Chapter Text
It is difficult to feel anything but the cold when surrounded by ice. Freezing winds carrying particles of icy dust. They cut through all protective gear and they cut deep.
He's already been here once. In an icy desert with nothing but a distant dark tower looming over the horizon.
And then, out of nowhere, people. Faceless shapes at first, then people he can recognise. The first time he was here, it was short. Not many shapes. Even less people. He walked through the ice which turned to a prosperous valley and entered the tower, only to wake up with his mind crystal sharp.
He only vaguely remembers the experience. It is more akin to a dream.
The second time, this time, it is colder. The ice does not disappear nor turn into a valley. It is harsh, the terrain is ragged and slippery at the same time. There’s thousands of shapes, rushing at him. The wind blows the freezing rain into his face plate and it pierces him like a million daggers.
Each shape is aggressive. Ramming into him with purpose and the purpose is violence. He is forced to first push and then smash his way through.
Doesn’t matter. They’re just shapes. Mindless horde battered away with little effort.
Some external pressure weighs down on him, turning the shapes into people. He knows that he can recognise them, but his mind cannot tell him how exactly. The pressure distorts his circuits and his vision blurs.
A line of people in corporate suits. A line of people in mechanic outfits. He has to push through every single one. What started as mild pushing, soon turns into a struggle. At a line of civilian-dressed figures, he is aware that he is using his enormous strength to fight in ways he did not think he was capable of. Shattered ribs, caved-in skulls, torn limbs. All of it trails behind him as he clears his way through the mass in a mad run for the tower.
In the tower, he will be safe.
The first time he stops is to clear his vision from the overwhelming pressure. Then he sees a man, erratic in his movement with dishevelled hair and a look of madness in his eyes. Comfortable madness. The madness he knows. Around him, a swarm of books and scrolls as old as the world. The man rants without pause, in languages unknown. As if preaching to the void, preaching some kind of a warning. A blaring horn follows each word.
The punch knocks the breath out of the man and he steps over him and his books and scrolls. A pang of familiarity strikes him through the heart, but he does not turn back. He cannot. He must go forward.
A young woman stuck to a machine monstrosity surges towards him. She controls the overwhelming and loud mechanical body that oozes oil and steam, clattering in the icy terrain as it jitters towards him. It only takes him a moment to tear through the machine and see the tears on the young woman’s cheeks.
The pressure distorts his body fully now as the uniformed march of various Exos approaches him. The army of metal, streaming down the hill. He’s so close to the tower, but the Exos swarm him. As he makes his way through, discarding torn pieces of their bodies, the pain in his chest grows. Their voices howl at him, echoing the same pain. Each one he strikes down is one step closer to the tower.
In front of it, there is only one person. An old lady, pleasantly smiling and holding a cup of tea. The freezing winds batter her, but she stands there nonetheless, extending her arm, offering a cup that’s perfectly stable and the warm drink inside puffs out steam into the air. The woman is flanked by two large data storage elements. They seem to be endless. There is no way through, besides through the woman in front of him.
He takes the cup. It breaks the moment he touches it.
The woman is a frozen statue, encased in an iron coffin.
He takes a step forward.
The coffin shatters and with it, the data storage elements shatter as well.
His path is clear. The tower is within reach. As he grabs the doorway, he looks back for the first time and sees a massive sheet of ice and land coming down on top of each other.
He passes through the door.
>>>System reboot complete.
>>>Welcome, Null-3.
Null-3 wakes up on a piece of plasteel containment unit floating in the middle of the sea. The water is cold, but he can only feel partially feel it. There is something warming him from the inside. Perhaps a malfunctioning core.
“Hello?”
The voice appears as if coming from thin air until Null detects a tiny flying drone in front of him. He’s still floating on a piece of containment unit in the middle of the sea and he has no idea how he got there or why is there a tiny drone talking to him. He looks to the unit and sees writing on it. A lot of nonsense; most of the letters were scrapped or washed away. Null moves to the side and hears creaking as the unit tilts in the water. Other than the soft splashing of waves and the drone’s whirring, there are no other sounds.
“I am your Ghost. Would you like to name me?”
Null looks to the drone and then around and then back to the piece of garbage he was floating on. Words escape him, but he does notice one piece of clear writing next to his arm. It’s not a complete word, that’s obvious, but it will do.
“Zyma?”