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Mount Hilde does not only grant access to the Sixth Key from Fort Underhill
Proper. It also serves as the frontlines. In the parent universe,
Salmonverse, direction and location are all about one’s frame of reference,
but not here. There is a hard limit to the scope of Fort Underhill. Move far
enough in any direction, and you’ll reach the physical boundaries that hold
the cosmos together. You would not be able to break free through that wall,
however. It’s reportedly fifty times thicker than the walls of a normal
universe—whatever that means, and whatever these walls are made out of. Only
something called the Aperture leads to the kasma, where you can potentially
escape into the multiverse, but even that would not be guaranteed. Team
Gatekeeper has come to find out why this is known as a fort at all. It’s
meant to be a haven for any and all peacelovers, so the entrance is the only
way in or out. The world they’re standing on right now is at that entrance.
The peak of Mount Hilde is apparently pointed right at it. If someone wants
to come here, looking for trouble, this is what’s gonna be in their way.
It’s thusly unclear why the team is even here in the first place. This whole
place was designed to keep out intruders. Security is what they supposedly
do best, so why do they need a small team of individuals who only recently
came together?
“You’re not here to secure Mount Hilde,” Hogarth explains. “You’re here to
protect the diplomatic team that I’ve assembled. This is just the means by
which we reach the plane of existence that we’re headed for.”
“You let me secure the perimeter,” Selma reminds her. “The perimeter to this
facility, on this mountain.”
“You were on a roll, barking orders. I didn’t want to slow you down. Plus,
it’s always good to get a second opinion on our security measures.”
Selma sighs.
“Miss Eriksen,” Hogarth continues, “you were not assigned the leadership
role of your team, yet here you are, taking charge.”
“Atticus wasn’t saying anything.”
“Hey, I agree. Every military is defined by how orderly and organized it is,
as is any well-run private organization. But the reality is that true
leaders aren’t hired, or designated. They step up. Those are the ones that
people are better off following, because they earn their place every day. If
they fail, they lose it. Someone who serves as leader in any official
capacity will often just be allowed to stay there, even if they don’t
deserve it. I think Atticus is recognizing the same thing that I am, and is
allowing you to do what you need to do. It’s what we all need right now.
You are what we need. So do your thing. I’ll let you know when you’re
messing something up.”
Selma is skeptical to stay the least. She taps her earwig. “Fall back to the
lobby. It’s time to go.” She looks up at the foggy second story. “I’m
guessing that’s our entrance?”
“You guess right.”
“It’s a portal, or something?”
“Or something.”
“That’s vague, and unsettling. Is it dangerous?”
“Everything is dangerous,” Hogarth says, likely having fun being cryptic and
unhelpful.
“Please clarify.”
Hogarth sighs. “I didn’t make that. That is supposed to lead to the
observation platform, where you can spot the Aperture with the naked eye.
The fog was placed there by a...friend of mine. I can’t tell you how it
works, because he didn’t tell me.”
“Please clarify,” an unsatisfied Selma repeats.
“He’s a god. He’s literally an energy god. He doesn’t intervene as much as I
would like, but he agreed to facilitate diplomatic discussions with our
apparent enemy by building us some kind of bridge. I don’t know where it
goes, and I don’t know what we’ll find when we get there. That’s why I need
you. I certainly can’t fit my whole robot army up those stairs. I wish that
I could prepare you better, but I don’t have all the answers.”
The two of them are standing on a small mezzanine level, between the main
floor, and the fog. Climbing up the rest of the stairwell would seemingly
take them up to the real top of the building. Selma looks up in that
direction. “No one ever does.” She watches as everyone down below begins
filing back into the lobby from various doorways. Once everyone is back, she
begins to walk back down the steps, but stops. “Wait. Is that the diplomatic
team? Do they have any experience?”
“Those are my people,” Hogarth says. “I’m the only representative
from Fort Underhill who will be going on the mission. The diplomats should
be arriving shortly.”
She was right. Just as Selma is stepping down to join the group, five more
people enter from the fog. Hogarth looks just as surprised as Selma and the
Fort Underhillers. Four of the newcomers begin to descend the curved
staircase while one of them stays at the top. “People of Fort Underhill,
allow me to introduce you to...the Diplomats.” The way he pauses before the
last two words makes it sound like they’re part of a club. “Flux Do-4 of
Vaidy, Major Regolith Hagedus of Gavismet, Major Allomer Franks of Fanter,
and Awilda Zewflux of Vaidy. Chief Truncative Kanani Kekoa could not be here
today.”
“That’s him,” Hogarth whispers. “That’s the energy god. He’s not the one I
talked to about the diplomats. He had nothing to do with that. At least, I
didn’t think so.”
Major Franks looks back up at the god. “You’re not coming with us?”
“It’s not my place,” the god replies.
“We don’t even know what we’re doing,” Major Hagedus complains. “Where have
you brought us?”
The god smiles. “To a pit stop. Come back up here whenever you’re ready.” He
doesn’t move a muscle. The fog billows out a little more, and overwhelms
him. When it recedes, he’s gone.
“I don’t think that was really Dyne Dyne,” Major Franks says to Flux Do-4.
These are all very interesting names.
“I would have to agree,” his friend, Flux Do-4 says stoically.
Hogarth walks over to meet the Diplomats at the bottom of the stairs. “Thank
you for coming. We face a great unseen enemy, and would like to resolve
things amicably, if at all possible.”
Major Hagedus nods. “We’ve learned to accept any job that has been given to
us, whether we asked for it, or not. Give us the details.”
Atticus is still technically the leader of Team Gatekeeper so it is he who
joins Hogarth and the Diplomats in the briefing room while Selma and
everyone else wait out here by the fountain. They’re in there for about
forty-five minutes before they come back out. Hogarth says her personal
goodbyes to her friends, then takes a few steps upstairs before turning
around to address the crowd. She pulls in a deep breath, and exhales with
zen-like vigor. After building sufficient anticipation, she finally speaks,
“forward now, unto the breach!” She spins back around, and starts to run up
the stairs.
For a second, no one knows what to do, but if Hogarth needs protecting, then
Selma is going to be the one to do it. She slips through the crowd, and
begin to follow her up. Neither of them make it into the portal fog, though.
A blast of some kind shoots out from it, and throws them both over the
railing, back towards the floor. Selma doesn’t make it there, though. The
central fountain contains statues of people, standing in a circle, and
reaching their hands outwards, interpretively in friendship to all. Above
them, a young girl is crouching on a platform, pointing outwards as well.
Slightly higher, a boy is hanging onto the central column, holding on with
one hand and two feet like a monkey. His other hand shields his eyes from
the sun. He’s searching for something in the opposite direction of who Selma
imagines to be his sister. Just above him is another flat platform
where the water splashes onto, so it can rain down below in random patterns,
unlike the symmetrical nozzles near the top, which fling jets in neat,
predictable arches. Selma crashes onto her back on this empty platform, head
turned to the side so she can watch Hogarth’s neck slam into the edge of the
pool. The rest of her body is now sprawled out on the floor, motionless.
Selma’s vision is blurring, but she can still make out what’s happening.
Four silhouettes have emerged from the fog. They stand on the landing
together in a line. The fog recedes up through the opening in the ceiling as
if all the air has been sucked out of the room. As it does so, the
silhouettes become clearer. One of them appears to be Tamerlane Pryce,
though not the avatar of the magical Magnolia tree. It seems to be a real
version of the original man. “Who did we get?” he asks, looking down at
Selma and Hogarth. “Only two? Hm. That’s disappointing.”
Selma struggles to lift her shoulders up from the stone platform to lean
against the column. It’s incredibly painful. She probably broke her back.
“Not even. Well, I guess we’ll have to get the rest some other way,”
Tamerlane laments.
“Look,” the other man in the attacking group says. “What’s happening with
the dead one?”
Selma struggles again to turn her head, and look back down at Hogarth who
appears to be disintegrating? Her body is literally falling apart into a
million tiny pieces, flaking off and fading into oblivion. It’s reminiscent
of something Selma once saw in a superhero movie they made in the main
sequence. During the Rock negotiations, representatives from the different
realities would be asked to share art and culture from their native lands to
promote unity and camaraderie. The ending to this one was particularly sad
and depressing, even though it was the 21st film in the series, and they
hadn’t watched the ones leading up to it. In a matter of moments, Hogarth’s
body has completely disappeared into nothingness.
“Well,” Tamerlane says with one clap of his hands. “One down, however many
to go. Iolanta? Make sure they stay here.”
“Done,” Iolanta replies.
“A.F., I suppose you’re the more...violent of us. Just try to make it
efficient, and painless. Our only objective is to protect The First
Explorer.”
The other guy cracks his own neck, and psychs himself up, bouncing around
like a boxer preparing for a fight. He reaches behind his hip, and swings a
rifle down and around into killing position, fancying himself some kind of
action hero. Lowell Benton of Fort Underhill doesn’t hesitate before running
up the stairs to meet his enemy. He anticipates being shot at, and dodges
the first bullet. But the second one hits him square in the chest. He bursts
into a million pieces, just as Hogarth had, though much faster. The dust he
leaves behind eventually vanishes. A.F. is shocked at this. He rolls his gun
a little to his left, and examines it for answers.
“Was that supposed to happen?” Tamerlane questions.
“I shouldn’t think so,” the killer responds.
“I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so keep going, A.F.”
Andrei and Ayata spring into action. They play a little gun fu with A.F. His
weapon is long, heavy, and unwieldy. He can’t move it around as fast as they
can sprint and hop, and it’s no good in close quarters. He gives up, and
starts fighting them in hand to hand combat. He’s getting tired, though, and
knows that he’s no match for them with this tactic. He manages to keep them
away from him long enough to pull out his sidearm, and shoot them in the
stomachs. They too instantly dust apart.
“Okay, now this is getting ridiculous!” Tamerlane cries. “That’s just a nine
mil! What the hell is happening?”
“I don’t care,” A.F. growls back. “It’s working.” He gets his rifle back
into position, and starts spraying bullets every which way. He’s not aiming
at all, just trying to let the auto fire paint the walls with his enemies’
blood. Except there is no blood, only disappearing dust. He’s letting out a
primal scream, probably believing himself to be a real life Rambo, or
something. That’s another gem of a movie that the main sequence showed them
on their breaks.
By some miracle, none of these stray bullets hits Selma. She’s partially
covered by the stone column, but not entirely. At least one of them should
have slipped through. She has to watch as all of her new friends are
slaughtered senselessly. Once he’s done, he drops the end of his gun to turn
it into a walking cane to hold himself up while he catches his breath. Selma
looks around at the fountain, and sees that it has suffered no damage at
all. It must be protected by a force field. She doesn’t know why they would
bother designing it this way. She should count herself lucky, but that’s not
how it feels. She’s alone now, and they’ll figure out how to kill her
eventually.
A.F. seems to have come to the same conclusion when he notices that she’s
still alive. He slowly and deliberately picks his gun back up, cowboy walks
over there, and attempts to shoot her at point blank range.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tamerlane shouts. “Watch where you’re
pointin’ that thing, asshole!”
“There’s a plasma barrier,” A.F. figures.
“Yeah, I see that. It could have ricocheted.”
A.F. steps a little closer, and lifts his hand, trying to find the barrier
manually, but there’s nothing there. It passes right through, unimpeded.
With a chuckle, he steps into the pool to no resistance. He chuckles again.
“Loophole,” he delightedly declares. He trains his weapon for the last time,
right at Selma’s head. “Any last words?”
She stares at him blankly, still in an immense amount of pain. “They keep
calling you A.F. What does that stand for? Ammo fucker?” She pulls out her
own sidearm, and shoots him right in the forehead. In a surprising twist, he
dusts away like everyone else. That’s evidently just what happens to people
when they die in this room. Her own life is hanging on by a thread, so she’s
about to find out first hand if that’s true. The darkness enshrouds her
eyes, and she slips away peacefully.
