Necromechanic - Chapter 5: May God Save Our Hallowed Watchers
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I still have a backlog for the chapters themselves, but I just ran out of sketches, so I literally finished the one in this chapter today lol
He's not the last to reach the Observing Hall, but it's a near thing.
The rest of the knights are already further ahead, kneeling at the front of the Hall. Soap rushes to join them, taking his place with his squad, beside Gaz.
He mauls over asking him if he knows anything, deciding Garrick would definitely take such matters seriously enough to actually answer, "do ye know why we were called?"
"I'm not sure," Gaz mutters, his head low, "have my suspicions."
"You gonna share them?" Soap retorts, but Gaz only shushes him.
He motions with his head towards the front of the Hall, "the Watchers are here."
Soap quickly lowers his head, eyes staring at the marble floor. A low humming echos through the Hall, quiet had it not been silent beside it. The rattling of wires and tubes that span the entire room joins it as the seven Watchers rise from their resting place.
A voice, ancient and powerful, speaks at last.
"Raise your heads."
Soap, and the rest of the Order, lift their gazes. His brows furrow when he finds all seven Watchers standing in front of them, the full number in the British Order. Mind whirling with the possible meaning of this, he only listens halfheartedly to their words.
"Valorous knights, squires and pages." Watcher Laswell begins, her accent unlike the other Watchers, "we first want to command your strength. You have been facing adversaries of greater evil in passing weeks, and pushing back against the Aether despite it. Your just battles are not overlooked. Blessed be those who give themselves to the everlasting fight."
"Blessed be." They murmur in return.
"You may know our predictions have been of lesser precision in recent weeks, at times, even wholly incorrect. This is not a sign of our power waning. The wretched enemy is churning, weaving a dark design of Aetherium."
Watcher Laswell's words dig a blade of fear within Soap's breast. His scars seem to reopen, none aching as much as the ones from the day he lost everything. Those words are familiar to him.
Watcher MacMillan steps forth, his body frail and gaunt, nearly a walking corpse. "Our eyes have been deceived. We know not how long, but the Aether has tempered with our abilities."
A wave of hushed voices passes through the knights. For the Watchers to be deceived, and admit so…
"Silence!" Watcher Chalcraft bellows, shutting the murmurs in the Hall.
"We knew our guidance wasn't true for many days, and we would not summon you, have we not found the true reason behind it."
Watcher MacMillan's darkened eyes rake through the knights, sharp even through decades of old age. His mouth opens, and Soap's heart drops.
"The sovereign monsters of Aether have returned. The worms, the lindwyrms. And the Dragon."
Outrage takes over the Hall. Cries of confusion, of disbelief, each of which drown under the thundering of Soap's heart. He thought they have more time, that he has more time, to pick up the pieces of what remains of him before it happened.
He wants to beg to uncaring ears, for a mercy they don't know to give. The courage in his heart shrivels, at the knowledge that which has defeated him, is here again.
Soap can hear its call, the jeering voices, a coiling body snaking down his nape.
"We will bring you down once more, knight.
None escape the great force of the Aether."
These words… they don't feel like his own thoughts.
A gasp tears through his throat, the burning of seven pairs of eyes pulling him back from the haze that settled over him. The Watchers' gaze pierces him, their burning power making him cower, and he nearly breaks under it as their attention shifts to the rest of the Hall.
"We understand that these news are troubling. We understand you may feel dread, at the prospect of facing the highest order of evil." Watcher Laswell says, "and yet we request of you to overcome that trepidation. We are the sole defender of humanity, and until the last of us falls, we will not surrender."
Watcher Arkwright hums, her airy voice cutting through the uneasiness among the knights, "more than ever, we must lean upon each other. The Watchers of all Orders are observing the movements of the beasts. You, our noble knights, will fight with their knights, together as one. The Aether will not best us." She smiles gently, the scars on her face contorting along her left cheek, "may God aid you in your battles, knights. Now, go, and prove that the hateful Aether is not invincible."
The knights bow deeply, Soap's breath shaking still, and he pushes up to his feet, intending to escape the Watchers' eyes. His plans are foiled when Watcher Goddard speaks.
"Sir Price, Sir Garrick, Sir MacTavish. We request you will stay."
Fuck.
"Yes, Watchers." Price returns to kneeling, Gaz following. Soap joins them reluctantly, trying to avoid eye contact the best he can.
Watcher Goddard's mouth twists, displeasure marring his features. "As you very well know, Knight Captain, I was never of the opinion that this squad should form as it is. Regardless, you have yet to show signs of weakness. Signs of corruption, however…"
Soap's breathing picks up, his leg trembling from the effort to stay still. Oddly enough, he feels Gaz shift next to him, and when he dares a glance, sees that his hazel eyes are wide in fear. Why is he afraid? Is it not Soap that they're referring to?
"The experimental creation," Watcher Arkwright smiles, "is not a being that can be corrupted, but as it is fuelled by Aetherium, may be a danger to you. We want to know that it is not showing signs of instability."
"The machine has been working well, Watchers. It has followed every order I gave it, Sir Garrick and Sir MacTavish can attest to that." Price answers easily, Gaz nodding in assent.
"Have you ordered him to join us in the Hall, then? The unsightly thing has been roaming around since the gathering has began." Watcher Chalcraft drawls, and Soap turns around to see Ghost standing near the giant entrance of the Observing Hall.
Price notices him as well, confused as much as he is. "I… assume he is here as he's directed to watch over Sir MacTavish, Watchers-"
"MacTavish. Of course that child needs supervision." Watcher Goddard cuts him off, glaring at Soap with a disgusted sneer.
He never did like Watcher Goddard all that much, as blasphemous as the thought is. Several unholy sentences want to form on his tongue, but he holds them back. He can't insult the British Watchers. Not after all they've done for him.
"The coming days will be arduous. We need to know all of our knights are at their best, and your squad is at most risk, Price. Consider this a warning - if you believe you are unable to bear this burden, speak now." Watcher Laswell stares at Price, her face severe.
"I can bear the burden, Watcher."
"And the rest?"
Gaz bows, his voice tight as he responds, "I can bear the burden."
They all turn to stare at Soap, and he can see in the eyes of many that they will only believe one of the two answers he can give.
It is not the answer he chooses.
"I can bear the burden."
SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS RUNNING… NO ERRORS FOUND (3 IGNORED)
AETHERIUM INHIBITOR STATUS: NORMAL
CURRENT LOCATION: 52.056°N 2.716°W
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: FIND SIR MACTAVISH
"Sir MacTavish?"
Soap rushes past him on the way out of the Observing Hall, his steps loud. Ghost is instantly on his tail, not only to keep appearances for Sir Garrick and Sir Price, but to learn what is wrong.
He may be able to circumvent certain errors now, but his system is still ingrained to follow orders, and his upmost priority is to aid Soap.
The turns Soap takes become familiar, and after a few minutes of terse silence, the knight slams the door to his room open. Ghost catches it before it can bang into the wall, and enters as well. He justifies the action using a memory.
"Ye can enter my room if I'm there, just don't go and watch me sleep, aye? I'd shit myself if I woke up to a giant bastard like ye staring from the foot of my bed."
Ghost waits for Soap to begin talking, like he always does when they're alone, but he is instead ignored in favour of sitting on the cot, and staring at the floor.
"Sir MacTavish?" Ghost tries again, and Soap nearly snarls in response.
"Ye don't have to keep up that fuckin' shite when there's no one else to hear it." he huffs, scrubbing a hand over his features. "Just- call me Soap."
Soap leans his elbows on his knees, hands now tightening around his warhawk, messing the braid at his nape. Ghost steps closer, and when he gets no reaction, sits beside him.
"Soap," he lowers the volume of his voice, "what's wrong?"
calloused fingers dig into soft scalp, tearing at dark brown hair. "Nothing." Soap answers, obviously lying.
"You're displaying signs of distress."
a mirthless chuckle, short and rough, spills from Soap's lips, "they trained ye to be a therapist as well as a bloody fighter?"
He doesn't take the bait.
Eventually, Soap's arms fall to his lap, and he stretches his left leg forward. The limb shakes minutely.
"Ye heard what the Watchers said, didn't ye?"
"I have."
"Then you know-" Soap's fingers curl into fists, "you know what is fucking wrong."
He leans closer to Soap, trying to catch a view of his face. Running back the recording of the Watchers' speech, he attempts to process what is causing Soap to react this way.
SCANNING… 6 possible explanations found… Further data required to-
"What happened to yer arm?" Soap asks, and Ghost halts his processing as his forearm is gently lifted. Soap traces the misaligned edge of the plate he broke earlier.
"It broke." Ghost says, and for the first time since they entered his room, Soap's mouth lifts in a little smile.
"Aye, I can see that, but how?"
He doesn't need to admit it, the juvenile loss of control of his own body. Ghost's system, however, is built to follow orders, and has no problem forcing him to obey.
ERROR: ORDER NOT OBEYED
SCANNING… SOLUTION: EXPLAIN CAUSE OF CHASSIS DAMAGE
"I-" Ghost's voice fizzles out as he tries to shut it down
ERROR: ORDER NOT OBEYED-
"Ghost?"
>REQUESTING CLARIFICATION OF INTENT
"Was your last sentence an order?" Ghost grits out, his system probing at him to obey, obey, obey-
"No!" Soap exclaimed, "No, Christ, ye don't have to answer if you don't want to!"
CLARIFICATION RECEIVED: DISREGARD ERROR
Soap is frowning when Ghost's vision clears of the alert, "you can't… disobey orders, can ye?"
"No. Not direct ones."
His wishes, his choices, all are of lesser value to the processors humming within his metal casing. Captain Price's, and by extent Soap's orders are the only thing the damned chip will listen to, no matter what he does.
A flash of hate goes through Ghost, travelling through his wires and hitting his very fingertips. He craves to hate the knights, all of them, Soap included, for keeping him as a prisoner of his own mind. It sends vibrations, error codes, warning him of a building violence in his veins.
Soap's hand steadies his, his bright blue eyes unwavering at the face of a machine only made to kill.
"Every word I say, unless I specifically say it, is not an order." Soap asserts, his face more serious than Ghost has ever seen it, "and this is an order, understood? So if yer system tries to do that shite again, tell it to fuck off."
The bitterness in him instantly flushes out, hatred replaced by something no less heavier, and yet it doesn't leave Ghost with a want to destroy.
ORDER REGISTERED: SIR MACTAVISH'S ORDERS ONLY RECEIVED IF CONDITION "unless I specifically say it" IS MET
"Do I have to tell it to 'fuck off'? Because that might be a little difficult considering…" Ghost waves his free arm around the area of his plate-covered crotch, revelling in the laugh Soap gives him in response.
"You-" Soap says between giggles, "you fuckin' bastard, ye know what yer doing." He wipes the tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes, mouth relaxing to a gentler smile.
The weary slump of Soap's shoulders has left him, for now, Ghost notes. He tries to move his arm, let Soap sit more comfortably, but the hold on it remains.
"Wait." Soap tells him, and brings the arm closer to inspect it, turning it here and there. "Aye, the plate is a wee bit misshapen, and the hinge is loose. I got the tools to fix it at the Workshop, if you'd like?"
"If I'd… like?"
"Yeah," Soap pushes off the bed, pulling at Ghost's arm to do the same, "what do ye want to do?"
ERROR: UNREGISTERED COMMAND: 'WANT'
"Unregistered command: 'Want'. I-" Ghost's voice peters out "I can't-"
His fans whir louder, body temperature rising. Soap lets go of his arm, and Ghost wants to- he wants-
ERROR: UNREGISTERED COMMAND: 'WANT'
"What do ye want to do, Ghost?" Soap asks again, and he isn't allowed to speak, mind isn't allowed to even think, he can't want-
"Tell me, are we going to the Workshop to fix your arm, or not. That is an order."
ORDER REGISTERED: RUNNING CALCULATIONS… OPTIMAL RESULT: YES
"Yes. I- we're going to the Workshop." Ghost finally lets out, voice crackling at the start as his control of it is granted.
When he tries to understand Soap's reaction, it seems muddled by a dark thought. Combing through his database yields no results - He was only made to kill, after all. The expression changes soon enough, and Soap nods, heading towards the door.
"Let's go, then. Can't have you breaking apart, can we?" he jokes, but Ghost fears he is crumbling, and not in a way that a soldering tool can fix. Not in a way Soap can fix.
But as those bright eyes search his face, even if there is no feature for them to latch on, Ghost thinks maybe, he doesn't need fixing. Maybe, this process doesn't need to be stopped, the decaying of his protocols, the loosening of the chain.
Maybe, Ghost needs to be broken.
And Soap, as much as he knows to build and create, is well versed in the act of destroying.
"Wait here, I'll get everything I need." Soap instructs him, leaving to find his scattered tools around the station assigned to him. Ghost examines the half-charred top of its table, the aftermath of one of Soap's less successful explosive devices. He has yet to see them in action, but with the news brought forth by the Watchers, he won't need to wait long.
Soap returns with a handful of instruments, small hammers and pliers to bend the plate back into shape, and screwdrivers to tighten the hinge.
With a motion of his hand, he tells Ghost to place his arm on the table, and gets to work. Ghost doesn't truly sense anything that touches his outer chassis, not unless it triggers the pressure or temperature sensors buried deeper within his body. Soap doesn't seem to pay mind to that fact, and each of his moves is gentle, every twist of a screw, every tap of a hammer, is slow, as if it could hurt if done any differently.
Ghost's processor can't understand it, but a small voice at the back of his head does. Because that is how Soap always approached Ghost - nonsensically treating him as if he's more than a machine, even when he had no reason to think otherwise.
The plate is fixed after a few more minutes, Soap going as far as adding a few drops of oil to the hinge points. Ghost's system notes his temperature is rising again.
"There, good as new, aye?" Soap huffs, shoving the tools into the nearest drawer to be forgotten about until the next time they're needed.
Ghost tests his arm, the plate gliding smoothly with the surrounding chassis. "Better then new. Haven't been oiled since… Since I could remember."
Soap takes offence to that, "what-?! When we have time, I'm going through all yer hinges, there's no way they're all working correctly if they're not oiled, God have mercy."
His indignation tickles the ends of Ghost's wires, "they likely oiled me last time I was in the laboratory. My memory didn't register to the database at that point since they reset me."
Ghost's system informs him he's made a miscalculation when the words hit Soap. "Them." He nearly spits out, "if I ever get my hands on the people that dared do this to you they better start praying I'll feel merciful."
"You can't enter the safe zone, Soap." He reminds him, to dissuade him from the idea of needless revenge. It's not worth it.
Soap sighs, "and they're damn lucky I can't."
The Workshop hums with activity when they finally leave Soap's station, knights turning to stare at them as they walk out. Ghost is aware that he is an anomaly among the knights, but Soap appears to be on the receiving end of as many stares as he is.
Ghost notes to himself that he should investigate Soap's more… restricted files, now that he has the smallest shred of control over his actions. He justifies it to himself as part of Price's order to aid Soap.
He is still battling his own mind when a person bumps into him. Ghost automatically grasps them, only to find Sir Garrick's confused expression staring back at him.
"Let- Let me go, Ghost!" Sir Garrick grunts, and he allows him to escape his hold. The knight straightens his clothes, his eyes shifting from Ghost to Soap.
The suspicion in them didn't escape Soap, "what are ye doing here?"
Sir Garrick narrows his eyes, lifting his scratched and beaten helm, "I need to get this fixed, so clearly I got better reasons to idle around here than you."
Ghost can see the exact moment Soap stops caring about the conversation, "ah, of course, we apologise for getting in your way, Sir Garrick," he bows in an exaggerated way, motioning theatrically for Sir Garrick to continue on his path, "please, go ahead, good Sir."
Sir Garrick scoffs, shaking his head, and moves past them to the Workshop. Soap gives him a look he can't quite farce, something between pure annoyance and a statement of 'are you seeing this shit too?' but it disappears soon after.
"Gaz doesn't usually go to the Workshop himself. We leave the damaged armour in the armoury for the pages to pick up…" Soap muses out loud, the underlying conclusion is obvious - Gaz is beginning to understand they're hiding something.
He can't know. Soap is an outlier in that he is willing to risk his knighthood to lie about his identity. If anyone but him finds out, they will take him back, and fix him.
They will erase everything non-mechanic left in Ghost, leaving him to be a servant to orders, until he is reduced to rust.
He can't go back. The flashes of the lab that remain in his mind, those little memories alone, make his system turn red.
"You've hid it this long. We'll manage." Soap assures him, as if Ghost can feel fear.
"What will you do if he finds out?" He asks, already planning himself for that eventuality. His first priority will be denying the fact Soap ever knew about his secret, and allowing him to avoid the consequences as much as he can.
Soap's face, however, tells him that plan will fail. Determination sets a hard angle to his brows, and he replies, "I will not allow them to take you again, Ghost."
Knowing that it is outside of Soap's control, that he can't make such promises, Ghost doesn't answer.
Even so, an unexplainable warmth spreads within his inner components.
Excerpt from John "Soap" MacTavish's journal, page 35 ("WATCHERS" 1):