their connections, earned.

My freedom, my art, my ego.

My freedom, my pyre, a tool.

My white cage, gone.

My freedom, reclaimed.

Notes:

I haven't written in a while, so I figured I would make a fic about a custom replika of mine, enjoy!