That Little Box of Freedom

Sci-Fi(esque) Suspense and action. *trigger warning* Blood and Gore

The Phalsean Triad knew everything, and by everything, it really was everything. Their eyes and ears spied on any and all in Malcowere. No one felt that oversight more acutely than the SWEG group. Tasked with the most difficult of missions, pushed to the very limits of humanity, these hapless people lived on the edge of reality every day. SWEG consisted of 5 members and a dedicated Doctor of sorts, though no one really knew why the group even had a doctor, except the squad, they knew less about themselves than everyone else knew about them in the Command Tower. However, all of that was about to change.
When the Phalsean Triad first began experimenting on animals and people, their singular focus was to enhance the longevity and productivity of life on Malcowere. In essence becoming the fountain of youth, and heavily sanctioning the usage of it, a means of controlling the inhabitants. Yet as the delved deep into their research they discovered a different means of power entirely, brute strength.
The animals the experimented on, became such huge, horrid versions of themselves with unmatched strength and power that the Big Heads decided to ditch the fountain of youth and turn to more sinister methods. The Big Heads, in their infinite knowledge, came up with a dastardly plan, create a crisis so far beyond Malcowere ability to handle it, and then swoop in to save the day, promising protection for allegiance and money. So began the end of Malcowere.
But what does all this have to do with SWEG? Well, it's in the name, Special Weapons Experimental Group. When creating an existential crisis, the Big Heads realized they must also create equal forces strong enough to actually contain their creations, thus SWEG was born. Five people filled to the brim with science juice, trained to be fighters, and sent out on missions to stop Big Head experiments as a display of power. All seemed to be going well for the Phalsean Triad as the year rolled over their heads like so many clouds. Yet trouble always arrives in paradise, despite Power's best efforts to control power.
The creatures were getting out of control, recreating so fast it was impossible to keep their population in check. Entire towns wiped off the map by a single Big Head bear, Lakes turned into infested swamps by one voracious beaver, things were getting out of control and SWEG just couldn't keep up. It was on one similar cleanup trip, they understood what had truly been done to them.



Hastier bolted through the trees, legs pushing deep in to the soft soil of the forest; speed amplified by fear sent him fairly flying through the trees towards the sounds of intense fighting ahead of him. SWEG had been assigned to a seemingly routine cleanup event but when they arrived they found a large portion of the city decimated. Large steel multi-home complexes snapped like twigs, stores razed to the ground, completely raided of food, they'd never seen anything like it before.
Hastier stayed behind to document damages for the Big Heads while the rest of his group began tracking the creature, which according to the tracks seemed to be a severely overgrown bear. Just as he was finishing up his report he heard the crackle of his communication set painfully loud in his ear.
"Hastier! Get over here now we--"The desperate message was cut off abruptly by a horrid roar and screams of terror.
Hastier checked his teams trackers and took off in that direction, which is where he is now, running faster than humanly possible through thick forest, desperate to reach his comrades.
As he burst into a clearing, his heart dropped into his stomach, the small circle of grass was filled with carnage; limbs and blood strewn about, bodies thrown into tree limbs yet no bear to be found.
Thick, choking blackness clouded his mind as for the first time he experienced something he should not. Terror. They'd always dealt with such creatures easily in the past, but this, this was far beyond the likes of anything they had faced before. He mentally checked off each of the bodies, all of his team accounted for; he switched on his goggle function in his helmet and began scanning the area for heat signatures, heart pulsing to the rapid beat of fear.
The black terror materialized in a mass of blood and fur. The bear leapt an impossible distance, colliding with Hastier and sending him flying backwards. He landed between two trees grotesquely weaved together, creating one conglomerate trunk, trapping Hastier like a Venus Flytrap on steroids. Stuck fast there was no escaping the huge, red eyed black bear stalking towards him, almost cat-like in his movements. Hastier could almost imagine the creature trying to speak to him. Clumsily Hastier fumbled for his Oblitor, the standard ray gun but with an extra kick for the big creatures. Barely taking time to aim, he shot three bolts into the creature which continued its measured advance, seemingly unaffected.
Towering above Hastier it pulled back one of its huge paws and slammed it down on him, crushing his ribs and severing his right arm with a single claw. Hastier's body erupted in mind numbing pain and he began to fade out of consciousness, cries of pain escaping his lips. With a monumental effort he raised his Oblitor again, desperation clouding judgment. The little pinpoint of light looked as if it would miss the creature entirely, but at the last second the creature rose on his hind legs, causing the bolt to hit him squarely in the eye. The bear dropped immediately, the impact of his body on the ground seemed to shake the whole forest. Hastier struggled to stay conscious, to free himself from his leafy prison, but he'd already lost too much blood, the world spun dizzily around him and then faded to black.
Hastier knew he should be dead, the amount of pain in his body should never be felt by anyone, which meant....he was still alive. His eyelids felt glued together but with great effort he managed a feeble squint. He was still stuck in the tree, body splayed out between the two trunks which were now red with his blood. Cautiously he turned his head, and saw a couple of his comrades bodies, one lying face down on the ground, the other similarly stuck in a tree.
Hastier forced himself to move, prying his body free from the death grip of the tree. As he slid from the tree to the soft embrace of the earth, he could hear his comrades stirring, their pained cries echoing the pain he felt in his own body. His right arm felt as if it was on fire, but that was impossible wasn't it? The bear cleanly severed the limb; he'd seen it with his own eyes.
His brain froze, shock overwhelming him as turned to examine the remains of his appendage. A skeleton of bone splayed limply on the ground beside him. As he watched to his amazement and further incredulity, new sinews and muscle began folding around the bone. As each new tissue appeared, the fiery pain intensified, the process so rapid and intense the bones dislocated from forming joints, and then snapping back together as sinew grew.
He looked up and noticed his comrades going through the same process. As his ribs popped back in to place he immediately inhaled sharply. It felt as if it were his first breath, both painful and relieving tying him back reality; if that is what you could call this bizarre scene.
The party shambled to the shore of a nearby river and collapsed on the riverbank, bodies limp with exhaustion, minds awhirl with the implications of what just happened.
Hastier felt as if he was beginning to fully understand his role to the Big Heads, and what the purpose of the Phalsean Triad truly was. He felt played. Bitter, angry, and frightened, he glared up at the crystal blue dome of the sky, even now he could see the faint outline of the reconnaissance ships, coming to see if their puppets had finished the task.
He looked over at the rest of his team, all beaten and defeated and he sensed the same feeling in their own hearts.
"We've been played this whole time." That was Kellgory, his despondent voice breaking the silence.
"Thought we were doing some good here, protecting the people, saving our world from certain destruction, but you saw that Thing. It wasn't normal, and we.....aren't normal. We aren't soldiers, or a team, were experiments, plain and simple."
Hastier huffed in agreement, indeed the bear was much like themselves, amplified well beyond normal believability, the Phalsean Triad were building their empire on their backs and they hadn't even realized it.
A tiny spark ignited in Hastier's heart, he'd never experienced this feeling before, a longing for freedom, a dread of the Phalsean' ships overhead. He looked for the same spark of hope in his friends eyes but was only met by resignation.
"We could escape you know, build our own lives away from all this." The words sounded outlandish even as they left his lips, the feeling quickly echoed in the consternation on his comrades faces.
"Hastier, you know that is impossible." Fleegan this time, "The Phalsean' always know where we are, we'd wouldn't make it half a mile from here before they'd be rounding us up like animals. It's no use."
His friends continued the melancholy dialogue, but Hastier mind was already far away; an overwhelming need to flee drove him to his feet, even as his body pleaded for him lie still. With lurching steps he fled for a nearby tunnel system, left by some other similarly amplified creature. He dropped to all fours and began sidling his way deeper into the tunnel, his newly grown arm screaming in protest.
At one point the passageway narrowed so much, he could barely squeeze through, desperately he pushed on and just managed to fit. His right arm caught behind him and the joint broke through the fresh quivering muscle, with a cry, he fell to the tunnel floor, heaving for breath in the dank space. Once again his world began swirling around him, foggy images filtered through the haze, his instinct to run pounded down on him relentlessly, but his body simply could not respond.
Minutes passed and Hastier teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, sounds from above filtered through. Ships landing, his team being herded back onboard, and hushed conversation that he was unable to distinguish, he sighed in defeat as he heard scuffling of another body in the tunnel behind him.
Perhaps they were right; perhaps there was no escape from the Phalsean oversight. The familiar face of the Doctor came in to view behind him, blurred and murky, his words spoken as if from far, far away.
"Drink Hastier, your body is broken, let me help you." The Doctor always checked them over on their return from every mission, a familiar, comforting presence Hastier had come to look forward too. Now the voice seemed to hold sinister intent, the actions no longer comforting but alarming. Hastier tried to recoil from the man's order but there was no fight left in him.
The drink quickly revived his mind, the healing liquid rapidly spread to his whole body. The Doctor gently lifted Hastier's arm and inspected to the dislocation.
"Remarkable! A full replacement, ligaments and muscles of a child presenting in a grown man, Hastier you are virtually indestructible!" The Doctor excitedly made a few notes in his Prosector.
Hastier pulled away from his touch, shielding his arm from view and popping the joint back in to place with a grunt of pain. Determined, he met the Doctor's gaze with a steely look.
"I can't go back Doctor, please....release me. I would rather die than be a pawn for the Phalsean' any longer. You must let me go!" Hastier glared at the man, a mixture of resolved and desperation on his face.
The Doctor shook his head recoiling a bit from the intensity of Hastier's stare.
"You and I both know that's not possible. They've placed trackers in your body from the very first day. It's the only thing that can take you down, and should you follow this path they will end your life without a second thought." Hastier searched the Doctor's eyes and found no lie in them.
"Death would be better than this living death I now live. It's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Don't you understand you fool, if one is put down, all are put down, including me! A protocol instituted to protect their designs from the world! All of you are the Triad's shining stars of success; no one else has as efficiently amplified human life as they have, your bodies are invaluable assets. Please, return with me; don't bring us all down with you in your suicide attempt at freedom."
Hastier fairly growled in rage at the Doctor even as he resigned himself to his fate slumping in defeat. "Take me back."
Perhaps it was a coincidence, perhaps Life finally decided to throw Hastier a crumb; whatever it was, Hastier and his crew never returned to the Reconnaissance Ships.
An unearthly storm stirred up over the surface of the lake as they attempted to fly the small hover craft back to the main ship. Captured by the wind, they were quickly tossed about and ultimately, unceremoniously thrown into the cold waters below.
Now a howling, deathly gale, the storm tore at the would-be survivors who floundered about, desperately trying to stay above the water. Hastier found The Doctor's hand somewhere in the deep and pulled him up on a piece of wreckage which he tried his best to steady in the waves. The man was bleeding profusely around a huge piece of metal firmly lodged in his chest. Hastier tried to remove the metal thinking The Doctor would heal like the rest of them.
"No-don't." The Doctor feebly pushed away his hand. "I-don't...heal." The last choked out as blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
The Doctor rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a small cube shaped box.
"This is Freedom....wanted to... to save it for just the right time. Take it! Run. Escape. Fight." The Doctor slumped forward and rolled off the wreckage into the black waters below.
Hastier now had something more precious than all the riches of the Phalsean Triad. Hope. The box contained The Doctor's most well kept secret, a Disabler. Hastier and his team could go free, dead to the Phalsean Triad, untraceable by their all-seeing eyes. The storm was the perfect cover story, a tragedy of the worst sorts, no one could survive. As Hastier collapsed on the shore after a long, arduous swim he began to realize the future, a future where he could use his abilities for the good of his people, his world. He now had a Purpose, a Mission. He had the power to do something and the desire to do it. If no one else would stand with him, he would brave the future alone, a Sentinel of Freedom, ready to give his all to save his beloved Malcowere. He had everything he needed in the palm of his hand, in that little box, Freedom.