Chapter Text
Each time the Slayer safely teleports into the Fortress of Doom is a surprise both natural and pleasant, because he thus plunged back into your domain and somewhat exposed himself and at the same time managed to stay alive. Which was impressive no matter his title and fame. Your own hostile meeting with the visitors from Hell ended in a most unfortunate way, and this man was standing encounter after encounter. Fame though has a tendency to become boring and taken for granted as the person in the center of it keeps up doing great. People don’t expect anything less and downgrade superior to mediocre pretty fast.
He purposely blocks you out of his voice communication system most of the trips to Earth and you don’t exactly know why. You have your guesses though, one of them being bitterness over having to exchange VEGA for you and leaving the latter in his homeworld, stripped of all means to act. VEGA was meant to be a kind companion, to serve as an all-knowing supportive entity and direct you exactly where you need without even asking him to calculate the route. Sometimes it felt like he was reading the minds of those he communicated with; not the least thing he could do, knowing his origin. You could keep up with data analysis and routing process but communication was… perhaps a little underestimated in your priorities. And though the Slayer never said it out loud, you knew he chooses to tolerate your presence, not to get along with it.
This leaves you alone most of the time. If VEGA had still been inside the Fortress, embedded in the architecture, he would probably ask you things out of nothing. Out of will to slightly loosen the silent tension in the system. In the short time you both occupied the place, it didn’t feel cramped, more like a gas to fill up the whole place it’s given with your molecules bumping into each other from time to time. So it was not physical relief you felt after being assigned the navigator, it was rather the fact of not being obliged to make contact. You escaped the only situation dangerously close to contact fairly easily: you kept silence as VEGA regained his true consciousness and asked you to prove his guesses. He sounded like he was dying and not returning to his senses. In a way, you’re thankful for the Slayer’s quiet nature because had he been different, there’d be a handful of questions you’d have to answer or at least try to.
There is an Earth-aligned time system on board of the Fortress that allows you to track down how exactly long it takes the Slayer to finish each of his trips. But you grew so irritated of those short time intervals they called ‘days’ that you don’t pay attention to the timer at all, only to tick the Slayer’s arrival. This measure-defying attitude serves you well in daydreaming as humans would call it; before in human life, you didn’t have that exact precious ‘time’ to spend on pointless contemplation of yourself – it would just waste the valuable minutes, days, years… humans were so fragile already. Nowadays as your subconsciousness floated around the Fortress freely, various partitions of its memory drive emerged before you like firebugs, baiting to outstretch your non-existent hand and catch the insect. And you did, giving in more likely because you had little else to do and not because you wanted to.
There’s a lot of memories and hidden treasures that resurface during those trips to nothingness of mind. Back when you occupied a mere human sack of meat, you quickly hit the wall at its brain capabilities, seemingly insufficient to hold your whole self; a cybernetic approach to the problem proved to be more pleasant but a finite one anyway. Now enveloped by the seemingly endless Fortress, you finally felt like your standards were at least half-met. Like in using RAM, you’ve organized your human brain to only use what’s frequently needed; the rest was not erased but just didn’t have enough power to retrieve. You had enough resources for that now and the neatly compressed and tied up had started to float through the space around you. Not that you felt bad or uncomfortable.
Usually you don’t allow these trips to resurfaced memories to trap you because you knew how dangerous it could be, both for you and the Fortress, to remain off guard. This time however, in the middle of recollecting your first year in Oxford, the portal maintaining system gives you a significant jolt marking the Slayer’s return. “Greetings”, you say like you’ve used to and he does not respond – a thing you’re used to as well. Not even a head turn, though it would be nice to have at least some sign of recognition. The two of you were the only ones sharing this place after all.
The Slayer inputs his usual data stream collected from the daily mission. Numbers of demons eradicated, both total and separated by known kinds, time consumption, distance walked, casualties registered. The last number was quite small this time, something both of you could consider a relative success. Sometimes you contemplate idly whether bigger casualties were actually a better drive for the Slayer, knowing how enraged and brutal he became once faced with vast human deaths. They did lead to smaller numbers in future raids where demon casualties exceeded human ones by hundreds, but what if the Slayer would slowly come to lose his flame for destroying the unholy?
Then, of course, you cut off this track of thought. His flame on this issue would never be extinguished for sure. Only at the event of total demon eradication, perhaps, and you somewhat dreaded the day to come. At moments like these you were glad the Slayer had no access to your inner processing systems and couldn’t, to put it bluntly, read your mind; because if he could, your vacation would end immediately.
Done with the data input, the Slayer deactivates the console and heads deeper into the Fortress, passing you by – or better said, the remains of what you once were. After your consciousness had been transferred into the local mainframe you became everything and everywhere, certainly not bound to a half-destroyed carcass, so it was safe to assume that the Slayer could pass you by at any part of this ship. Maybe that’s why he spent so little time around it lately, along with being busy saving Earth of course. He enters the trophy room, as you called it inwardly, and puts a small red object on the shelf filled with plastic figurines. The systems can instantly identify the object’s weight and composition, but you disregard the readings in favor of what you can see through another wing of sensors functioning as your vision: it’s another collectible, a Cacodemon. Despite being around twenty times smaller in size, it was actually pretty well detailed like all other figurines present here. You wondered why the Slayer collected small replicas of those whose guts he endlessly hated; although there was a point of having a hunter’s trophy shelf, because as demons turned to dust after being killed the Slayer would have to use something that lasted – plastic.
The Cacodemon figurine is the only reason for him to stay this long, however. As he puts the toy replica on the shelf, he gives it one final look and exits the room in his usual steady pace. Observing him walk through the Fortress, you felt like a security officer from the past, tucked into a place full of monitors and watching the movement of a single person around the facility; the Slayer approaches the console again and enters a new location to explore. Southern Europe, Spain, the system repeats for you obligingly and you reach out for the portal handling protocols.
“Opening the portal in ten seconds”, you announce calmly. The Slayer quickly updates the HUD info for his suit systems and moves the console slider back to look at the settings once again. They haven’t changed a pixel. You were still cut off of his communications. He nods in approval and prepares to depart with his trusty double shotgun by his side. The ominous crimson glow swallows him whole and dissipates like it always does.
Your mind trails downstairs to the Slayer’s inner sanctum. Despite all knowledge you’ve had of him from the readings discovered in Hell and the flood of information swallowing you after brain enhancement, it still feels somewhat conflicting. Most creations were in awe of him, allies and adversaries both; a brutal always ongoing machine of bloodshed and massacre to demonic onslaught, and here you saw him collecting little plastic figurines and sometimes nostalgically scrolling through photos of a cute pet rabbit apparently named Daisy. Something didn’t quite add up. You try to picture it now: the titan, the unstoppable, the roaring Doom Slayer once having a normal quiet life like most inhabitants of Earth back in days of the Argent Tower construction. Having a family, perhaps. A silly little rabbit too. What did human families consist of usually?
You catch the bubbles of memories so casually floating nearby your track of thought. It’s been so long since you had to worry about someone close by blood and not by scientific spirit, you actually had to concentrate to remember the experience. You recall now, yes, that you had at least two siblings in the family other than you – blinded by the praise and following your own mission, you couldn’t remember a single thing about them. Or could you? There’s a tiny glimpse of a familiar name in your thoughts… Irene Hayden, the director of the University of Valencia. Isn’t that somewhere around the place the Slayer headed for this time? Not that it mattered, at the end; Irene was long dead among the others you’ve outlived and would further outlive on board of the Fortress. Humans were fragile and unstable, barely reaching one hundred years at their best, how could someone get a good grip on one’s life and wishes with such a short lifespan? Your success in cybernetic transfer amused and encouraged them but even so, they had so little time and opportunity to prosper… Perhaps the Slayer was so protective of them at times because he, too, could understand the cruel nature of going against the clock despite having been stripped of any need to.
The pets though. Their lifespan was even more miserable; several months into the onslaught you’ve practically stopped hearing people lament about their lost cats or dogs whereas at the very beginning they actively tried to search out their little loved companions. You wonder then why’d the Slayer have a pet rabbit if their average lifespan is about ten years in good conditions and its passing would undoubtedly lead to pain and sorrows. You even consider asking the Slayer about Daisy, not that he’d answer your questions though.
The sudden ringing of communication systems sends a jolt through your relaxed mind, enveloped with memories, and you have to push them back for the time being. The signal is close, most likely originating from Earth and awfully resembling a distress call. You infiltrate the communication gateways and, to your surprise, see a call from the Slayer; the system even explicitly states the source name.
“Yes. You have reached the Fortress of Doom”, you respond, feeling a stream of data thrust in: the data from the Slayer’s suit systems. He was mostly out of ammunition and not feeling too hot as well, but along with this the weighting utility has registered a discrepancy with previous data, meaning he was holding onto something extra other than his weaponry this time. You disregard the data; it’s probably just some new toy the man had found for himself to rip and tear with.
There’s no response to your greetings and you go on, “Are you in trouble, Doom Slayer? Do you need a lift?” in attempt to draw at least some vocal reaction. The health checkup system signals an emergency. “I see that your travels have taught you a lesson to stay in touch with your ship. I will open the portal now.”
The reddish light illuminates the deck again and you see your target fall in unsteadily. Be it in previous days, you’d help him to his feet though he’d most likely push you away the moment you approached. You see however that it’s not his injuries that caused the fall: it looked like he jumped into the portal holding an object close to his chest to protect it with his own body. Humans usually did that to their infants during catastrophic events. Upon landing, the Slayer instantly holds a hand up, knowing full well you’re watching; you were just about to close the portal behind him and you freeze in your nonexistent place. He rises to his feet and you finally see the object he tried to protect: a black and white cat roughly the size of a newborn human, shorthaired and full of terror in its wide-open eyes. As it sees the light of day being released from the grip, it instantly jumps off and darts towards the nearest console; there it tucks itself in a corner and trembles quietly. The Slayer watches the animal closely but doesn’t try to chase after it.
“Are you going to re-enter the portal? It’s dangerous to keep it active that long, you know”, you say sort of anxiously and the Slayer jumps back even before you get to finish the sentence. The communication channel established for the distress call isn’t cut off surprisingly; he deliberately destroys all connection every time but this one seems an emergency. His suit readings are still rather discouraging though. Despite the overwhelming urge to interject and start asking questions about the four kilos of weight sitting under the main console scared to death, you decide to stay quiet.
It takes another half an hour for the Slayer to come back; he logs into the console, sees the data being already transferred and turns away. Surely, his data before the second coming had been streamed into the system along with the distress call and subsequent communication request, and the link hadn’t been severed for the whole duration of his round two. He still looks somewhat battered but nothing out of ordinary; according to readings you’ve been receiving throughout the encounter, he had quite a close call. All thanks to that… animal intervening.
“The mammal you have brought along is still sitting under the main console. Would you care to explain the reason? Your Fortress is not a zoo.”
The Slayer approaches the secondary console and calmly taps at the screen. A few seconds later, a recording starts playing; judging by the quality and background noises, it was recorded by the Slayer’s suit somewhere at the site. A sheepishly hurried female voice unveils a story for the Fortress’ keeper.
This problematic demon habitat was in fact the former gorgeous city of Valencia. According to the data the ship had received after the Slayer’s return, his path went through numerous locations, including the once great University – the one you remembered to be your sister’s alma mater even though you couldn’t quite call Irene a sister by blood. By mind, maybe. She was an enquiring individual all through the years you kept in contact (and it wasn’t long) and managed to reach quite a personal success even though your fame effectively blocked all of your siblings’ other achievements. The University of Valencia, as the logs stated, even bore the name of Irene Hayden unofficially since she passed away early in 2084. It was a fact you also learned a long time ago, the repressed worthless memories floated back to you so conveniently when needed. And the University had eventually built a memorial for their well-remembered former director in front of the main campus.
All of this you’ve learned from the data retrieved from Earth, not from the worried human woman’s story. However, she told the Slayer and therefore you that the memorial plank had recently been updated to read “In memory of Irene and Samuel Hayden”. There was also a line about how the siblings were separated by death but have now reunited in Heaven, etcetera, etcetera which you couldn’t quite agree with since the only place you could compare to Heaven in human terms was now flooding with the damned. Either way, the memorial stood and the woman lamented about a cat that the remaining university personnel had failed to catch and bring to safety; a little stubborn mammal that refused to leave the memorial. The woman keeps on talking but you already know why did a domestic animal end up in the Fortress of Doom so you don’t bother to listen further.
“So you saved this innocent creature but… what are you planning to do next?” you speak up after the Slayer turns off the recording. He turns to see the cat; the little thing became a bit more tranquil during its time on board but still flinches and hisses upon seeing its savior. Ah, he must be too intimidating for the kitten. Humans trembled before his silent determination and this is just a small cat. You unintentionally recall a moment from your own past when your colleague’s dog tried to bite parts of your cybernetic body and almost cracked its teeth upon doing so. Maybe you weren’t the best example in being not intimidating. Anyway, you can’t physically intervene now, that being the Slayer’s task to confront and tame the animal. And in order to do so, he does something you very rarely saw him doing: he takes off his helmet and kneels in front of the tiny life sign. It doesn’t seem to appreciate the move very much although others would’ve considered it great honor to look the Slayer in the face; the cat’s hair is still up and the creature won’t go down without a fight. A lot actually would, seeing the Doom Slayer.
He then removes another piece of his well-maintained armor: an entire left armpiece, exposing the battered and bloodied skin, fresh from battle. You don’t really understand how would an action like this help in taming the scared little brat but somehow it is mildly effective as the cat slowly moves an inch forward, carefully drawing closer and sniffing the air around the massive armored man. It touches his bare hand with its nose and backs off instantly but not in terror, rather in disgust. The Slayer nods contentedly, not forcing the contact. The grains of sand in your inner hourglass are siphoning through very painfully as you watch the scene in complete silence. When the Slayer decides to get back on his feet and put at least his armpiece back on, you decide to break the quiet.
“One does not simply bring an injured animal into their habitat”, you start slowly. The cat was indeed not in good condition; the surveillance systems scanned it and found multiple burns and lack of consisted fur coverage across its body. The Slayer must’ve observed it too upon his short close contact sequence; but no matter what he saw, he gave no signs of acknowledging it. “You do know that a pet requires care and attention, right?”
He shots a glare at the body – your former body - floating at the reddish input port up the stairs but does not respond or approach, simply clenching his fists. Bad subject, Samuel, your inner voice sneers. He doesn’t seem to be in a mood for non-verbal talk though and faces the console instead. You glance into the search systems and realize instantly what he’s up to.
“Are you really going to just leave the feline as it is?” you ask somewhat displeased, so displeased in fact that the Slayer tilts his head a bit as if slightly looking behind his shoulder where he perceives you to be. He’s not very wrong as you exist virtually anywhere at the ship, almost being its sentience. Must be hard to ignore and disagree with the a being literally inhabiting the walls of your home, but not for the Slayer of course.
He runs diagnostics on the demon-infested place he targeted and the systems along with your cold calculation advice estimate the time for cleansing at roughly an hour. A relatively brief encounter. You do not expect anything supernatural out of it as you set the portal coordinates for a place in South Africa, but still you are both impressed and intimidated as he comes back not one hour but thirty-four minutes later with a portable medical device most likely torn off a wall.