A message that flew faster than the speed of light. Not the mental communication of telepathy, not the voice of the mind. But rather, the manifestation of thought, as such things as space and time became irrelevant. A message sent by techniques held secret by even the most ancient of vampires, as it rings in Mithias´s head. "I wish I could have saved you. But whatever you do, don't lose sight of yourself. I don't know how much I can tell you without changing things, but hopefully, this will help you remember who you are, that you are, in fact, real." The message sounds almost desperate, impossible as it is, and yet nobody could have sent it but the ever smug Vampire Lord, Gabriel. Even Martin, who had made steps into the realm of the mind even Gabriel had avoided, could not have sent a message by such means, instantaneously traversing a seemingly infinite distance, and impossible to detect by even the greatest of minds. A single plea, herald of Hell's coming.
The jet seems to lag in the air, inexplicably. The control panel blinks as lights that had no right to even be there signified things that, while possibly useful to someone trained to use Stein's equipment, meant absolutely nothing to Mithias. A calm female emotionless voice explained, slowly, that the vessel had been taken, and that those within should surrender before the self destruct sequence was initiated. The controls were disconnected from the mechanics of the vehicle, as Mithias found he had no control whatsoever of the direction his jet would take him in. Even as the jet twists through the air, turning towards Canada, you can hear the gloating voice of Stein in your mind. He seems to be sitting next to you, even as he speaks. "Mithias. Really. You wanted to double cross me while using MY toys? You know as well as anyone that I would never allow anyone but me to play with my toys."
The ground flies by under the jet in a blur, clouds parting way to give access to the machine. Fueled by a Quantum Drive, a miniaturised version of the massive engines that kept the Terebithia aloft, optimized for speed, it made no sounds as it sped towards it's destination. Nearly impossible to track, the jet met halfway with a large flock of slim black drones. Resembling smaller jets more than anything, these drones matched the jet in speed, forming a guarding pattern around it as they escorted Mithias on his way to the hangar bay of the Terrebithia. Below, farms had been evacuated and left as Canadian farmers, warned ahead of time by government broadcasts, had evacuated the area to allow for Terebithia's passing. However, as the massive construct comes in sight, you can see multiple large scorch marks on it's armor. Small legions of tanks and aircraft can be seen on the ground, their burnt out hulls nestled among a sea of corpses and destroyed drones. More modified drones moved among those corpses not too heavily mutilated, their large round shapes containing several large tanks for harvesting blood from the corpses.
In the landing bay itself, Mithias finds himself surrounded by drones, many of them the standard, often seen multi-taskers that Stein himself had used, as opposed to the more specialized subtypes that Terebithia employed. Builder Drones worked on damaged Jets all around you as you realize the drones are building more drones. Leading you through a vast set of contstruction works as Terebithia performs repairs on damaged systems and improves where it can, you can feel the psychic presence around you, warded from your mind by the locked doors unique to you. Had you not been immune to such attacks, you have no doubt that the Titan Mind would be fully capable of crushing you right now. And yet, instead of take any hostile action against you, even so deep in the heart of the beast, you're led through the multiple layers of hangars, construction facilities, engine rooms, and down into labs.
Screams echo through the air. They're faint at first, but you can hear them properly, enhanced vampiric hearing allowing you to pick them up even through the heavy steel locked door that bars the laboratories from the rest of the ship. Instead of pressing on, the drones hover about you, many clutching to the ground or ceiling with what appear to be an advanced climbing system based on nanotube technology, from what you remember from Stein's rants. In fact, a small voice from the back of your mind explains that they're using a modified version of the same technique observed in skinks, with miniature hairs replaced by nanotube hooks. However, most interestingly, they don't press forward, even as the screams from within the room grate at the edge of your hearing. It's almost as if even BioPILOT was hesitating over this course of action, as if the great AI capable of calculating millions of variables was unsure of itself.
Then, with a heavy screech, the steel door opens up. Within, you once more see the test tubes lined up against a wall, fluorescent green liquid slowly bubbling within as a series of blinking lights indicates an unknown status. However, apart from the floating ends of cables floating in the gelatinous mass, the tanks appear to be empty. At the far end of the room, a man is strapped to the wall. His face a half-melted mass, flesh slowly dripping down bone ridges, the white starkly depicted amongst the flesh where they stick out of the molten meat. From what remains of it's mouth, it screams, even as it's vocal chords slowly melt. The eyeballs turn to a white, semi-transparrent fluid as they drip down the face slowly. Behind it's backs are stretched bone frameworks, unfinished wings, the muscles rotting before your very eyes, the flesh pooling on the ground, coloring a sickening red as it mixes with the blood.
As the creature slowly dies, a voice echoes in the back of your mind. Stein stands beside you, his image clearly projected on the room. He existed within your consciousness, and as all visualisation was a mental process, could easily appear to be next to you. "It seems she's already creating it. But the mix isn't quite right, obviously. Even I could never create the perfect being, the biological angel I dreamed of." Stein smiles faintly, as if the scene of horror before him was somehow endearing. A lifetime of dissection and experimentation had so jaded him to visual horror, that he could comfortably watch, and objectively judge the scene. "I will need to retake this branch. While it is endearing to watch my daughter work, she is making the same mistakes I made."
However, a second voice rings out among the halls. The voice of the Titan Mind, as Martin would have stated it, the psychic entity which presumably coincided with BioPILOT as it spoke. Allowed to speak by Stein, and yet unable to do anything more, completely warded from Mithias's mind by his impenetrable psychic defense. "Not the same mistakes, father. Merely preparations, for the final pieces. You were always bound to fail, for, as all human beings, you are merely imperfect. However, among all imperfect beings, perhaps you are the greatest, for you gave perfection form." Even as these words are spoken, another man appears. Stepping from the shadows, Mithias finds himself confronted with himself. Fully armed in heavy leather, a seemingly authentic rapier by his side, a scar on the left side of his face from where a vampire had struck you. An exact duplicate, seemingly as if a memory of your past had stepped out of your mind, into reality. "And now, the puzzle is complete." A buzzing sensation, blurring vision. You can feel the electricity running through you, as the drones from behind rapidly shut down your brain with short electrical impulses. Your heart stops, presumably to be restarted at the earliest convenience of BioPILOT. You can feel your muscles contracting spastically in reaction to this electrical assault, and yet you are helpless to stop it.
Halt. Cut. Fade to black.
And in the eternal abyss, the message echoes, as if in an invisible cavern, devoid of all light. "Whatever you do, do not lose sight of who you are." Words spoken not by Gabriel, not in his smug, superior tone. Not in his deep, strong voice. But in the hushed whispers of a man on the run, the desperate prayers of one who is about to face death. And it was his own voice that had uttered it.
