The Unending Heresy
Posted: Wed May 23, 2018 3:00 am
"What do you mean you're going to release him?" The senior commander of the Caelin Hill in-garrison forces gave the general officer an incredulous look. Normally, the rank of the garrison commander would never allow him to so brazenly question a superior as he did. But he did not get placed as the garrison commander without reason, and he was afforded more latitude than most.
"He's too valuable to not utilize." The general humored his subordinate. "But this is not a debate, Commander. You will dutifully carry out your orders." The commander clenched his fists, feeling his nails cut into his skin. With the video transmission cutting out, he showed his contempt by bashing his fists on his desk repeatedly. But the general was right - and now he had to talk with the pariah himself.
---
The commander watched as the problem walked into the room. Part cloned man, part cyborg, once infected with some kind of unknown nanite virus... His eyes showed contempt for Virgil Bishop. Tempted to comment on how the man was dressed in baggy black pants and a red jacket, he opted to just get the issue over with.
"Captain Bishop, you're temporarily assigned to my command until your full recuperation. You will be medically evaluated on a bi-weekly basis until you are authorized for front line duty. You will abide by my commands and--" he noticed that Virgil had a dismissive look on his face, ignoring the comments. "--Are you listening to my direct orders, Captain?"
"Special Agent." Virgil emphasized the point with a quick wave of his index finger. "I don't serve you, I serve the President of the Union." This is exactly what the garrison commander expected from someone who had such a meteoric rise.
"No, you work for me."
"No, I really don't." The scene almost had a comedic tone to it. Bringing himself to a slow stand, the commander's eyes locked onto Virgil's, prosecuting the man with a murderous intent. But VIrgil did not let him speak. "Are you supposed to rehabilitate me after my stint in the Colonial prison?"
"You are directed by the President to--" Before he could answer, the half-machine lunged for him, three metal blades extending from his forearm that immediately came right underneath the chin of the commander. For a moment, he took in what he was looking at. He could see the man's sinew, taught and ready for combat, contrast the smooth metal plating of his cyborg parts. Whoever pieced him together had done a marvelous job.
"I do not respond to you. Never forget, Commander, that as a Special Agent, I am exempt from all administrative actions except those decreed by the President. I am not caged by your hierarchy. I am authorized to execute his intent, and right now it involves killing a lot of spacenoids. Not being stuck here."
"Your hubris will get you killed."
"Many have tried. I earned my moniker not because of my progenitor, but because of my actions."
"A heretic, whether lunar or martian, remains a heretic." The reality of Bishop's origins were now well known, but Virgil kept using his previous name to distinguish himself. But even he realized the value and propaganda of just embracing his genetic heritage. He only really used it to instill fear in his opponents, but Virgil was aware that soon he would probably just cloak himself in it completely.
"I am going to go and do what I do best. Cause a lot of havoc and destroy the Union's enemies. You would do well to remember that while you may hold some power in this city, it is only in this city. Your connections cannot save you from the havoc that we bring." Virgil spoke of his partner, chaos incarnate, Feld. "I will see my way out. I will reconnect with my team."
"No--" Before he could even finish, the commander felt a backlash of emotion, a feeling of revolt so strong that he sat down immediately. There was such a palpable sense of contempt in the room, a feeling compounded by a tingling sensation in his skin, as if he was in some kind of electromagnetic field. He looked at Vice, whose arms had glowed for a moment. What was he made of?
"Yes. If you interlope into my affairs, you will regret peering into a world not meant for the weak." The metal claws retracted, and Virgil turned on his heels and exited. A silence hug in the commander's office for a few moments before he tried to recollect himself, allaying his pain by busying him in the more mundane tasks of his position.
"He's too valuable to not utilize." The general humored his subordinate. "But this is not a debate, Commander. You will dutifully carry out your orders." The commander clenched his fists, feeling his nails cut into his skin. With the video transmission cutting out, he showed his contempt by bashing his fists on his desk repeatedly. But the general was right - and now he had to talk with the pariah himself.
---
The commander watched as the problem walked into the room. Part cloned man, part cyborg, once infected with some kind of unknown nanite virus... His eyes showed contempt for Virgil Bishop. Tempted to comment on how the man was dressed in baggy black pants and a red jacket, he opted to just get the issue over with.
"Captain Bishop, you're temporarily assigned to my command until your full recuperation. You will be medically evaluated on a bi-weekly basis until you are authorized for front line duty. You will abide by my commands and--" he noticed that Virgil had a dismissive look on his face, ignoring the comments. "--Are you listening to my direct orders, Captain?"
"Special Agent." Virgil emphasized the point with a quick wave of his index finger. "I don't serve you, I serve the President of the Union." This is exactly what the garrison commander expected from someone who had such a meteoric rise.
"No, you work for me."
"No, I really don't." The scene almost had a comedic tone to it. Bringing himself to a slow stand, the commander's eyes locked onto Virgil's, prosecuting the man with a murderous intent. But VIrgil did not let him speak. "Are you supposed to rehabilitate me after my stint in the Colonial prison?"
"You are directed by the President to--" Before he could answer, the half-machine lunged for him, three metal blades extending from his forearm that immediately came right underneath the chin of the commander. For a moment, he took in what he was looking at. He could see the man's sinew, taught and ready for combat, contrast the smooth metal plating of his cyborg parts. Whoever pieced him together had done a marvelous job.
"I do not respond to you. Never forget, Commander, that as a Special Agent, I am exempt from all administrative actions except those decreed by the President. I am not caged by your hierarchy. I am authorized to execute his intent, and right now it involves killing a lot of spacenoids. Not being stuck here."
"Your hubris will get you killed."
"Many have tried. I earned my moniker not because of my progenitor, but because of my actions."
"A heretic, whether lunar or martian, remains a heretic." The reality of Bishop's origins were now well known, but Virgil kept using his previous name to distinguish himself. But even he realized the value and propaganda of just embracing his genetic heritage. He only really used it to instill fear in his opponents, but Virgil was aware that soon he would probably just cloak himself in it completely.
"I am going to go and do what I do best. Cause a lot of havoc and destroy the Union's enemies. You would do well to remember that while you may hold some power in this city, it is only in this city. Your connections cannot save you from the havoc that we bring." Virgil spoke of his partner, chaos incarnate, Feld. "I will see my way out. I will reconnect with my team."
"No--" Before he could even finish, the commander felt a backlash of emotion, a feeling of revolt so strong that he sat down immediately. There was such a palpable sense of contempt in the room, a feeling compounded by a tingling sensation in his skin, as if he was in some kind of electromagnetic field. He looked at Vice, whose arms had glowed for a moment. What was he made of?
"Yes. If you interlope into my affairs, you will regret peering into a world not meant for the weak." The metal claws retracted, and Virgil turned on his heels and exited. A silence hug in the commander's office for a few moments before he tried to recollect himself, allaying his pain by busying him in the more mundane tasks of his position.