Link to article: The Liar, the Bird, and the Choice.
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[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] Doctor Milford Cogent rang the doorbell, and then, almost in afterthought, knocked on the door. The rough oak-wood dug into his knuckles with every strike, a completely unnecessary action. The door was probably unlocked, and in any case, he had the key in his pocket. Just an old, polite habit carried over from childhood, and you know what they say. Old habits die harder than the Spartans at Thermopylae. Around the time the light pain in his knuckles died, a silhouette appeared at the door. A single clunk resonated through the metal fixtures: the door was locked after all. It swung open. "Milford," greeted the man looking down at him from the doorway. "Geoffrey." They stared at each other for a dozen heartbeats. "Welcome back to the land of the human." "Ouch." Somehow, even a year later, the sting of regret still burned bright in Milford's chest. "May I come in?" A begrudging smile touched Geoffrey's face. He stood to one side, allowing his brother-in-law to step over the threshold. The words echoed in Milford's ears: //land of the human//. Such a strange, grammatically incorrect statement. But it cut deep, in more ways than one. The smell of cooking drifted down the hall from the kitchen; the smell of roast meat and boiling vegetables, the smell of homely comforts, a family dinner. Valerie was an excellent cook, if lacking in patience for complicated recipes. She sat comfortably in the chair at the dining table, an open novel in her hand, one eye on the pages, the other directed periodically towards the stove and the oven. For just a moment, that felt like a kick in the chest, Milford was launched back into the past, into a time when he was shorter than the bench or the table, and it was his turn to come roly-polying downstairs to find his big sister seated in exactly the same pose, doing exactly the same thing. "Hello," she said, without looking up from the book. "Hello, Val." A nickname that was yet another carryover from childhood. Back then, it bugged her to no end, just as he hated it when she called him 'Milly'. As far as she had been concerned, only friends could use such a casual pet name. Not adults, not parents, and most certainly not her annoying baby brother. Now, it caused not even the tiniest reaction. The flood of memory threatened to drown him, but it drained away before the metaphorical water became physical. He stuck his hands in his pockets and stood on the invisible divide between the kitchen and the dining room. Geoffrey's footsteps died away through a door and into the garage. "Where's Owen?" "Out the back. Do you want me to call him in?" "No, no. I'll wait until he's finished." Milford sat down in a chair opposite, and chose to stare at the corner where the floor met the wall, a small area where the dust collected forever out of reach of the vacuum cleaner. It was at some point during this agonisingly long wait, that he felt the itch starting to form again, near where the implant was. They'd warned him about this before they'd put it in, and they'd tried to simulate the effect in the preliminary tests to make sure the device was working. //Here's hoping it doesn't break. Or explode, for that matter. That's going to be hard to explain.// No harder to explain than the real reason he was here today. The back door crashed open, and the first through was an elderly beagle, matted fur marring the length of its rickety body. Behind it came Owen Knight. At seventeen, he was almost fully matured, inheriting traits from both parents; his father's height and gold-brown hair, for example. But his eyes, they were undoubtedly from the other side of the family. Milford recognized them from every time he looked in the mirror. "Hey, Uncle." "Hey, Owen." Milford almost failed to smile. He managed it in the end, but there was always the question of how fake it looked. Owen strode over and gave his uncle an awkward hug. When he straightened up, Milford saw a flash of uncertainty in those eyes he knew too well. He took a breath, and tried to remind himself that it would work. "When did you arrive?" "Just a few minutes ago." "Mom," Owen said with an eye-roll. "Why didn't you call me in?" "I didn't want to interrupt you." "I was finished." "Taking a photo?" Milford asked. An enthusiastic nod confirmed the answer. "Dad's lawnmower. I got a really great angle of it. You can see it once I've got it developed. How long are you staying for?" //As long as it takes to do this.// "I'll have to see. I'm not sure when I'll have to run off." "Oh. Well, I hope you get to see it." ------ //"Excellent news, doctor. It seems your suspicions were accurate. The readings from the surveillance team have just come in, and they prove you right."// //"..."// //"I must say, you don't look particularly pleased."// //"How could I be? I wanted so badly to be wrong."// ------ The shrill toning of the oven timer ripped the air in the room asunder, tearing through internal thoughts and shattering the peace. Valerie rose to her feet, placed the book on the table, and marched over to check on the cooking. "I'll go put this away." Owen patted the camera bag hanging from the strap over his shoulder. The next instant, he had disappeared down the hallway to the side of the dining room, long before Milford thought to respond to the comment. Amid the roar of hot air from the oven, and the gentle sizzle of freshly roasted flesh, Milford was left to stew in the inside of his own head. The itch was now a constant, never-ending niggle near the bottom left corner of his skull; like the implant was trying to chew its way out of his brain. A bright white flash lit up the room, and then completely consumed it in a thick, blinding wave. It reached sharp claws into Milford's eyes and tore out his retinas. He leapt to his feet, the chair clattering on the floorboards behind him. Was it a flashbang? Had they started? No, no, it was too early, they hadn't given him a chance... But there was no "pow", nor a fading ring through his ears. As sight returned, he saw Owen, grinning from the entrance to the hallway, his camera coming down away from his face. "I couldn't resist," he chuckled. "You looked like that painting of depressed Napoleon." Milford allowed himself a short, nervous, relieved laugh. Cheeky boy. "Stop scaring people," Valerie snapped from the stove, "I hope that chair isn't broken." "It looks fine," Milford said quickly, before he'd even bent down and picked it up. "Lucky. And stop fooling around, Owen. You have chores to do before lunch is ready." "Yes Mom." The reply was stilted, uncomfortable, and seemed just as angry. Milford watched his nephew leave, then slid the chair under the table, and gave his best impression of confidence as he approached his sister. "[[size smaller]]Damn that camera[[/size]]," she muttered. "Hey. He's got a hobby he's passionate about. And it's fairly harmless. It could've been something way worse." Her fist came up and then smashed down on the bench top. He jumped, along with half of the cutlery. "Don't you think about it. You're the last person to have the right to start lecturing about how to run a family." Milford took a step back. "I--" "Nope. Not a word. Shut it. In fact, if you think his hobby's so good, why don't you go and check out his room?" He almost blurted out the entire story; his life, his real job, the ulterior reason he was here today. But instead, he turned away and forced himself to walk without his legs shaking. Whether he was ashamed by his own meekness was a question not even the implant wished to answer. At the door to the bedroom he knocked. "Come in." His first sight as he entered the room was the opposite wall. Illuminated by the midday glow from the windows, each one of countless photographs were pinned to a massive cork board. A menagerie of colors and scenes hummed there, proudly displaying the thoughtful attention and work of their creator, capturing a hundred moments forever lost to time. Owen had his back to the door. "I'm sorry for scaring you." "It's okay. There's no problem. Once you get to my age, a scare from time to time keeps the heart attacks away." His nephew chuckled, but it did not sound happy. "You're not that old." "Ah, you got me. But seriously, I'm not upset by what you did." Owen rubbed his eyes, and then turned to face his uncle. "It's a lovely collection." His face lit up in an instant. "Oh these are only some of them. I've got more in boxes." The top of what could only be the indicated stack peered from over a chest of drawers. "And which was the one that you entered in the school art competition?" "This one." He pointed at a wide landscape shot from the top of a hill, overlooking a valley town. A blue ribbon was still pinned to one corner. "Hmm. I can see why they loved it." The smile on his face was as wide as it could be, something right out of an advertisement or the front cover of a magazine. Before Milford knew it, Owen had wrapped his arms around him. After a moment of uncertainty, he joined in the hug, and blinked back tears that sprung into his eyes. Tears that did not come from joy. ------ //"What happens now?"// //"Well, we have two options, and I won't mince words: containment or termination."// //"..."// //"Given the nature of this situation, termination is preferable."// //"Are you just gonna write off any chance for containment?!"// //"Calm down, doctor. You have to understand, given the nature of his powers, containment would be highly expensive at best, impossible at worst. Especially unwilling containment."// //"What if I convinced him to come quietly?"// ------ The table was set. The dinner was arranged pleasingly in the middle. The family was seated, all eyes looking expectantly towards him. "So," Geoffrey said, "What's the big announcement you were banging on about?" //I mentioned it once, on the phone. Is that what you call 'banging on'?// Milford met every gaze directed at him, each pair of eyes showing passionate curiosity. He hated that. They were expecting good news. Something joyous, like he had won the lottery, or he was getting back with Georgia again. He suddenly wanted to throw up. //Don't delay. Get this over with. Rip the band-aid off.// "The announcement... the announcement. I'm going to... come clean. With you." They were confused now. Geoffrey and Valerie exchanged a raised eyebrow with each other. Owen's forehead beetled into a frown. "I'm going to tell you the truth about what job I do, where I work. It's not the university. It's a very important, very special job, in which we protect the world. The whole world. You see, there's a special organisation that works to keep an eye on anything, um, unusual that happens." "Unusual? What do you mean?" With a pop, the bubble of soap keeping the floodgates shut was gone. "Ghosts, Val. Aliens. Monsters. You name it. Stuff you see on TV, or in nightmares. And I'm not pulling your legs. I mean it. There are things that could end the world faster than you could blink, if it wasn't for us keeping them locked up." Valerie was getting angry. "Look, Milford. I don't know if you've had a mental breakdown, or this is some kind of practical joke--" "It's not." Milford was worried she might get whiplash from how fast she turned to look at her son. Owen had his head bowed, looking at his plate while he fidgeted with his cutlery. "He's telling the truth." "What the hell do you mean?" Valerie asked. "How could you possibly know that?" "I know, because he's here for me." Owen lifted his face. Gone were the irises of brown hazel, the eyes of the Cogent family. The color surrounding his pupils was a brilliant, bright, unnatural, cyan. Milford pushed his chair back, away from the table. "Owen--" Something tore its way free from the teen's shoulder-blades, bursting through his shirt. A pair of feathered limbs stretched up to touch the ceiling, each tinted with the same bold cyan as the eyes. All the windows exploded, and the roof came down. ------ Milford awoke to a gloved hand touching his face. "Don't open your eyes, sir." The voice sounded muffled. "There's glass and splinters all over you." As the glove continued to lightly brush its way across his cheeks and forehead, Milford decided he wanted to fall back into the empty, thoughtless void of unconsciousness. He wished for a light switch he could use to flick off his brain whenever he wanted to. No such luck. More hands grabbed his arms and legs, and he was lifted to his feet. "No injuries. Control, //Ursine// is safe. Bringing him out now." He finally opened his eyes, and as his eyes slowly adjusted to the painful sunlight, all suspicions were confirmed. The entire house had collapsed. It looked like the aftermath of an earthquake, with the ruined brick, timber, and plaster piled haphazardly where it fell. "Can you walk, sir?" The agent in the balaclava and the helmet swam into a blur for a second before returning to clarity. "I'll be fine." Milford took one step, and would've fallen if it wasn't for the hands holding onto his arms. "We'll help you get out. Let's move!" Somewhere between there and seated on an upturned milk carton, Milford's brain forgot to take note of what was going on around him. His next aware moment was wincing as the medic shined a penlight in his eyes. "Minor concussion. Nothing serious." The medic moved away, and was immediately replaced by Doctor Calhoun. With his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his long, white coat, he looked more at home in his lab than out on the suburban street. "The implant worked perfectly. Just about the only thing that did." Milford pressed a palm to his eye, trying to banish the smudging blurs from his vision. "I'm sorry. It happened very fast." "I know. We saw everything. So much for 'come quietly'. You're goddamn lucky I even entertained your pleas. Now the situation's completely out of control, and there's going to be hell to pay when it's all over." "Did we lose anyone?" "No. The entity just grabbed its parents and flew off with them. If we'd had more warning, we could've fired more than a couple of rushed shots before it got out of range." "Look, I'm sorry." The words fell on deaf ears. Dr. Calhoun had already turned to speak to an agent. "What's the status on the tracking?" "We have a lock on the entity, sir. It's headed east towards the mountains." "Alright, get after it. And call in the Backup." Milford bolted upright. 'Backup' was the STRIKE team loaned by the Global Occult Coalition. Each member of that unit was armed with enough weapons to destroy a city block. "Give me another chance, sir." Dr. Calhoun shot him a glare that suggested the request was insane. "Nope. You wasted your one opportunity. As much as I hate to admit it, the GOCkers are in the right here." Milford grabbed his superior's arm. Before he could open his mouth to plead, two agents seized his shoulders and yanked him back from Dr. Calhoun. "Just listen! If you try to brute force him, he'll get scared. He's gonna fight back. Let me talk to him. In person." "Fine." Dr. Calhoun pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured for the agents to release him. "One chance. But this is ending one way, and one way only. Understand?" "Yes, sir." Dr. Calhoun stormed off, leaving Milford and the agent standing there in silence as the rest of the task force prepared to move out. "Agent, can I borrow your gun?" Even with the balaclava covering ninety percent of his face, it was clear that the agent did not look pleased. "What for?" "Protection." Another pause. "Do you know how to use it?" "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't." Reluctantly the agent unbuckled the holster from his belt and handed it over. As Milford walked away, he heard the agent mutter one last remark. "[[size smaller]]Protection. Hah. Not against that //thing//.[[/size]]" ------ The air was hot. Oppressively hot. It seemed to get warmer the higher he climbed, the steeper the mountain became. Sweat poured off him as he scrambled over boulders and worked his way between trees that grew at diagonal angles to the sloped ground. Each step left him on the verge of overbalancing and plummeting down the bottom. He paused for a moment to look back over his shoulder. Between the trees and their draping leaves, he could just make out the valley below, where the town crouched. There was no sign of the rest of the task force, though he knew they had surveillance equipment breathing down his neck, snipers trained on every square meter of the hill. Even an insect had no chance of moving unnoticed. A humming filled the air; a low, docile tone emanating from farther up the mountain, that tickled eardrums and made the implant itch. Milford grimaced, and started moving again. He was almost at the summit when he came across the first fallen tree. It lay dead on its side, ripped from the earth, clots of dirt still clinging to its roots. Beyond lay more. A forest of fallen trees. The entire top of the mountain was bare. Each tree had been torn from its place and cast aside, clearing the area. No one could approach without being spotted and exposed. Then the voice spoke. Whether in his ear, or in his brain, he could not tell. Half of it sounded human. The other half was an unnatural screech, a horrible squawk, an animalistic growl. It spoke with power, anger, and fear. When it spoke, the implant began to burn. "//Stop.//" Milford froze. "Owen?" "//Go away.//" "Owen, I want to talk to you." "//Go away. If you don't, I **will** kill you.//" "Please." "//No.//" "Are Mom and Dad safe?" The voice was silent for a moment. "//Yes, they are.//" "Can you let them go? Please?" "//**NO!**//" The voice struck like a snake. "//Only **I** can keep them safe.//" "Please, just listen--" "//You lied to me. You were trying to kill me.//" "No, no! Not me! I would never! I-- they wanted to kill you!" "//You work for them!//" "... yes, I know. I know I lied. But it was for you! Can't you see that?!" "//I can see **them**. I can see their minds. They hunger for me. And you...//" The voice became contemplative. "//I can't see part of you. What are you doing?//" "If I tell you, will you let me come closer?" "//No.//" "Owen!" Milford took a step forward. Then another, and another. "Listen to me! If they attack you, your parents might get hurt! Or killed!" "//I have protected them.//" "They might kill you!" "//They won't. I'll kill them all first. Just like I can kill **you**!!//" "I didn't want to hurt you!" "//Stop moving. Turn around, and go away.//" Milford climbed over one of the many downed tree trunks. The summit drew closer. //I just need to get closer.// "//Stop walking! I'll kill you!//" What was it that they had said about telepathics? Shared emotions throw them off. Remembering shared experiences causes them to feel the very powerful emotions associated with the memory. The more powerful, the better. {{His seventh birthday. A camera, a present from Uncle Milford. He bounced up and down. He said thank you more times than seemed possible. He took photos of everyone, everything, anything in the room.}} "//**Stop!!**//" {{He ran outside. He took photos of the sky, the grass, the house, everything. He tripped on the concrete. He fell. The camera broke. He cried. He'd ruined the present. Mom and Dad and Uncle Milford gave him a hug. It was okay. It would always be okay. Uncle Milford wasn't angry. Uncle Milford would still love him. Always love him.}} "//**STOP!!**//" It burned. It all burned. The lie burned. He had reached the summit. Concentric rings of rocks fluttered around in the air, shimmering and spinning with every motion. Two murky, transparent bubbles wobbled inside the rings, bare centimeters off the ground, the obscure shape of a human floating within each. Between them, cyan wings flapping violently, hovered Owen. His face was covered with black, liquidy shadows. Shadows that coiled with fury. "//Bastard.//" Blue fire ignited in the dirt, washing around the rocks, flowing towards him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen." The shadows smoothed and the fire cooled. "//Tell me why you have a gap in your mind.//" "Owen--" "//Tell me!//" "It's an implant. It blocks certain-- it blocks you." He felt it jiggle. Like an invisible, ethereal hand had reached in and took hold of it. Actually, he realized, that is exactly what happened. A flick of the wrist was all that would be needed to rip the device out of his skull. He wondered how much of his brain would be torn out with it. And who he would see when it was all over. Eyes closed, he was ready for whatever happened next. The jiggling stopped. "//Go.//" "Owen--" The shadows turned violent again. "//Just **fucking** go!!//" "I can't." "//Why not?!//" "Please come down with me. They won't hurt you. Please. I won't let them." The rocks spun faster. "//You're a liar.//" He was. Lying was breathing. Loyalty was lying. There it was, no matter which path was chosen. But there are no choices anymore, aren't there, Milford? "I could've protected you." "//I don't need your help! I don't need any help!!//" A flash of silver and a trail of smoke streaked towards the mountain top. Quicker than the incoming missile, Owen pirouetted in the air and one of the circling rocks hurtled into the direction of the weapon. A billowing explosion hung in the air, turning from orange to gray in seconds. More missiles followed the first, roaring in from all over. More boulders moved to intercept. //I'm sorry.// Milford's hand launched to the back of his belt, and took hold of the pistol's handgrip. Out it came, and a single shot cracked through the hot, dry, mountain air. ------ //"Excellent work, doctor. I honestly didn't think you had it in you."// //"..."// //"I expect you will receive a citation for your actions. You certainly showed bravery."// //"..."// //"In any case, you have been granted free psychological appointments, with a Foundation therapist obviously, and as much time off as you need to get back to full capacity. We want you running on all cylinders."// //"...what happens now?"// //"Well, the amnestics worked without a hitch. Your sister and brother-in-law are completely unharmed, home safe. As for the body, containment teams have deemed it to be non-anomalous, so it will be returned shortly. And thanks to you, gun violence has made a very convincing cover story."// //"Are you happy now?"// //"..."// //"Are you??"// //"That's none of my business, nor yours."// //"... fucker."// //"You may leave now, doctor."// [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]