President…President of one base. What good does that give Brandson. Many, but he does not see it. He can only see the funeral of a lady most beloved. His wife, in a black and white funeral where she only wore red. White flowers and petals surround her deathbed. The murderer…are tacet discords. From where the Lament they came. From him where it now bellows. Him in a bunker, watching from a far the swirling tempests around the blue boy raging wild and sending dusts in the air with the tendrils from his back. “Only a few minutes left” he says, clicking his watch before a scientist rush to him and ask to tranquilize the boy before it out of hand. “It is already out of our hands. We have to call a Lament, and then I’ll kill anything inside of it.”
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“But, I am not entirely sure if it will work you know. The chip might explode the boy’s tacet mark before it could fully expand through out his body, or it might never expand at all. All we had was the frequency changed when he is rampaging is similar to that of around tacet fields.”
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“Then, soon that boy will become a tacet field. That’s where this is heading.”
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“T-that is only an assumption—”
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“It’s a fact. If the frequency changed that much and still growing higher, then it can only lead to the Lament—”
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A bellowing whale-like noise rattle the entire bunker. Scaring the only scientist to hide under a table while the silders hug tight to their firearms. While the only one who is smiling takes his barnacles with glee, looking up at the etheric sea before down to the boy—where a red haired is trying to approach. “Who is that?” His smile choke by his throat, passing the binoculars to the commander who also has no clue. “Whoever they are, shoot them dead. Don’t let them get close to the boy.”
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“You mean we head out?” A wimpy soldier cracks his voice. “Out in the dust storm?”
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“That’s right.” Brandson nods, extending his arms to the side thinking that he is as motivating as he makes his words sound them to be, “This is your last day men. I chose your brigade because it is the best. And your commander here is my good friend. A good friend of mine is a friend to all who follows him. So do not fret, do not fear a dust storm. Get out there and drop whoever comes close to our mice, dead.” His speech only made someone want to puke before the commander takes over and properly makes his own speech. Asking everyone a favor so that they may become a part of history’s ending to the Lament. That they may be remembered forever.
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But they all know that they are just a tiny corner of of the world trying to start their own problems and end their own problems with the riskier front of Death. “There is no turning back now” Those words alone give the soldiers to think forwards. To clutch their dusty fingers on the rustic firearms. Before they are all ordered to ride the tanks and vehicles, and out they drive to the hell dust storm.
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Brandson watches, together with the scientist, the young man trying to shout at the boy. “Can you tell what he is saying?” The president asks
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But the scientist shakes his head, “Unless we have a really good sound catcher, then maybe we can. But it looks like he is trying to convince our mice.”
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“But it’s not working out well because our mice cannot hear.”
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“We cut off the ears for maximum effect. So that the two tacet chips inside can quickly spread the mark all over his body.”
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“And why isn’t it working?”
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“This is frustrating...”
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The suicide cavalry arrives with their tanks firing recklessly at the red haired, causing the Brandson to curse and call at the tanks to watch out where they aim. But before he could, the tanks explode in flames. Seeing that the red hair is using rocket launchers. Baffling the scientist because rocket launchers are not that powerful to destroy a tank, “what is that on his cheek?”
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Brandson focuses his binoculars to the strange glowing mark, pulsating to a beat with similar tempo to the frequency receiver machine they have on the table. “A tacet mark…”
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“A resonator!? So far from a Bastion?”
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“He…is wearing one of our mice uniforms.”
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“Then one of our experiments. What is he trying to do? And how can he control a tacet mark when we did not have any records of any resonators.”
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Brandson glares at the scientist who shrieks as soon as their eyes meet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
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“Really, Mr. President. We did not know. We never had any successful resonators!” freaking out as soon as a gun is pointed on his forehead, “Please, we did not know! We do not know who they are! If we do, we would have immediately told you.” Every word coming out of his pleading lips and begging tongue, all fail just as he failed. A bullet fired point blank range through the head.
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And Brandson is left with no one other than himself in the bunker. Watching the resonator fire out every bullet and rocket at lightning speed. Almost like a sniper. He calls the commander to spread out the soldiers, regardless of the dust storm as he can see that the resonator will surely dart and burn everyone dead if they all stick together. “--Surround him!” He commands before ending the call.
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The soldiers quickly run out of their tanks and vehicles. Struggling against the dust storm alone as they become easy moles to the resonator to explode their heads. But some who have hardy steps and smart hiding techniques, able to fire and bullet true. Brandson elates as fast as the resonator found where the shooter is, exploding them in a bloody flame. A barrage of bullet against the resonator. Some hitting their mark as he starts running around but not straying far from the blue boy.
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Brandson’s mice whose tendrils rests on the sand as he stands still. Looking up at the eye of the dust storm and where the etheric sea is converging. A white chord starts standing down following a helix. It is happening. And Brandson eagerly takes a grenade launcher, pistols, and a sash of ammo all over his body. He runs out into the dust storm. The tempest slapping his face and pushing him back, losing his balance before he thuds on the floor and hearing a click from one of his grenades. Quickly, he latches it off his belt and throw it in the air. Exploding and leaking oil on the bunker. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He curses repeatedly as he tries to sit himself up. Before he eventually did and he runs through the dust storm with penguin steps.
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The bunker erupting and exploding behind him.
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