Categories > Games > Halo > Fate Twister Redux
Act1 Ch02: “Whereabouts Unknown”
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Fate Twister (Redux Edition)
Act 1
“Transmissions”
Chapter II
“Whereabouts Unknown”
Don opened his eyes frantically as he gasped. He breathed in panicked, ragged breaths, his eyes stung. Everything in his vision was bright, washed-out blurs. Finding no relief in blinking, he tried to rub his eyes only to find his limbs were bound at his side. He gave a grunt as he pulled against the restraints. As he did, he felt his face sort of… fall apart? Something was very wrong. He grew deathly stiff as he blindly tried to figure it out. It felt like his jaw had been split down the middle and was just hanging in front of his nose. Were his injuries that bad?
“Fascinating.” The low, steely voice spoke from beyond Don’s sight.
Don panicked. His breathing grew faster. This caused his jaw parts to move around, unnerving him further. Trying to form words, it came out unintelligible and far deeper than he was expecting. Don jerked against the restraints, his mind racing! What the fuck is wrong with me!?
“His motor controls are shot.” Another voice spoke. “Maybe our drugs aren't compatible with his body?”
"That is enough, Wates." The voice to the left seemed to snap at the other. "Donald..." The left voice spoke a bit forcefully towards Don.
Hearing his name, Don turned his head as much as he could to look at the blurry figure. He felt the tug of some other restraints across his chest and at his throat, so this was no help.
Don was met by yet another blinding light held by the man, causing him to grimace and squint, unable to adjust.
“Highly receptive to light sources…” the left man noted with a gruff exhale. “Their pupils constrict almost like… some venomous snake…” The voice paused.
“They were round when he was out.”
The left voice paused for a good while longer before the light clicked off. “Leave us, Wates. Let me know if the other one gives you any more trouble.”
“Yes Sir.” The other replied as he shuffled away.
Don felt himself tremble. No bearing. No idea what was going on.
“Donald.” The man spoke firmly towards him once again, piercing in how he spoke.
Don’s name struck his ears like a clap of thunder. It startled him, to say the least. His vision struggled to figure out the blurry shapes around him. Sitting against his will he blinked until his vision came to him. He could make out that they were in a small and somewhat bland-looking medical lab of some sort. All of the surfaces clad in a dark grey metallic finish. On either side of him were several cabinet desks with tools, and before him to the left was the one who called his name.
Dressed fully in a black leather uniform, the man held an obvious sense of authority, seething with self-importance. Everything screamed order and precision. The well-cared-for and carefully cut black hair on his head was combed back evenly, with just the right amount of bristle spacing and gel to keep the hair flat and smooth. As his visibility improved still, Don could see the patches on the man’s jacket. One, some sort of crest he couldn’t make out on his shoulders, and the other on his chest that simply was ‘Weaver.’
“That’s better.” ‘Weaver’ spoke with a tight smile.
Don gawked, terrified. He had no idea what this man wanted with him, and if he could even form words with his seemingly broken mouth. Swallowing awkwardly, he tried to flex what had become of his mouth; there was a strange similarity to the muscle groups, but everything was very different. He might be able to force his mouth to function if he really had to. He would just rather not speak if he could help it.
Reading Don’s state of confusion, Weaver’s smile faded. "Donald H. Caster. Born April 15th, 1990. Six foot two, brown eyes, and brown hair." His whole demeanor was cold, fierce, as he recited Don’s own information to him.
Don froze.
"You live in Winnemucca Nevada and a..." The man continued as he continued his dagger-like stare. “...Retired Lance Corporal of the United States Marine Corps…” He frowned. “Am I missing anything, Donald?" He asked in a suspicious tone.
Don stammered, his flexing and deliberate mouth movement still fighting his attempts.
"I wouldn't think so." He said before he paused to straighten himself. "That is quite the cover story, I have to admit." A doubtful snarl formed at his lips.
"Huh??" Don choked out slightly, a response of pure disbelief.
"...My peers and I have theories about some potentially pressing things. I won’t bore you with the finer details, but we are certain of instances of ‘reality displacements’ throughout our universe. Some sort of dissociation between dimensions if you will… Now thankfully these theories might explain what happened to you and your friend but..." Weaver shook his head as if challenged. “...We’ve never found anything intelligent, much less alive…”
Don stammered yet again slightly; what this man was saying was vastly overwhelming to him, especially as he was. What the fuck was going on??
The man sighed, clearly seeing Don’s continued confusion. Weaver gave a slight hum noise as he turned towards the nearest table for a small mirror to hold up to Don.
As Weaver held the mirror before him his heart sank. What he saw looking back at him was far from human. His face had become flat and broad; dark tannish skin had replaced his usual complexion. His mouth had mutated into two pairs of mandibles lined with pointed teeth that rendered him stuck with a gaping maw. Panicked green eyes and tight elliptical-shaped pupils stared back. This was not the face of who he had once been; this was the face of a Sangheili, known better as an Elite from the Halo games.
"Who are you really, Donald?" Mr. Weaver challenged intensely past the mirror.
His question was harsh in Don’s ears. It was far from a question he really ever liked thinking about. He had always held his pains and regrets from his service and deeds he had done for Skylark, but this drew a grim layer to his feelings. Who was he? Before they could get further, the man who had left the room not too long rushed back in.
“What is it?” Weaver turned back to the man.
“The other one is causing issues. Your involvement is required.”
“We are far from finished, Don.” He said in annoyance as he quickly got up to leave the room.
~~
Not too far away in a similar room, Mike had long woken up much earlier in a similar form and state. He had already been aware long enough to have gone through several stages of grief, and was in the process of giving the people holding him his own kind grief. Doing his best to fight back against the men, he had been straining and screaming against his restraints for the last half hour.
“Lemme out!” He bellowed at the top of his lungs incoherently. His booming voice caused his audience to step back.
Weaver entered the room, carrying his sense of authority to the situation. “Status.”
“He went belligerent when we told him the year! Our suppressants aren’t working on him.” One of the others answered quickly. “Maybe a biological difference!?”
Weaver didn’t have time for science talk. “Pull out and lower the oxygen in the room.”
Mike heard this and yelled loudly, screaming as he pulled his full force against one of the restraints. The sound of metal breaking clunked out, echoing through the room as one of his wrist straps broke from the table. He was getting free!
“Everyone get back!” One of the men shouted as the freeing beast began to tear the table apart.
While the underlings began to move towards the exit, Weaver took hold of a mechanical prod from a nearby table. Flicking a single switch on the side of its handle, he stepped firmly and stuffed the business end of the prod into the side of the thing’s chest. Mike jerked from the firm electrical shock that hit his skin, yelling out against it to no avail. Weaver held the end of the prod against Mike until his large body went limp, trembling only from the electrocution.
Weaver stepped back and watched the alien’s body tremble and convulse on the table. The thing had lost consciousness and its muscles were still spasming from the intense electrocution.
“Check its vitals.” He said coldly.
The men around him moved back to the table to carefully do so. “He should be fine… Other than the burn from the cattle prod.
“Good.” Weaver said, running his hand through his hair, straightening it back to how it had been before the excitement. “I want him re-secured and the tables reinforced for the both of them… No more accidents or play. If they fight back again, kill them…”
Everyone gave him a quick look.
“Their continued life is by only an act of our hospitality. Remember that.” He snarled as he dropped the prod back on the table. “Wates. We need to review our data now.”
~~
Hours later, Agents Wates and Weaver in a dim room, their tired faces only illuminated by the bluish hue of several displays on the wall. One of them was showing the active feed of the two beings in captivity; ‘Mike’ had been out since his electrocution and steady, while ‘Donald’ had been nothing but a sobbing mess for hours. Other smaller screens showed other feeds from minor cameras, the vitals of the two, and some scrolling information of previous reports. The main screen in the center was showing the recording of the entry point of the two and their vessel… Such a strange thing.
Wates sighed as he set his coffee down. “That crash should have been fatal… Their strength is incredible.” He said, turning the cup. “Maybe that helped their odds.”
Weaver shook his head, rubbing his chin in his clasped hands in front of his mouth.
“Do you think they are just realm jumpers?” Wates proposed. “Maybe they commandeered the vehicle from wherever they came as their option.”
“I doubt it.” Weaver sighed. “the vehicle was crumpled beyond recognition but we have models of what that car is… There is no way they stuffed themselves into a vehicle that small.”
“You say that, yet the mass of a normal human can fit within a one-meter sphere.”
“They are two and a half meters standing, Wates.” Weaver looked at the man seriously. “A whole third taller and twice the weight of an average Human. It wouldn’t be possible.”
Wates grumbled and looked down in thought. “Then what are you theorizing?”
Weaver looked back up at the main screen, watching the recording restart.
The recording had come from an UNSC warehouse on Cygnus, a facility secluded by dense forest. A flash appears near some crates just as the intact vehicle appears seemingly from thin air traveling at great speeds. The car rockets along and loses control as the wheels lock up in the dirt and grass, sending the vehicle into an awkward slide before slamming into the side of one of the warehouse buildings. The wall cracked without much give as the car folded around itself. The crews had spent over an hour cutting away to free the unconscious things from the wreckage.
The two had been dragged into a stable facility and luckily had remained in a brief coma while the local scientists figured out a sedative to work with the two’s biology. Weaver and his research vessel had been dispatched immediately to collect the specimens from the fringe colony. Once they had arrived, the specimens were quickly taken up into space with the research ship for study. And now they were here, giving no further information to the ONI operatives save for the discovery of a sentient species.
“What if they changed physically when they crossed over?” Weaver proposed quietly.
Wates hardly seemed convinced. “Come on, Weaver… ONI isn’t funding us to chase the supernatural.”
“Do you work in payroll?”
“No… I don’t”
“Then how do you know what we are paid to do on my investigations?”
Wates just threw his hands up, not wanting to deal with the paperwork of arguing with his superior.
“Do you have a problem with what we are doing, Wates?”
“It is just a little excessive, Weaver. Critically and morally.”
Weaver sat back in his seat and glared at the man. “Elaborate. Freely.”
“We make first contact like this… And you shock the shit out of them?” Wates asked honorably. “It’s against the contact procedures… Prime Directive and all that.”
“Would you rather be kidnapping children to be augmented into monster soldiers?” Weaver raised an eyebrow curiously. “I hear Mendez’ group might be going for another batch soon… The IIs are only now showing combat exceptionalism.”
Wates looked back with silent starkness. He very much did not want to be involved with that.
“Besides…” Weaver smirked, standing up to refill his coffee cup. “The idea of the Prime Directive was only valid if the opposing species didn’t fall literally into your lap.”
Wates groaned, regretting making the outdated reference.
“Go get some rest. I’m going back in soon.” He said, filling his cup again. It was going to be a long night.
~~
It had been what felt like a day since Don had woken up. He had spent his entire time trying to come to grips with the gravity of the situation. He was exhausted from his tears and anger, left with only the energy to blankly stare down at his new alien self. He still couldn’t believe it, but he knew this was no nightmare. It was far too visceral.
The sound of the door opening caused him to jump tiredly. The noise was so sudden and unexpected before Weaver returned. Don watched the man with trembling eyes. Tired, scared, and furious all in one. Despite the glare, the man took a seat not too far off to the side of Don. Weaver sat still, returning a calculating gaze at Don.
Don swallowed, clearing his mouth before flexing his new face. “What did… you do to me?” He spoke breathily and heavily. After hours of sobbing and yelling to himself, he had only had some practice with how his mouth worked now. He was going to try his best; he had no choice.
Weaver sat unmovingly. “Well, you should start with; what did you do to yourself?”
Don blinked and froze, mouth agape at the question. “Huh?”
“You are different now, correct?”
“...Yeah…”
Weaver shifted after another tense moment, inhaling deeply. “I may have been a bit rushed in forming my hypotheses before… Forgive me.”
Don was just confused, too tired to be upset anymore.
“Judging by the reaction of you both and the consistent information we have from items salvaged from the wreckage, it has crossed my mind that you two are transplants from somewhere else… Victims, rather than the cause of such an anomaly.” The man paused. “You can barely speak… So I doubt either of you knows exactly how to replicate said anomaly either… Forgive me if I insult your intelligence.”
Don looked down at himself, growing the same thousand-yard stare he had held for the last few hours. He didn’t have much of an answer for the man.
Weaver rolled his tongue in his mouth, thinking firmly. “Let’s simplify it to what you do know… What were you two doing before you came through”
“Driving…” Don flexed his mandibles carefully, tediously forming his words.
"Location?” Weaver asked rather quickly. “What was the date? Time of Day?"
Don blinked and stuttered "It was..." Don paused as he tried to place the details with a bit of nervous skepticism; this man’s pressing nature with questions was off-putting. "Late evening. We…" He paused, his mouth already sore as if he had never spoken before. “Nevada.”
"What direction were you heading?" Mr. Weaver was relentless with his questions.
“Home…”
“Compass direction, Donald.”
“I… Don’t know?” Don’s memory was still sort of hazy. The fine details were slipping from him with everything that was going through his head.
“I need to know.” Weaver said tautly.
“I don’t know.”
Weaver frowned. “Then what do you know?” The man was growing frustrated.
“What do you know!?” Don unintentionally growled in frustration, a noise he hadn’t expected to make.
“I don’t think you really want that answer.”
“Try me.” Don spat desperately.
The man exhaled deeply as he shifted in his seat, thinking carefully. “You apparently are from the 21st century… Have you ever heard of the ‘Wow Signal’?”
Don blinked. “Weh?” He gave a confused thought, not really thinking of it at the moment. “S… Kinda.”
Weaver rocked his head back and forth for a moment. “The first recording of the Anomaly… a narrow-band blast from somewhere in the galaxy first recorded all the way back in 1977 by the Big Ear telescope on Earth… The very specific frequency was unique and was not seen again for nearly a century after; Then we started noticing it more often as we grew closer to being a fully space-faring species.” He paused to allow Don to process this. “Now that much of our equipment is far more sensitive than anything of that era, we record and document the same signal happening in all sorts of different spots across the stars. It happens randomly, and causes temporary interference in plenty of shipboard systems.” The man explained with a sense of excitement.
Meanwhile, Don just sat there confused. Though he had his doubts, he hoped that maybe something would dawn on him as to what the hell the guy was going on about. He wished that this man would be able to help him, but Don couldn’t get a read of him. The guy just had an overall bad vibe. And of course, Mr. Weaver's excitement was very unsettling on the fact that Don couldn’t distinguish if the man was angry or just intrigued.
“The biggest problem yet for us is that no one within the Office of Naval Intelligence in its entirety has any idea what it is, and what causes it. It is a total mystery to some of the brightest minds in Human history.” Weaver exhaled sharply.
Don tensed awkwardly. “What… does it have to do with me?”
“Well… When these anomalies show up there is usually evidence of strange occurrences where the signal originates…”
“Like?” Don grumbled, trying to ease his chances by participating in the conversation.
“To put it simply? I’d say stuff from other timelines in history.” Weaver casually spoke as if this was just normal.
Don gave him a confused look, unsure of how to react to this. At least this would be a good distraction for him.
“We can for sure rule out time travel.” Weaver continued. “For every object that comes through, it never matches any information that we have here. Years ago we had an atmospheric aircraft appear right on our doorstep on one of our main colonies. We quickly found the wreckage to be what you know as a Blackhawk; 21st century helicopter. But when we traced back all the flight numbers on the tail of the craft, it matched no number throughout our aviation history. And if you know anything about avionics, it has been one of the most well-documented industries.”
The implications of this sent Don for a loop.
“No survivors of the crash were found… Some torn and damaged gear and nothing more. Any case similar had the same results…” Weaver shook his head and sighed. “Until you two crashed into one of our facilities…” He paused, smiling. "Do you like conspiracy theories, Donald?"
Don swallowed. "No..."
"That is a shame… Because now you are one."
Fate Twister (Redux Edition)
Act 1
“Transmissions”
Chapter II
“Whereabouts Unknown”
Don opened his eyes frantically as he gasped. He breathed in panicked, ragged breaths, his eyes stung. Everything in his vision was bright, washed-out blurs. Finding no relief in blinking, he tried to rub his eyes only to find his limbs were bound at his side. He gave a grunt as he pulled against the restraints. As he did, he felt his face sort of… fall apart? Something was very wrong. He grew deathly stiff as he blindly tried to figure it out. It felt like his jaw had been split down the middle and was just hanging in front of his nose. Were his injuries that bad?
“Fascinating.” The low, steely voice spoke from beyond Don’s sight.
Don panicked. His breathing grew faster. This caused his jaw parts to move around, unnerving him further. Trying to form words, it came out unintelligible and far deeper than he was expecting. Don jerked against the restraints, his mind racing! What the fuck is wrong with me!?
“His motor controls are shot.” Another voice spoke. “Maybe our drugs aren't compatible with his body?”
"That is enough, Wates." The voice to the left seemed to snap at the other. "Donald..." The left voice spoke a bit forcefully towards Don.
Hearing his name, Don turned his head as much as he could to look at the blurry figure. He felt the tug of some other restraints across his chest and at his throat, so this was no help.
Don was met by yet another blinding light held by the man, causing him to grimace and squint, unable to adjust.
“Highly receptive to light sources…” the left man noted with a gruff exhale. “Their pupils constrict almost like… some venomous snake…” The voice paused.
“They were round when he was out.”
The left voice paused for a good while longer before the light clicked off. “Leave us, Wates. Let me know if the other one gives you any more trouble.”
“Yes Sir.” The other replied as he shuffled away.
Don felt himself tremble. No bearing. No idea what was going on.
“Donald.” The man spoke firmly towards him once again, piercing in how he spoke.
Don’s name struck his ears like a clap of thunder. It startled him, to say the least. His vision struggled to figure out the blurry shapes around him. Sitting against his will he blinked until his vision came to him. He could make out that they were in a small and somewhat bland-looking medical lab of some sort. All of the surfaces clad in a dark grey metallic finish. On either side of him were several cabinet desks with tools, and before him to the left was the one who called his name.
Dressed fully in a black leather uniform, the man held an obvious sense of authority, seething with self-importance. Everything screamed order and precision. The well-cared-for and carefully cut black hair on his head was combed back evenly, with just the right amount of bristle spacing and gel to keep the hair flat and smooth. As his visibility improved still, Don could see the patches on the man’s jacket. One, some sort of crest he couldn’t make out on his shoulders, and the other on his chest that simply was ‘Weaver.’
“That’s better.” ‘Weaver’ spoke with a tight smile.
Don gawked, terrified. He had no idea what this man wanted with him, and if he could even form words with his seemingly broken mouth. Swallowing awkwardly, he tried to flex what had become of his mouth; there was a strange similarity to the muscle groups, but everything was very different. He might be able to force his mouth to function if he really had to. He would just rather not speak if he could help it.
Reading Don’s state of confusion, Weaver’s smile faded. "Donald H. Caster. Born April 15th, 1990. Six foot two, brown eyes, and brown hair." His whole demeanor was cold, fierce, as he recited Don’s own information to him.
Don froze.
"You live in Winnemucca Nevada and a..." The man continued as he continued his dagger-like stare. “...Retired Lance Corporal of the United States Marine Corps…” He frowned. “Am I missing anything, Donald?" He asked in a suspicious tone.
Don stammered, his flexing and deliberate mouth movement still fighting his attempts.
"I wouldn't think so." He said before he paused to straighten himself. "That is quite the cover story, I have to admit." A doubtful snarl formed at his lips.
"Huh??" Don choked out slightly, a response of pure disbelief.
"...My peers and I have theories about some potentially pressing things. I won’t bore you with the finer details, but we are certain of instances of ‘reality displacements’ throughout our universe. Some sort of dissociation between dimensions if you will… Now thankfully these theories might explain what happened to you and your friend but..." Weaver shook his head as if challenged. “...We’ve never found anything intelligent, much less alive…”
Don stammered yet again slightly; what this man was saying was vastly overwhelming to him, especially as he was. What the fuck was going on??
The man sighed, clearly seeing Don’s continued confusion. Weaver gave a slight hum noise as he turned towards the nearest table for a small mirror to hold up to Don.
As Weaver held the mirror before him his heart sank. What he saw looking back at him was far from human. His face had become flat and broad; dark tannish skin had replaced his usual complexion. His mouth had mutated into two pairs of mandibles lined with pointed teeth that rendered him stuck with a gaping maw. Panicked green eyes and tight elliptical-shaped pupils stared back. This was not the face of who he had once been; this was the face of a Sangheili, known better as an Elite from the Halo games.
"Who are you really, Donald?" Mr. Weaver challenged intensely past the mirror.
His question was harsh in Don’s ears. It was far from a question he really ever liked thinking about. He had always held his pains and regrets from his service and deeds he had done for Skylark, but this drew a grim layer to his feelings. Who was he? Before they could get further, the man who had left the room not too long rushed back in.
“What is it?” Weaver turned back to the man.
“The other one is causing issues. Your involvement is required.”
“We are far from finished, Don.” He said in annoyance as he quickly got up to leave the room.
~~
Not too far away in a similar room, Mike had long woken up much earlier in a similar form and state. He had already been aware long enough to have gone through several stages of grief, and was in the process of giving the people holding him his own kind grief. Doing his best to fight back against the men, he had been straining and screaming against his restraints for the last half hour.
“Lemme out!” He bellowed at the top of his lungs incoherently. His booming voice caused his audience to step back.
Weaver entered the room, carrying his sense of authority to the situation. “Status.”
“He went belligerent when we told him the year! Our suppressants aren’t working on him.” One of the others answered quickly. “Maybe a biological difference!?”
Weaver didn’t have time for science talk. “Pull out and lower the oxygen in the room.”
Mike heard this and yelled loudly, screaming as he pulled his full force against one of the restraints. The sound of metal breaking clunked out, echoing through the room as one of his wrist straps broke from the table. He was getting free!
“Everyone get back!” One of the men shouted as the freeing beast began to tear the table apart.
While the underlings began to move towards the exit, Weaver took hold of a mechanical prod from a nearby table. Flicking a single switch on the side of its handle, he stepped firmly and stuffed the business end of the prod into the side of the thing’s chest. Mike jerked from the firm electrical shock that hit his skin, yelling out against it to no avail. Weaver held the end of the prod against Mike until his large body went limp, trembling only from the electrocution.
Weaver stepped back and watched the alien’s body tremble and convulse on the table. The thing had lost consciousness and its muscles were still spasming from the intense electrocution.
“Check its vitals.” He said coldly.
The men around him moved back to the table to carefully do so. “He should be fine… Other than the burn from the cattle prod.
“Good.” Weaver said, running his hand through his hair, straightening it back to how it had been before the excitement. “I want him re-secured and the tables reinforced for the both of them… No more accidents or play. If they fight back again, kill them…”
Everyone gave him a quick look.
“Their continued life is by only an act of our hospitality. Remember that.” He snarled as he dropped the prod back on the table. “Wates. We need to review our data now.”
~~
Hours later, Agents Wates and Weaver in a dim room, their tired faces only illuminated by the bluish hue of several displays on the wall. One of them was showing the active feed of the two beings in captivity; ‘Mike’ had been out since his electrocution and steady, while ‘Donald’ had been nothing but a sobbing mess for hours. Other smaller screens showed other feeds from minor cameras, the vitals of the two, and some scrolling information of previous reports. The main screen in the center was showing the recording of the entry point of the two and their vessel… Such a strange thing.
Wates sighed as he set his coffee down. “That crash should have been fatal… Their strength is incredible.” He said, turning the cup. “Maybe that helped their odds.”
Weaver shook his head, rubbing his chin in his clasped hands in front of his mouth.
“Do you think they are just realm jumpers?” Wates proposed. “Maybe they commandeered the vehicle from wherever they came as their option.”
“I doubt it.” Weaver sighed. “the vehicle was crumpled beyond recognition but we have models of what that car is… There is no way they stuffed themselves into a vehicle that small.”
“You say that, yet the mass of a normal human can fit within a one-meter sphere.”
“They are two and a half meters standing, Wates.” Weaver looked at the man seriously. “A whole third taller and twice the weight of an average Human. It wouldn’t be possible.”
Wates grumbled and looked down in thought. “Then what are you theorizing?”
Weaver looked back up at the main screen, watching the recording restart.
The recording had come from an UNSC warehouse on Cygnus, a facility secluded by dense forest. A flash appears near some crates just as the intact vehicle appears seemingly from thin air traveling at great speeds. The car rockets along and loses control as the wheels lock up in the dirt and grass, sending the vehicle into an awkward slide before slamming into the side of one of the warehouse buildings. The wall cracked without much give as the car folded around itself. The crews had spent over an hour cutting away to free the unconscious things from the wreckage.
The two had been dragged into a stable facility and luckily had remained in a brief coma while the local scientists figured out a sedative to work with the two’s biology. Weaver and his research vessel had been dispatched immediately to collect the specimens from the fringe colony. Once they had arrived, the specimens were quickly taken up into space with the research ship for study. And now they were here, giving no further information to the ONI operatives save for the discovery of a sentient species.
“What if they changed physically when they crossed over?” Weaver proposed quietly.
Wates hardly seemed convinced. “Come on, Weaver… ONI isn’t funding us to chase the supernatural.”
“Do you work in payroll?”
“No… I don’t”
“Then how do you know what we are paid to do on my investigations?”
Wates just threw his hands up, not wanting to deal with the paperwork of arguing with his superior.
“Do you have a problem with what we are doing, Wates?”
“It is just a little excessive, Weaver. Critically and morally.”
Weaver sat back in his seat and glared at the man. “Elaborate. Freely.”
“We make first contact like this… And you shock the shit out of them?” Wates asked honorably. “It’s against the contact procedures… Prime Directive and all that.”
“Would you rather be kidnapping children to be augmented into monster soldiers?” Weaver raised an eyebrow curiously. “I hear Mendez’ group might be going for another batch soon… The IIs are only now showing combat exceptionalism.”
Wates looked back with silent starkness. He very much did not want to be involved with that.
“Besides…” Weaver smirked, standing up to refill his coffee cup. “The idea of the Prime Directive was only valid if the opposing species didn’t fall literally into your lap.”
Wates groaned, regretting making the outdated reference.
“Go get some rest. I’m going back in soon.” He said, filling his cup again. It was going to be a long night.
~~
It had been what felt like a day since Don had woken up. He had spent his entire time trying to come to grips with the gravity of the situation. He was exhausted from his tears and anger, left with only the energy to blankly stare down at his new alien self. He still couldn’t believe it, but he knew this was no nightmare. It was far too visceral.
The sound of the door opening caused him to jump tiredly. The noise was so sudden and unexpected before Weaver returned. Don watched the man with trembling eyes. Tired, scared, and furious all in one. Despite the glare, the man took a seat not too far off to the side of Don. Weaver sat still, returning a calculating gaze at Don.
Don swallowed, clearing his mouth before flexing his new face. “What did… you do to me?” He spoke breathily and heavily. After hours of sobbing and yelling to himself, he had only had some practice with how his mouth worked now. He was going to try his best; he had no choice.
Weaver sat unmovingly. “Well, you should start with; what did you do to yourself?”
Don blinked and froze, mouth agape at the question. “Huh?”
“You are different now, correct?”
“...Yeah…”
Weaver shifted after another tense moment, inhaling deeply. “I may have been a bit rushed in forming my hypotheses before… Forgive me.”
Don was just confused, too tired to be upset anymore.
“Judging by the reaction of you both and the consistent information we have from items salvaged from the wreckage, it has crossed my mind that you two are transplants from somewhere else… Victims, rather than the cause of such an anomaly.” The man paused. “You can barely speak… So I doubt either of you knows exactly how to replicate said anomaly either… Forgive me if I insult your intelligence.”
Don looked down at himself, growing the same thousand-yard stare he had held for the last few hours. He didn’t have much of an answer for the man.
Weaver rolled his tongue in his mouth, thinking firmly. “Let’s simplify it to what you do know… What were you two doing before you came through”
“Driving…” Don flexed his mandibles carefully, tediously forming his words.
"Location?” Weaver asked rather quickly. “What was the date? Time of Day?"
Don blinked and stuttered "It was..." Don paused as he tried to place the details with a bit of nervous skepticism; this man’s pressing nature with questions was off-putting. "Late evening. We…" He paused, his mouth already sore as if he had never spoken before. “Nevada.”
"What direction were you heading?" Mr. Weaver was relentless with his questions.
“Home…”
“Compass direction, Donald.”
“I… Don’t know?” Don’s memory was still sort of hazy. The fine details were slipping from him with everything that was going through his head.
“I need to know.” Weaver said tautly.
“I don’t know.”
Weaver frowned. “Then what do you know?” The man was growing frustrated.
“What do you know!?” Don unintentionally growled in frustration, a noise he hadn’t expected to make.
“I don’t think you really want that answer.”
“Try me.” Don spat desperately.
The man exhaled deeply as he shifted in his seat, thinking carefully. “You apparently are from the 21st century… Have you ever heard of the ‘Wow Signal’?”
Don blinked. “Weh?” He gave a confused thought, not really thinking of it at the moment. “S… Kinda.”
Weaver rocked his head back and forth for a moment. “The first recording of the Anomaly… a narrow-band blast from somewhere in the galaxy first recorded all the way back in 1977 by the Big Ear telescope on Earth… The very specific frequency was unique and was not seen again for nearly a century after; Then we started noticing it more often as we grew closer to being a fully space-faring species.” He paused to allow Don to process this. “Now that much of our equipment is far more sensitive than anything of that era, we record and document the same signal happening in all sorts of different spots across the stars. It happens randomly, and causes temporary interference in plenty of shipboard systems.” The man explained with a sense of excitement.
Meanwhile, Don just sat there confused. Though he had his doubts, he hoped that maybe something would dawn on him as to what the hell the guy was going on about. He wished that this man would be able to help him, but Don couldn’t get a read of him. The guy just had an overall bad vibe. And of course, Mr. Weaver's excitement was very unsettling on the fact that Don couldn’t distinguish if the man was angry or just intrigued.
“The biggest problem yet for us is that no one within the Office of Naval Intelligence in its entirety has any idea what it is, and what causes it. It is a total mystery to some of the brightest minds in Human history.” Weaver exhaled sharply.
Don tensed awkwardly. “What… does it have to do with me?”
“Well… When these anomalies show up there is usually evidence of strange occurrences where the signal originates…”
“Like?” Don grumbled, trying to ease his chances by participating in the conversation.
“To put it simply? I’d say stuff from other timelines in history.” Weaver casually spoke as if this was just normal.
Don gave him a confused look, unsure of how to react to this. At least this would be a good distraction for him.
“We can for sure rule out time travel.” Weaver continued. “For every object that comes through, it never matches any information that we have here. Years ago we had an atmospheric aircraft appear right on our doorstep on one of our main colonies. We quickly found the wreckage to be what you know as a Blackhawk; 21st century helicopter. But when we traced back all the flight numbers on the tail of the craft, it matched no number throughout our aviation history. And if you know anything about avionics, it has been one of the most well-documented industries.”
The implications of this sent Don for a loop.
“No survivors of the crash were found… Some torn and damaged gear and nothing more. Any case similar had the same results…” Weaver shook his head and sighed. “Until you two crashed into one of our facilities…” He paused, smiling. "Do you like conspiracy theories, Donald?"
Don swallowed. "No..."
"That is a shame… Because now you are one."
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