Dark Sanity

Cybernetic Mayhem

The rebels were victorious at infiltrating and seizing control of Judgment, the most powerful and significant ship in the military. This victory, however, came at a great cost. Dozens of men who followed Flint had lost their lives, including Gunthrel. Flint was the only person who mourned his death more than Clarienus and the steamwalkers. Sarah tried to comfort Flint, except there was nothing she could say or do to put a smile on his face.

After a day of mourning, Flint decided to gather the survivors of his rebellion. Though he didn’t smile, he felt relieved to see Michael Browder among them. Jake stood beside Sarah, and the Panzo brothers joined the meeting as well.

“Yesterday was a tremendous victory,” said Flint. “And though we have lost heroes who will always be remembered, we must not waver. The tribunal remains in power. They have been in power for more than three hundred years. If we destroy them, the military will surely fluster and fall apart. Only then shall we finally taste true freedom.”

The rebels cheered, praising their leader’s words.

“From here on, we may very well gaze upon the face of death,” continued Flint. “All of you have already risked everything. You’ve proven your loyalty and your courage, which is why I won’t be disappointed if anybody here stands down at this point. Unlike the tribunal, I give you the freedom to choose: come with me to face death itself or stay here and start a brand-new life until synthesis.”

“Are you insane?” responded Michael.

Flint chuckled for the first time since he took control of Judgment. “Several people have asked me that,” he said. “To be honest, I don’t know the answer.”

“We’re with you until the end,” said Michael. “Isn’t that right, men?”

The rebels cheered with absolute conviction. Even Omicron squadron, which had no real part in this war, concurred and raised their bulky arms with loud cheers, ready to do battle once more. Flint nodded at his crew, feeling confident that the tribunal’s days were numbered.

After the meeting, the rebels gathered weapons and armor from Soalace and transferred them over to Judgment. In the meantime, Flint made sure Clarienus stayed in her bedchamber for her own good. Then he searched the ship to find Sarah and Jake. He found them in a room near the armory.

“Listen,” he called out, entering their chamber. “I truly meant what I said before: about you having freedom. But I beg you as your father—” he glanced at Jake, “and father-in-law, to please stay here.”

“Dad, when we lived in Desonas things were so different,” replied Sarah. “This life in space—it was inconceivable. I even blamed you for mom’s…mom’s death. But you were right all along. No, you were more than right. Everything you’re doing now is affecting our lives and the lives of future generations.” Sarah tried her best not to cry, but she couldn’t help it when she tried to tell her father something important. “My baby. Don’t you see? They took my baby away from me and killed her. So you see, this is bigger than you.”

“My God,” said Flint, holding his daughter who continued to cry. “Sarah, I had no idea. I am so, so terribly sorry that you were forced into this.”

“You didn’t force us into this mess, Flint,” said Jake. “The tribunal threatens us all. Even if we left to start a new life, we wouldn’t be safe unless the tribunal falls. I’ve no doubt that they killed our parents. We had no part in the war. We weren’t even teenagers. And still the tribunal took us away from reality, treating us as if we were cattle for their amusement. I need to be a part of this.”

Flint accepted his words with a strong countenance and then abruptly broke down crying. His daughter held him while he cried. Jake felt awkward; the only thing he could do was place a hand on his father-in-law’s back.

“I miss Tommy,” said Flint, shuddering. “I got you back. But not my son.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “He’s with all of us, like my child. And as long as we fight for freedom, Tommy will be with us.”

Flint gave a faint nod, holding his daughter. “I told you before, you were always the strong one,” he said. Managing to stand straight and control himself, he glanced at Jake. “I’m blessed to have the two of you in my life.”

“We’re in this together, Flint,” said Jake, hugging him.

His daughter and son-in-law had suffered greatly, conceded Flint, just as he’d suffered. But there was more to life than pain. Life also had joy. Except, to finally experience such joy with his family for the rest of his life, he’d have to eliminate the tribunal. Only then could he have his family back, as well as his freedom. Flint smiled at Sarah and Jake, shedding a tear of hope. And then together, as a family, they boarded Judgment, ready for the final battle.

Judgment departed from the Hypo Nebulae sector, and the civilians of Soalace waved goodbye to Omicron squadron, hoping their brethren would be victorious and that they’d see their loyal guards again on New Earth.

Flint piloted Judgment, flying toward the heart of Vorilian IV—planet Parronus. He knew there was something special about that particular world. He then wondered to himself, what if the reason why he couldn’t find Hamarah was because she’d been imprisoned and tortured all this time on that wretched planet? The thought infuriated him. Either way, Parronus was his final destination.

By the next hour, he could see Parronus with his own eyes. The green planet sparkled with life. He remembered that he’d been there before when he was the Commandant—a puppet for the tribunal. The dream he had a few years ago in the kingdom of Soalace was a confirmation of him once visiting Parronus. And as Michael Browder had said, his sensors picked up a force field enveloping the planet. When he drew closer to the world, however, the shield automatically deactivated. The sacrifices of his people—as well as Gunthrel—were not in vain after all, he told himself.

Spotting the white colony that he’d once seen in his dream, he grimaced and steered the starship toward it. The majestic city looked as though its citizens had never seen a day of war. Without mercy, he blasted every building in his sight with plasma beams. Flint didn’t want it to simply disintegrate and vanish—no, that would be too kind, he thought. He wanted to see the heavenly city burn.

“Yes,” he said aloud with a deranged face, “I will blast all of you to kingdom come!”

The city didn’t even have defense weapons to shoot down Judgment. Apparently, no one had ever thought that such a monstrous thing would occur. The populace ran for their lives while Flint destroyed houses, parks, fountains, roads, statues—everything. There was only one building he left alone: an ivory skyscraper where the so-called immortal tribunal dwelled; it was also the only logical place where Hamarah could be imprisoned.

After several minutes of blasting the colony, military soldiers finally rushed out of the tribunal’s domain with dimensional weapons. Flint saw this and clicked an alarm, signaling people to be prepared to use an escape pod should something happen to Judgment. The soldiers fired at the ship, but its force field held up.

By now every rebel was wearing a power suit. Most of them used the escape pods simply to help Flint from a ground position. They seemed to be just as crazy as him, or at least that was how he felt. Now the vessel’s shield showed signs of failing. Flint clicked a panel on Judgment’s interface, activating another alarm that alerted the crew that the ship’s destruction was eminent. He targeted the ivory skyscraper, selected auto-pilot, and ran to the armory. His twelve-foot tall power suit was still there.

“This is for you, Gunthrel,” he said, entering it.

He clomped his way over to the escape pods and stepped into one. Flint clicked a button to escape, yet the capsule he stood in did not budge—it seemed to be jammed. He continuously pressed the button, but it still didn’t work. At that point, he made his way to the ramp of the ship and noticed a battleship approaching.

Activating his magnetic boots, he exited the ship and clomped up the hull while removing a dimensional cannon from a compartment in his power suit, charging it. He then aimed it at the vessel, blasting it into particles. Upon reaching Judgment’s roof, he spotted more starships. They attempted to shoot Flint who strode over to the ship’s aft, counterattacking.

“Go to hell,” he said, charging his cannon to maximum power.

An array of beams lit up the sky. Battleships gleamed in a violet radiance before being disintegrated. Dodging numerous beams, Flint reached the aft of his spacecraft, disengaged his magnetic boots, and leapt off, hurling himself into the air. While in midair, Flint blasted three battlecruisers and then activated his thrusters as he approached one of the few military vessels remaining in the sky. Since the thrusters slowed his fall, he landed safely onto the cruiser closest to him, recharged his cannon, and fired at the remaining fleet.

“They didn’t even know what hit them,” mocked Flint, thumping forth atop the military ship, his dimensional gun illuminating the atmosphere with a barrage of beams.

When the flotilla turned into glittery particles, he disengaged from the vessel he’d been standing on and hurled back toward Judgment. Performing a flip as he soared through the sky like a bullet of mass destruction, he zapped the last ship and reinitiated his thrusters, trying to slow himself down. Instead of landing on the side of Judgment’s hull as he’d hoped, he crashed through a polarized windowpane. Just then, the vessel collided into the base of the skyscraper and exploded.

If anyone had remained on the ship, they were surely dead or burning to crisps. Only one person broke free of the rubble, and it was Flint Cross inside the power suit Gunthrel had made for him. The armor, however, had been severely damaged, and it was on fire. It had served its purpose, thought Flint, forcefully opening it. When attempting to exit it, he felt something keep him at bay. A large piece of shrapnel was stuck in his abdomen. He bent it and gasped in horrible pain, removing it. At that moment, the flame spread to his body, setting him ablaze.

Flint screamed as he got out of the clockwork power suit whose cogs clanked no more, its breathing apparatus no longer filtering oxygen. He threw off his duster and swiftly rolled down to the floor, trying to put out the fire. By the time the flame had doused, soldiers were upon him. Before shooting, however, they gasped in terror, not seeing a man but a creature whose flesh was burnt, revealing corroded synthetics. Flint grinned manically, pulled out his magnums, and fired at the distraught soldiers.

Blasting them, Flint shouted, “Where are all of you going? This is your chance to show me your godhood!”

Taking cover, he reloaded and then charged back out while continuing to blow away the remaining military soldiers amid the violent flames and rubble. As always, he never needed to aim when shooting. The soldiers started to flee, thinking he was some kind of demon being able to fight in his condition. Flint reloaded again and shot the last troops in sight.

Just when he thought there were no more enemies around, two hovering tanks descended toward him. The large turrets of the tanks turned, aimed at Flint, and released dimensional beams at him. Flint instinctively leapt sideways into the air and preformed an aerial cartwheel, gunning down the crew of each tank. Only the drivers were left when he landed.

“Why can’t you die?” roared one of the soldiers, trying to ram Flint.

“Try harder, asshole,” said Flint, swerving away while reloading his guns and firing at the driver who retreated down the hatch of the tank.

Holstering his magnums, he climbed one of the hovering vehicles, bent its long-barreled gun, and then leapt off it. He’d leapt so high that he landed onto the other, smashing and denting the hull with his fist. Its engine got crushed, splintering into shrapnel. The tank glided down and crashed onto the ruptured street.

“Is that all you’ve got? This militia is pitiful!” shouted Flint, jumping off the damaged vehicle with a look of lunacy.

At that moment, Flint gripped the hull with all of his strength and tossed the crippled tank into the other. A massive explosion erupted when the tanks collided. Flint stared at the explosion, finally accepting the fact that he was no longer completely human. The pain eventually caught up to him as he stood still. The crash, the stomach wound, the fire that briefly engulfed him—it had all taken a toll on him; he wasn’t sure how much more life he had left in him, but he vowed to at least take out the tribunal before his death. Just then, he faintly heard dimensional beams behind him—his comrades who had used escape pods before the crash were still fighting bravely, even in the face of death.

Feeling satisfied, he limped forward and entered what remained of the white skyscraper’s lobby. As it turned out, a few soldiers were waiting for him and started shooting at him. Hissing in pain, Flint forced himself to slide over to a pillar. He peeked out and blasted a couple of them. He then rolled over to another pillar and blew away a few more enemies on the second floor by the balcony. Spitting out blood, he got to his feet, reloaded his weapons, and charged out into the open—guns blazing—shooting every last one of them while he shouted:

“There is only death upon synthesis!”

Barely breathing, blood oozing down his charred flesh and partially melted synthetics, he approached an elevator and clicked a button on the console beside it. Upon the elevator arriving, he stepped inside it and entered the code Evolution on a panel. He leaned against the wall as the lift’s door sealed. While the elevator ascended to the tribunal’s floor, Flint gazed at the burning city and smiled at it. He did not smile long, though, since it pained him.

The door opened, and Flint exited the elevator. He limped through the light-pulsing hall, toward the tribunal’s assembly room. When he entered the atrium-like chamber, eight soldiers rose from the sides of the second floor’s balustrade, aiming their weapons at Flint who abruptly stopped. He glanced at them and then noticed the tribunal seated ahead.

“Well done,” said Tarak, clapping in his chair.

“You have successfully wounded the evolution of man,” said Laskov, speaking through a speech-generating device.

“Wounded?” said Flint. “I was hoping you’d say the word destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” said Tarak in a croaking tone.

“My goodness,” said Kuralan, breathing through his life-support machine. “You truly are mad, Ethan.”

“We’ve spent centuries leading humanity through the stars,” said Tarak. “Since the dawn of our evolution, we have been able to rise and conquer everything—even death. We cannot be destroyed. We are immortal.”

“You are our only mistake,” said Laskov. “You are the last degenerate cell in the body of man that has failed to evolve.”

“Because I chose to embrace human nature?”

Flint unexpectedly felt a rage within him that was so monstrous and powerful that it gave him the strength to lift his magnums, defying his crippled body. He then shot down every soldier, roaring at the top of his lungs.

The tribunal panicked as they saw their guards get blown away. Before they attempted to leave, Flint removed a burnt knife from his tattered black vest and hurled it at Tarak’s throat. He choked on his blood and croaked his last breath, slithering down his chair. The other two tried to leave on their mechanical chairs, but they were slowed by their weighty life-support machines. Flint holstered his guns and approached Laskov and Kuralan, forcefully removing the tubes in their mouths. He then tossed down their machines while he bellowed:

“We cannot become gods!”

Those were the last words the tribunal heard before they suffocated. Flint fell to the floor, barely able to take the pain. He was on the verge of fainting when he abruptly heard a rumbling sound emanating behind the burgundy curtains that hung at the back of the chamber. With the last of his strength, he managed to get back on his feet and limped past the curtains. Before him lay an ivory-coated room with crystal machinery. Electrical currents were jolting wildly out of its blue crystals into a hovering gateway.

Groaning and gasping for air, he limped farther into the room, toward the gateway that was suspended in midair. Inside the gateway hung a prism resembling the colors of a rainbow. He approached it and shot at the crystals, causing them to crack and shatter. That instant, the dimensional machine trembled and started to shutdown; however, before doing so, Flint was pulled into its threshold as if it had a mind of its own.