#amon's node

That would be more than enough to trigger the tormented memories of the living nightmares she’d suffered through in her previous lifetime. Nightmares he had perfectly tailored with the express purpose of pushing the boundaries of her terror, to the point of mind-break insanity. 

On purpose. For his own twisted pleasure.

And now, that had all come back on him, full circle, as he looked upon the situation of his own making with overwhelming guilt and regret. The fact that Scylla merely tolerated his presence within this very lab was a testimony to her resilience and courage.

The Elezen let out a shaky breath, trying to maintain appearances, and suggested, “Mayhaps we can reconvene in my personal quarters then?”

Realizing what that invitation sounded like he backpedaled quickly, the tips of his ears taking on a slightly flushed hue.

“I… I… do not mean in an untoward way!” Amon corrected, spreading his hands. “Tad and I have been using my old quarters as a base of operations in the Tower. ‘Twould be the safest place for now.”

The Technologist then shot a slitty side-eye at the comments of the Node, who – if he didn’t know better – seemed to be enjoying tossing random statistics out to unnerve Scylla all the more.

“The way between here and there had better be perfectly safe,” Amon lowered his brows and his vocal tone. “I will leave that task to you to ensure, Node. So, be about it.”

He dismissed the machine with a commanding wave of his hand. Then, he looked back to Scylla to try and determine her reaction.

Scylla’s face scrambled back and forth between fear, disbelief, and confusion.  This was Amon, the Grand Technologist of Allag, the supposed Ascian terror, Fandaniel. 

Her nose wrinkled.  For all that this man was, he was behaving awkwardly, stumbling over his words and squirming about, just like the young Elezen that she once knew in a distant past. 

Is Tad really here somewhere?  Amon could be lying, luring me in… just like before…

But it made no sense. Here he was in the laboratory, surrounded by machines and environs that would readily support a second vivisection without question. For all of his awkwardness, he was still Amon of the Tower, in a position that he could easily overpower her weakened and injured form.

And yet… he offers me comfort and succor…

Her face softened as she steadied herself on the less tender of her ankles. 

“Okay, Amon… you better not be fibbing.”  She gave a weak nod, holding Amon’s arm once more for support.  “And what’s wrong with your Node?  I’ve never seen one… so odd?”

The Node gave a disapproving buzz at her before floating out the exit.

“Node was powered down in standby mode for a very long time,” Amon told her, somewhat relieved to be making any sort of normal conversation. Relieved that she had allowed him enough trust to agree to follow him. He began to lead the way, waiting for Node to get out of sight before continuing.

“This version of the Tower seems to have been functional and awake for quite a while. Node mayhaps has a few rusted circuits I should tend to once I get a moment to run some maintenance scans. ‘Tis all. He will not be a bother to you if I have my say. And I shall.”

Thinking better of it, Amon shrugged out of his lab coat, folding it over one arm as he ushered her out of the lab compound into the dimly-lit maze of hallways that he knew only too well. Under the finery, he wore just a simple white tunic and red slacks, which he hoped lent a sense of not-being-a-technologist to his appearance. He didn’t need to continue to visually remind her of exactly what part he had played in her past lifetime, after all.

“I’m sure you have questions,” he glanced at her. “As do I. You haven’t told me how you came to be here. I know that ‘tis a rifting system set up between this reflection and our own, but that would have deposited you in the storage facility next to my quarters. I am fairly certain ‘tisn’t how you arrived as I have it very well monitored.”

The journey from the laboratory to Amon’s room seemed to take forever.  His quarters were further up, close to the highest spire.  It would seem that the technologist had already set up defenses and illusions to dissuade any unexpected visitors from finding ways into his abode. 

To fill the time, she told him how she had followed him, her unfortunate and unexpected encounters with the Tower wildlife, and with his node army.

Before her were large, gilded doors, sparkling in crystal blue, golden runes and a hand-etched picture of Amon crafted in the late-Allagan style ran down the center.  The eyes glowed from the mask, staring down threateningly at the pair.  It was massive, perfectly sized for the giant, robed terror that Amon had made of himself. 

She cringed at the picture, giving a half look of disgust. It was so different from the lanky elf that stood at her side, supporting her and helping her as she walked through the smaller, servant’s entrance.

Within his chambers, she rubbed her eyes at the bright sunlight that danced across the crystal walls.  Drapes of dark scarlet and gold lined the vaulted ceilings.  Giant plush couches, a neatly made bed with patterned Allagan sheets, and hand-carved furniture from the farthest corners of Allag lined every wall of multiple rooms. There was even a private garden —though it was barren and long dead —and a hidden balcony beyond, where the lavender fields of an unknown world stretched beyond an unfamiliar town structure nestled at the base of the Tower.

Amongst all the oversized furnishings, areas had been cleared out for tangles of wires, computing nodes, and crystal-powered terminals.  Nodes buzzed about, continuing their repairs around the area without notice of the impending visitors.  She recognized Tad’s bedroll, and several of Amon’s traveling clothes scattered about in piles.  

She picked up a pair of wrinkled striped pants and wiggled them in front of Amon, before tossing them aside, looking for healing supplies in his knapsack, which lay in one of Amon’s upturned giant feathered hats. “Still into this pajama fashion, are we?”

“Pajama fashion?” he repeated in a somewhat offended tone. “’Twas the finest make in all of Allag, I assure you!”

It took a moment for him to realize what Scylla was doing as she rooted around in his belongings without asking permission. For, of course, she had taken some injury in her exploration of the Tower. He wasn’t sure what all lurked the lower halls, but from the sounds of it, the excavations of the people of the First had dug up more than just information.

This was something he might need to look into later. Not that he expected to need to go to the lower floors all that much.  

Amon directed her to a cabinet of lab supplies that he’d managed to scrounge up, which included the mandatory safety and first aid kits. “’Tis what you need? Are you in pain?”

Though he tried to keep the concern out of his voice, it was difficult, and he didn’t know why. Certainly, it was hard to determine what side-effects might result from wounds inflicted from the unknowns that lurked the lower labs.

Still, there was something more… emotional… to his query. Something that spoke of earnest worry for his once-rival, that surprised even himself.

There was almost an innocent, boyish way to the way Amon behaved.  It was strange, partially off-putting, but also made something tickle in the back of her throat. It harkened back to a time almost too far past to remember—a time of warmth and innocence, when the Tower stood for something more, before Amon of the Tower, and certainly before Ascians.

She watched as he rushed to find her supplies, scattering around everything from stomach remedies to muscle pills, all in front of her, looking at her with genuine concern.

“Thank you, Maxears…”  Scylla chuckled a little, reaching up and pulling down on his ear before heading into the cleansing sector.  She looked over her back with a flushed smile before closing the door. 

Amon watched as she left the room, a sense of befuddlement overcoming his usual collected demeanor.

Why was he acting this way? He didn’t know, but it was so bizarre. Even to him.

At the same time, he felt more alive and aware than he had in a long time.

The Allagan touched the ear that had just been pulled, musing at the old nickname Scylla had used.

Maxears.

It had once been meant as an insult from their younger days. That she still remembered and used it – what did it mean? This time, she’d said it differently, though. Not in the way she’d once taunted him in their childhood.

Amon wasn’t sure how she was going to respond to his story, to the things he’d discovered within the Tower’s memories. About himself. Where he came from. Why he was the way he was.

About the Other. Who they had become. Though, why they’d done what they’d done was still a mystery to him.

While usually a reserved and private person, he felt almost… excited… to share the truth with Scylla. To offer her proof that he was still who he’d always thought he was. Just in a different fashion.

He found himself fidgeting with one of his keypads as he waited. Noting that Tad was nowhere to be seen – as per usual during daylight hours – he hoped his cousin would think to bring back a meal as he usually did.

Scylla would likely be hungry, and Amon wasn’t sure when had been the last time she’d had something to eat.

The Node lurched back, releasing the energy field, surprised by his Master’s voice patterns.  These voice patterns suggested anger… empathy, possibly even affection?

Scylla just fell to the floor, crumpled in a pile at the Master’s feet.

Affection?

The Master had never shown genuine affection towards a test subject.  Even worse, towards Scylla!  

The node’s programming rejected any possibility that Amon would feel any form of warmth towards his rival. But there was no insincerity in the Master’s voice. 

It did not compute.  The Master was showing serious major faults and errors.  The node would have to run a check on the Technologist’s clone computations.  Only then could a proper treatment be applied.

And… Scylla was not a threat.  The scans had revealed that she had only a sliver of her power, and she was a threat to no one, including a properly armed node, much less a whole cohort. 

The node sunk to the ground, and gave a single roll, backing away from the pair. “Affirmative, Master.” The Node spun, giving a low, negative tone. “Subject released to your custody.”  

The Node could bide its time.

Plans were already in the works.   

Amon schooled himself, once again regaining a calm and commanding composure. Thankfully, Node had not argued the point. The last thing he wanted Scylla to think was that he was not in control of the Tower systems, much less his own creations.

Something in him wanted to move forward in concern, but he wasn’t sure if Scylla would welcome any sort of approach from him. He couldn’t deduce exactly what she was feeling at the moment – having been contained, then released, then contained, and again released.

He only knew this was a very delicate predicament in which he could either gain or lose trust in her eyes. The apprehension of this knowledge pulsed through his body as he tried to determine what was best to say and do next. The Allagan had never been very good at things like this.

“Scylla? I didn’t know you were here. In the Tower,” Amon spoke slowly, hoping that shifting the focus to a troubling question of his own would break the tension. “How did you get here?”

Though he thought better of it, he offered the motion of a concerned hand. Not reaching for her, just one upraised palm with a gesture he hoped would mirror the worry in his eyes.

Scylla looked up at Amon’s hand, tracing each of the curves of his fingers, before glancing into his gaze.  Despite his slumped shoulders and soft voice, it was hard not to be unnerved in this setting of jarred, mutated organs and toppled shelves of ancient medical tools.

She grabbed the side of his pant leg, and then his coat, pulling herself up to her shaky feet.  She held Amon's shoulder for balance and looked straight into his golden eyes.

She needed to know.

“So… then… are the stories true?”

“Stories? It depends. What stories do you mean?” Amon asked, perplexed.

Seeing that she had initiated contact with him first, he offered her a supportive arm. One eyebrow quirked upward as he peered questioningly at Scylla.

“Ascians.  Fandaniel.”  Scylla pushed her finger into his chest, while holding his arm at the same time to steady herself. “You.” The node interjected. “Incorrect.  Amon, Master Technologist of the Tower. Glory to Allag.”

Scylla wiped her face, ignoring the node, looking up at Amon as she bit her lip. “Well?”

Amon’s eyes widened slightly, unable to prevent an internal response to the words “Ascians” and “Fandaniel,” especially the way she spoke them. He knew that Scylla was aware of a portion of what had driven him to the First to search the Tower for answers, but he wasn’t certain exactly how much she knew.

“Can you walk?” He asked instead of answering. With his free hand he motioned towards the room adjacent to the lab. It had once functioned as an office attached to the facility, and would likely have somewhere to sit that was far less imposing.

“I have made some discoveries along those lines, but ‘tis much to explain. Mayhaps we relocate somewhere more comfortable?”

Scylla involuntarily shivered, looking at the room, lined with comfortable chairs, tomes, and scientific information terminals.  She stumbled backwards, the memories of her signing away her life surfacing as she stared at the charts of human bodies and holograms of cellular structures in the distance.  How easy it was to forget that this man with the silver words and warm smile was the man who had destroyed everything she once was.

And now an Ascian?  None of this makes sense.

She swallowed deeply, managing to choke up some words.

“Amon… your laboratory office is NOT my idea of comfort.”  She limped forward, pulling away towards the entrance while looking back over her shoulder. “I’ll take my chances in the Tower.” 

The node seemed to have other ideas, rolling next to Amon and lighting up a trace on the ground to the exit.

“Excellent!” The node spun, interrupting with a slightly gleeful tone. “Her chances of survival are… computing… less than two percent.  The subject’s disposal will leave you free to pursue more important tasks!”

But for the first time, he sensed distrust from Master Amon.  Of course, the effects of his Master’s clonal transfer and restoration likely had imperfections due to the long time spent in storage. Surely his loyalties had not shifted with such defects?

The node reasoned that the Master needed rest, and of course, some of his special medication.  Medication would return his mind to a proper state.  Surely, he would take it voluntarily, but if not, there were preprogrammed restraining routines for injections.   

The Node moved aside and opened the doors into Amon’s vast private laboratory. 

“Very well, Master.  The patient will remain in preoperative condition until you are ready to operate. I am certain that you will be most pleased!  Glory to Allag!”

“Glory to All-“ Amon began to repeat, just out of pure habit. But as the doors to his lab opened, the scene that unfolded before him caused the final, and most important word to dissolve in his mouth.

Though this was nothing uncommon to the Allagan during his days as Technologist, for some reason, walking in on a fully-prepped operation in his lab now felt like stepping onto the set of a horror production. The room seemed larger and darker than he ever remembered it being, shadows dripping down the walls like the ancient blood of past victims. Nodes of all shapes and sizes hummed in quiet standby, awaiting his approach towards the cold, sterile workspace.

On the far wall, displayed the vitals of the subject – who was strapped down to the table to the point of utter immobilization. The heartrate raced erratically, in abject terror.

It took a moment for Amon to respond, but when he did, he fast-walked across the room, feeling a terrible cringing pang in the pit of his stomach. As close as he was now, he instantly recognized the patient.

“Scylla!” his voice cracked as he half-sprinted the rest of the way. His fingers moved over the straps that held her to the table, working to free her, and finding her bound more tightly – almost to the extent of cruelty – than he’d expected.

Amon grabbed from one of the nearby instrument trays – the largest scalpel available – his focus completely intent on freeing Scylla from the bindings that held her.  

It was a moment that Scylla never wanted to relive.

There he was, standing over her, coat draping over his form, just as he had over a thousand years in the past.  A thousand years ago, he had successfully torn her to pieces and left her to a long, living death – spliced to giant direwolves.   

It wasn’t exactly a conscious moment, but the minute that Amon freed her from the bonds, Scylla’s arms shot up, hands grappling hopelessly against the much bigger figure above her.  She wasn’t going to go willingly to that Ascian… or whatever he was.

Not this time.

Amon wasn’t certain what he expected would happen the moment Scylla became free. Maybe that she’d gratefully thank him for the hero he was to unbind her? Was that too much to ask – that she’d be happy to see him?

The unfettered, determined rage and terror that transformed her face had not been in the playbook. He didn’t even try to cover up his own surprise at her physical response. It took him one moment too long to realize what she must have been seeing when she looked up at him.

Amon of Allag in his lab-wear. Sharp utensil in hand. His lab, a place of ancient crimes, looming huge above her. Having been strapped to a table as she was by his own nodes, he had little next to no means to plead his innocence in this instance.

Amon let the scalpel drop from his hand, clattering to the floor as she grabbed for his arms. Taking a slow step back, as one might from a feral creature lashing fangs and claws, he tried to give her room, hoping she wouldn’t continue to advance.

“Scylla,” his voice was calm and level. “No one is going to hurt you.”

Whether she’d believe him or not, he didn’t know. But he had to try.

Just as quickly as Amon began to back away from the table, she flipped her legs off, sweeping her hand on the tray for anything sharp to slice up her perceived aggressor.  She struggled to her feet, still dizzy from the neurodisruption field that the Node had applied in her capture.

But then he did something unexpected.  Amon didn’t struggle with her or push her back onto the table, or even begin to slice into her.  He backed away awkwardly, dropping his only defensive tool – a single rusty scalpel.  His ears flicked and then drooped, belying his apprehension, and maybe a little fear.

She let a deep breath loose, only to be squeezed in an aether-energy restraint from the node behind her.

“Subject recaptured… again…”  The Node spun, lofting Scylla up off her feet as she struggled.  The voice almost seemed to have a hint of annoyance as it conversed with Amon. “Master… you really do have to be more careful with your subjects.  She’s not properly tranquilized.”

The Node gave a disagreeable low-hummed buzz.

“Negative.  Subject Tad is located in the Musica Universalis Markets, consuming excessive calories.”  

Node gave a puzzling quizzical beep, following Amon around.  It tracked the growing stress patterns in Amon’s voice, knowing that the master was showing signs of emotional distress, something that was not infrequent in the past.

Node spoke in a reassuring gentle voice, trying to project a sense of calm, cool, collectedness.  

“You need not worry about Tad.  Your orders are followed with absolute precision.   Node network knows exactly where all tracked subjects reside within the Syrcus Tower environs, at any time.”

The mechanical creature rolled down the path to the lab. 

“In fact, recapture and submission of the prisoner was executed with the swiftness that you require to prevent any public incidents.”  

“Recapture?” Amon echoed, part of him relieved he wouldn’t have to deal with his frustrated Warrior of Light cousin again. Another part of him, however, was ringing the alarm bells loud and clear between his long ears. “Define ‘recapture’. ‘Tis no one in the First that would have been a previous prisoner here.”

At least, no one that he could think of right off the bat. This only served to increase his speed – biting down internal lamentations that the old Lab Cart transports were no longer functional – as his long strides chewed up the hallway with his mounting trepidation.

“Node, you are not to allow any tech staff to begin experimentation before I reach the operating rooms. I want to know everything about our patient before the procedure begins, and that means I need them in a conscious and pain-free state of mind. Is that clear?” 

“Master, I was going to start the early incisions…"

“Node, you will do no such thing!” Amon’s brows lowered.

Something about this wasn’t right. Node had been a steadfast and loyal servant, a mechanical wonder created by the Technologist’s own hands. When Amon could not trust anyone else, he could always trust his Node in all things.

The fact that Node was suddenly talking and acting out of turn surely meant something was in a state of malfunction. Of course, the machine had sat idle for so very long, not to mention, had been carried across time and dimension, so some anomaly probably should be expected. Amon still wasn’t sure how a version of Syrcus Tower had come to be in another reflection like this, and Tad had not been forthcoming if he had any information on the matter.

“Since when did you contradict my orders?”

Amon had a few ideas, which he currently pondered while munching on something Tad had wrangled from the cookery in the Crystarium. Much like the elusive project he was about to undertake, the Allagan had little clue what he was eating at the moment.

Still, that had never stopped him before.

He jotted a few things down on a refurbished Tomepad he’d found in a rejected corner. The device was a bit slow in the uptake, but those who had nothing to utilize but the crumbs of a once-glorious technological nation could not be choosers. He’d add more memory to the Tome once he found a unit that provided a match for parts.

A soft, redundant beep began to sound from one of his many monitors, causing one of his ears to twitch ever so slightly. It was just loud enough, and annoying enough, to be heard above the Allagan’s open-mouthed munching. With a grumbling sigh, Amon un-shrimped from his lab chair, spinning it on its axis to bring the other screen within line of vision.

He’d really have to do something about screen mobility in this room. It was never built to be a lab station, and that had become quite apparent once he’d put the area through its paces.

It took a moment for Amon’s brow to furrow, questioning what he was seeing on the monitor. A few light taps brought up an unexpected notification from the Central Syrcus Lab.

“Specimen detained. Preparation phase completed?” Amon read from the monitor out loud, his tone hooking upward with a questioning sound. Then he flicked a glance over one shoulder with a query. “Node, have there been any tech logs of malfunctions in the lab notification system?” 

“Standby.”

There was a short delay before the Node stirred from standby mode.

“Apologies, Master.  The Tower’s circuits are still badly damaged, and communications are slowed.” Then, a happy tune played from the node, as it jumped with excitement. “I have added a new high-priority task to your schedule for today, Master!”

The node hovered to the other side of the room, as the doors slid open to Amon’s extensive wardrobe. “We will have to find suitable operating gear for your clone’s reduced size, but I have already located appropriate wear in the laboratory.”

The node came out with a small case, embossed with Amon’s initials along the top, speaking with almost a prideful voice.

“The patient is in the process of being prepared.  Assistance Nodes are ready and waiting, and we have captured some candidate donor subjects for your review.”

The case opened, revealing several scalpels and small bone lasers, while holoprojections appeared around the room of different beasts, some of which were created by Amon’s own hand.

“What time slot would you like to schedule the procedure on your calendar?”

Instead, she found herself party to the company of six void-tainted wolves spliced to her form.  Not just wolves.  Intelligent, voidsent creatures that wanted nothing more than to feed on her torture and the resulting insanity. 

Scylla broke out in a cold sweat, unconsciously hugging herself as she climbed over laboratory tables, scattering papers and stepping on scorched tomepads.  She wanted to leave as this place just brought unwanted memories. But she could hear the angry shuffling outside of the laboratory, with the severed, bloodied claw ratcheted in the door.   A part of her would still face that rather than the feelings brought back from this place.

The mage climbed across the debris of a collapsed ceiling, tracking towards the glow of an emergency panel.  Rows of specimen jars lay scattered about over lifeless robots and damaged nodes. 

There was glass everywhere and puddles laden with long-wild biopellet moss— lit by the blue highlight of glowing outer crystal light that filtered through the seized ventilation fans in the high ceilings.  Robotic assemblies with multi-tooled arms hovered over the surgical beds stained with old blood and rubble from collapsed portions of the tower.  

Scylla was rewarded with the bright glow of a still functioning emergency panel.

“Okay… I can work with this.” 

The words were muddied in her mind – her Allagan language skills had not come back, but she knew to put her palm on the flat glowing surface.

The area lit up around her in response, with several sparks and flashes raining down from the wiring.  However, a polite voice sounded from the panel.

“Welcome to the Syrcus Emergency Communication Network!  Note that responses may be slowed due to out-of-cycle upgrades and unplanned network outages resulting from catastrophic losses of the Imperial Power Matrix!” 

A more automated voice followed, partially distorted as if the voice circuits had been corrupted.

“Wait time is…1451.495 days.”

“Nooo!” Scylla cried softly as she pounded her fist in frustration at the panel.

A soft pleasant jingle startled her as she turned from the wall.  In the distance, she could see a lined spherical glow.

The wall interface spoke as her back was pressed in fear and the orb spun in front of her. 

“Help is on the way! Thank you for using the Syrcus Communication Network.  How did we do? A survey will be forthcoming on your Allagnet account!”

A medical node, marked with Amon’s symbol of ownership, came out of the shadows.   A slightly mechanical, but still melodic voice projected around the room, almost with a hint of glee and hate.

“My, my, bad doggy!  How have you escaped your cage?”  

Several nodes came out of the darkness, blocking Scylla’s escape.  Before she could even raise her hands, restraint cabling roped her arms, leaving her hopelessly squirming on the ground.

The lead node came forward, with an almost Amon-like chiding tone to its voice, giving another spin before coming up to her bound up form.

“We are going to have to remedy this fault immediately, or the master will be most displeased.” The node turned to the others gathered behind it as they all lit up.  “Nodes, prepare for surgery mode. The Master will want Scylla returned to her proper state.”

Buried far deep into the Tower halls, there was no one to hear her scream.