GRAVE: The Stalker Comes to Babylon

1

…and if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
-Frederic Wilhelm Nietzsche

Of all their creations, the Shoggoth were the most vile… a liquid black mass, capable of armoring and arming itself by forming its fluid form into limbs and shells. It devours nations and consumes armies. And in the end, it destroyed them, as well.
-Anonymous Antarctic Explorer

We swore we would never be taken off guard again. After all of the death, agony, loss… we promised ourselves and the world that it would never happen again.

Around her stretched the solemn halls of earth’s best-guarded facility. It was cold, grey, postmodern structure with many curved surfaces, constructed one thousand meters beneath the earth beneath several layers of atomic-resistant armor. It was electronically connected to every government agency in any nation across the entire world. The Command Bridge was the beating heart of this compound, shaped as a half-circle with a domed roof. A series of metal workstations extended from the raised platform at the back of the room, snaking along the wall. Computers were spread throughout the room, each managed by a man or woman in a grey uniform. Diana Dresden sat at a desk atop the central platform, wearing such a black uniform with four grey chevrons on either shoulder. A black beret was perched on her head. Beside her stood an inexpressive man with strange, leering grey eyes that seemed to gaze at some distant target beyond the walls.

On the far wall a vast monitor stretched out, displaying an image from high orbit. There, a hideous monster floated above the earth, consisting of a flat, curved strip of brown flesh, from which extended four monstrous blades, assisted by the tentacles that extended from the back of the body strip. A large ball of flesh in the center seemed to constitute its brain, despite the lack of any apparent sensory apparatus.

“Captain Monlin,” she said, quickly.

“Aye, ma’am?” asked the inexpressive man.

“What is the condition of Tomb-1?”

The man’s eyes turned yellow for several moments before he replied, “Prepared to fire. It has all the main capacitors charged, but there seems to be a slight problem in the backup coolant system.”

“I don’t care. Order the first shot.”

“Yes, Madam.”

The feed on the main screen slowly panned to view the blue-green surface of the planet earth, the continent North America: billions of lives compressed into a 400 inch plasma screen.

“First shot fired,” Monlin said, icily.

There was the flash of a monstrous gun barrel, originating from Mexico. A red ball rushed up from the planet, moving faster than the naked eye could see. It collided with the space-crab. A brilliant flash blinded the visual feed. A few moments’ panicked shuffling from the staff restored the image, though now from a different angle.

“Observation Satellite G34 has been lost,” a woman called up from one of the computers. “Visual switched to G37.”

As the flash slowly faded, Diana’s sharp eyes caught sight of a flaming object falling from orbit – G34, she guessed.

“Target has survived!”

The flash had faded enough to show the crab still alive and well, though some of its brown carapace had been burned away, revealing pulpy pink underskin. The lump of flesh peeled back to reveal an orangey, cat-like eye, gazing down at the surface. The pupil contracted drastically. Diana narrowed her eyes. What the hell…?

It hit her all of a sudden.

She stood up, sending her chair careening backwards. “Order Tomb-1 to conceal the main battery and activate all armored layers! Minimum energy consumption, maximum stealth and shielding!”

“Confirmed!” yelled a masculine voice from below.

The flesh once again closed around space-crab’s eye and a mouth opened on the bottom of the strip, revealing rows of hungry fangs. A globule of some unknown fluid launched from inside its jaws and fell towards the earth, trailing juices. A few moments later, it crashed to the surface and a large explosion engulfed the area around Tomb-1.

“Report from Tomb-1!” demanded Diana

A few tense moments tick-tocked past.

“Tomb-1 confirmed survival! All primary systems have suffered critical damage, and the primary battery is offline!”

Dresden narrowed her eyes. “I see.”

“Tomb-2 is prepped for fire, all systems go, madam,” noted Monlin

“No, tell them to hold fire,” said Diana, quietly. “Two of them are more than my job’s worth.”

“Object has begun a descent! Calculating vector…”

The Hour of Judgment.

“Descent Vector terminates at Yellow Fields, California.”

“Ah, so that’s what he wants.” Dresden said, wisely. She leaned over to a corner of her desk and pressed a button labeled ‘intercom-1.’ “Captain McHeller?”

“Aye, ma’am. How may I serve ya?” a female voice replied, with an Irish accent.

“We’ve run out of legal plays. Time to pull the ace out of our sleeve.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

-

Awen McHeller was a tall, muscular woman, with a shock of dark red hair and deep blue eyes. She dwarfed many of the men on her team. They presently sat in the ruins of San Hernando, California. The ancient walls of the Hotel Lorenzo enclosed the seven soldiers, though the roof and second through sixth stories had fallen away long ago.

“Mission’s a go,” yelled the captain, sliding to her feet in one smooth motion. It had all been rehearsed before, and it showed. The soldiers in their dark body armor moved expertly, collecting their weapons and tools and neatly marching out of the lobby. They had a short trip down the street, passing desolate stores and ruined houses, until they approached an ancient metal building. The writing had since rubbed away on the billboard that named it, but the architectural aesthetic was known to all: Altmann Cryogenics Corporation.

The building inside was dilapidated and empty, with the tiles smashed and scattered, leaving large patches of concrete foundation exposed. An elevator door, labeled ‘employees only,’ was slightly open inside. McHeller uselessly jammed the button summon the elevator. After a few moments with no groan of machinery, she turned and said, “We’re taking the long way down.”

Rappelling down the shaft was a long and arduous business, spent carefully counting floors while in constant danger of falling fifty stories. One layer at a time they descended, until they reached number 36. Like the rest of the entrances, the door was sealed tight. One soldier quickly descended, a small, hand-held computer clutched in his fingers. He plugged it into the small socket on the left of the grey door and pressed a button. A few tense moments of utter silence ensued.

A garbled computerized voice said ‘Hello, Mr- Mr- Mr Gren-Gren-Gren-” and then disintegrated into gibberish. The gateway jerked open.

The floor was pitch black. McHeller and her men turned on the lights mounted on their helmets, and perceived hundreds of strange metal tubes set into the wall, numbered one to a thousand. Awen produced a piece of paper from inside her armor and read it carefully. “We’re looking for Eight-hundred forty-four! Move!”

The group set out, feet clacking loudly on the metal floor. They counted rows until they reached the named pod. It looked just all the others: white, steel, impersonal. The cyberwarfare guy with the handheld computer stepped forward and unlocked the tube. Three other men advanced and pushed it open.

As the lid folded back, Awen could not quite believe her eyes. “This… this is going to save humanity?!”

-

Diana was sitting at her desk, patiently watching for the target to land. The flames of the atmosphere had started to form around its hardened shell. Suddenly, the intercom sounded for her attention. She accepted the communication.

“Do you have him?”

“Aye, ma’am, we’re taking him to the surface now… but… are ye sure?”

“Of course. He was in pod eight-hundred forty-four, wasn’t he?”

“Well, yes ma’am…”

“Then what is the issue?”

“He’s a wee lad, ma’am! What is this all aboot?”

“He is fifteen, and he’s going to control the Grave, as I said. Take him to Warrior’s Creek, as per the plan.” She paused. “What is his condition?” she added, softly.

“He’s pretty addled, ma’am, but that’s normal. Medic says tha’ we’re nae supposed to move him…”

“No, we’re not, but it cannot be helped.” She cut the connection. “Monlin?”

“Yes, madam?”

“What is the condition of Grave Zero?”

“Grave Zero requires is a cerebral core, otherwise all systems are active.”

“We have our core. Order that Grave-00 prepped for launch.”

-

Isaac’s eyes gradually came into focus. The world briefly spun, whirling madly about an unseen access. He was aware of a comforting, fuzzy object on his skin, but it could not ward off the biting cold that seemed to spread out from his bones.

He became aware of a face over his. It was a pretty face, with high cheekbones and wide eyes. Its hair was covered by an armored helmet, but a few dark locks escaped from front. It was somehow familiar.

“Mother…?” he whispered, voice rasping.

“He’s awake, ma’am,” the face said, flatly, and withdrew from his vision. He could suddenly hear the rumbling of an engine. Another face appeared, this one strong and decisive, sharper than the first one. It had no helmet, revealing a rough shock of red hair.

“Is he well?” asked this new face.

“As well as could be expected, ma’am,” the first face replied. She seemed stern. “We’re lucky we didn’t send him into shock.”

“Yeh, yeh,” the new face said, peering at him closely. Isaac’s vision got a little clearer. “Lad, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he managed to croak.

“Good. Listen to me close, now. Do you know what your name is? Full name, lad.”

“Isaac,” he mumbled.

“Full name. I know it’s tough…”

“Isaac Dre…” he trailed off. He could not remember the rest.

“Don’t worry, lad. Can you tell me what year it is?”

“2008,” he managed to spit out.

The woman glanced up. “Ok, got it. We’re taking to a place called ‘Warrior’s Creek.’ Do you know where tha’ is?”

“No…”

“When we’re there, we’re gonna put you in a machine, understand?

“Machine…?” Isaac’s brain rendered a series of pictures he’d seen in textbooks, mostly images of high-powered industrial implements that could easily remove a limb.

“‘Tis called a Grave. Once yer inside it, I wan’ you to sit there very still, and we’ll do the rest.”

Isaac’s brain was too battered to wonder why, so he merely nodded.

“Very good, lad.”

They drove for a long time, and Isaac gradually recovered his senses. Periodically, he’d cough violently and vomit transparent liquid, each time the redhead woman would hold up his head and keep him from choking.

“We’re here,” a man said, from the front of the van.

“Careful now,” said the woman.

Slowly, she picked him up and carried him out of the vehicle. The soldiers rushed about them, guns clicking. The terrain seemed oddly familiar; rolling yellow hills, marked by occasional trees. It was evening, and the sun cast a maroon glow across the earth. All around him were abandoned, run-down houses; their windows were shattered and roofs caved in. Rusted cars were scattered along the cracked roadway. As he was carried across the earth, he saw a metal door, set into the base of one of the hills.

The door swung open, and he was inside the den of the GRAVE.

-

“Thirty minutes until the target arrives and Yellow Fields!” someone reported. Diana leaned back in her chair, hands folded in her lap.

“What is the condition of the GRAVE?”

“The Cerebral Core has arrived, madam,” Monlin explained. “However, its stability is in question. There is evidence of psionic decay.”

“Hmm.” Diana’s faced turned to the ceiling. Bright lights lined the curved roof. “Arm LICHE.”

There a few startled murmurs from below, but no out-and-out protests. Diana frowned, eyes shut. Monlin remained stoic, saying “I will require command-code, voice recognition, and fingerprint confirmation.” He extended a single hand, devoid or ridges and lines, unnaturally smooth. Diana reached out and grasped it with her own delicate fingers.

“Hecate; Gamma-Delta-Omega 37B; Dresden, Diana Wilcox.”

“Confimred, LICHE is armed and ready for activation.”

How easy it would be… how easy it would be to end thousands of years of civilization, thought Diana, as she released Monlin’s hand.

-

Isaac’s image stood in the mirror, looking dully back upon him. He was of middling height, with longish dark hair that stuck out at obtuse angles. His blue eyes were dull and tired; bags underlined them starkly. His skin seemed to be bleached white, pale as paper. He was in the examination room of a white-walled room. Earlier, he had been carried all the way here by the redhead woman. He had been changed into a hospital gown

A male doctor entered. He had dark skin and a bald head. “Isaac Dresden?”

“Yes,” he replied, dully.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.” He did not care, either.

“I see.” The man made a note. “How do you feel?”

“What’s a GRAVE?” asked Isaac.

“That’s not important. How do you feel?”

“Cold. I have a headache”

“I see. Any other pain or nausea?”

“No.”

“I see. Please come with me.” Isaac’s feet felt numb, but he followed the doctor anyway. The hallway outside triggered vague memories, a flickering at the back of his psyche, but he could not take it any further.

A faint ringing filled his ears, amplifying his headache. The doctor reached into his pocket and produced a cellphone.

“Syria here.” he said, into it. “He should be alright.” “I don’t know.” “I would not risk it, but you don’t have much choice. I’m on my way.”

They reached the end of the hall. Isaac’s slippered feet padding softly on the ground, incongruous to the rapid clicks of the doctor’s leather shoes. There was a door at the end of the hall. As it opened, Isaac was suddenly struck by a bright light. He groaned as his headache throbbed mercilessly.

“You a’right?” asked a familiar voice. Isaac lowered his hand. A redheaded woman looked on him kindly. The room outside was certainly not a doctor’s office – it looked like the deck of a warship, with many whirring electronics and complex machines. People in black uniforms flitted about with curious hand-held computers. There was a window, but it was covered by a large sheet of metal. Isaac idly wondered why they had put it there.

The redhead was directly in front of him. She was a giant; she had to crouch down to look at him. “You a’right?” she repeated.

Several people had stopped to look at him, one of them struck Isaac has familiar; a man with a sharp, scowling face, and moderately tanned skin. “I’m OK,” Isaac finally said. The staring people hurried off about their chores. The redhead offered him her hand.

“Everythin’s gonna be a’right,” she said, pleasantly. Her name read ‘Awen McHeller.’

“What’s going on?” asked Isaac, dully.

“Come with me, I’ll show ya,” she said. They walked down the length of the bridge. Isaac looked to his right and saw, through a plastic window, a bizarre, humanoid machine; it towered in a vast underground chamber, jet black skin glaring in the harsh fluorescent light. “That, lad, is the Gravewind, or just Grave for short… its military potential is nearly unlimited.”

“How does it work?”

“I’m nae so sure of the details. Let’s just say that the Grave… is a demon, tamed and chained down, made serve mortals such as ourselves.”

“A demon…” whispered Isaac. He pulled free of her hand and walked towards the window. The Grave’s fingers ended in long, cruel claws; its skin, now that he looked closely, was armor consisting of hundreds of metal plates, riveted together.

“Why me?” Isaac asked.

Awen stepped up behind him. “It’s your mind, lad… your mind can activate it.”

“Huh…?” Isaac looked around. Awen’s face was dead serious.

“There’s a horror acommin’, lad. A horror that crawled out of the big dark beyond… its brethren came but once before, and brought untold ruin upon the world. I was one of countless millions who swore that no such calamity shall befall sweet Gaia again. We promised ourselves and humanity that the earth shall never fall to the Outside… and it shan’t. Not while we have a Grave. But that weapon will only work if a unique human mind commanded it. It’s your mind, lad. Your mind must activate the grave.”

Isaac’s eyes rolled back towards. “And what if I don’t?”

“Simple, lad. I die, you die, humanity dies.”

Isaac looked back at her, tried to imagine her consumed by shadows. His mind dare not. He could not allow that fate to befall any living thing, much less her… the only one who had shown the slightest bit of sympathy.

“What do I have to do?” asked Isaac.

-

“The Cerebral Core has been confirmed viable,” yelled a voice from down below. “Grave-00 to be activated in four minutes.”

In the nick of time, no less, thought Diana, watching the big screen. It displayed the steady descent of the alien; seven minutes until landfall, and if it made landfall, that would be the end of it. The Grave pilot was untrained; to be certain, but what training could they offer him? The Graves were uncharted territory, beyond the reach of science only four years ago.

“Grave-00 startup procedures beginning,” called a gruff male voice.

“The Pilot has been briefed on the enemy’s weapons and capabilities, to the best of our knowledge.”

Diana leaned over and pressed a comm. button. “McHeller, you there?”

“Aye, ma’am.”

“How is he?”

“Healthy enough, considering all the moving about we did.”

“And the reawakening process…?”

“He’s imprinted onto me, it seems… everything according to plan, ma’am. You should have seen the look on his face when I said I would die if the target landed.”

“Hmm.”

Diana removed her hand from the comm. button.

“The object is within range of the CMT AA batteries.”

“Open fire. Do anything we can to slow it down.”

Several more video feeds opened on the screen. Rocket-mounted trucks and tanks launched ordnance at the oncoming crab-alien.

“Grave-00 to activate in thirty seconds,” reported another man.

Cry havoc, mused Diana, and let loose the dogs of war.