The Psyche of a Freak

You'd think recent events would give these people more of a shock. A bioweapon is in the hands of a chaotic rebellion, and the sociopath in charge of retrieving it is killed in the middle of some rusted hovel. Not only that, but that same sociopath is seen walking about, carrying some nonsensical story a few days later. It's a strange series of events, to be sure.

Yet the people of the Ark are so jaded that not even this bothers them, the few who believe it consider it to be part and parcel of life here. The only one who was willing to act was the Lieutenant Anselm Kaspar, who had been waiting on the balcony of a restaurant on the resort pelgo for the past hour and a half, hoping his commanding officer would show up. Still nowhere to be seen.

"Hurry up, you fool. I have one day off each month; one day where I'm not being shot at or blown up. I refuse to spend it waiting for you to drag yourself down here." He hissed under his breath, looking out past the stacked containers and ruined city. In spite of his foul mood, even he had to admit that it was quite picturesque. If you had a moment to yourself, a moment to admire this place, it had some wonderful views. Lamentable that you'd rarely have such a chance, and those who did spent it drinking cheap hooch, gambling and generally wasting what could be their last moments.

"Apologies for being late. I would've been here earlier if you'd bothered to say where you were, though." A familiar voice droned from behind him, rousing him from the stupor. It was General Laswell, a renowned officer and tactician among the Security. He took a seat by the soldier, setting a cup of coffee on the table as he shot the young man a glare.

"Look, I'm a busy man, so here's what I'll do:" He paused, reclining into his seat. "I'll give you thirty seconds to explain just what was so important that you had to drag me away from making important negotiations." The two made it very clear that they utterly detested each other - too many petty shots against one another had left them at odds.

"Well, sir," Kaspar began, spitting out the last word as though he were sickened by showing him any respect. Which, admittedly, he was. "You recall the incident several days ago, with that sycophant who everyone believed dead?" His face lost all expression, the acid in his voice gave way to an even tone.

"Vaguely. Fools getting themselves killed in the heat of the moment isn't exactly news." He deadpanned, was this all the young lieutenant brought him here for? If so, he was far from entertained. The general sipped at his drink, growing thoroughly bored with this discussion already

"Perhaps, but it is news when one gets up and walks out of the mortuary." He retorted. The sight of a decorated individual like Laswell choking and sputtering was quite dissonant to his taciturn demeanour. And frightfully amusing for Kaspar.

"What?! Listen you indolent little twit, I don't appreciate being brought down here just to get jerked about by some grunt, and I-"

"You aren't being "jerked about", as you so eloquently put it. He's alive. And he's..." He sighed, looking away out of shame. At least, that's what it felt like. "He's delusional. Stress and being without oxygen for so long must have caused him to have some bizarre hallucinations."

The generals' bitterness subsided, his stance slackened. He was well and truly shocked. Not by the mania, that was common fare when enlisting with the Security.

An operative coming back from the dead was a whole other subject. Made even more jarring by said operative agreeing to have a cortex bomb implanted. For those who've yet to witness it, it is best described as a small fail-safe device - Whenever a person sustains enough injury, they become a living proximity mine. It would efficiently kill the agent and the assailant. Just as it should have done with this one.

"This- This is a ludicrous claim you're making. I assume you have proof?" The officer sneered, trying to regain his composure. His attempts fell short when his subordinate produced a sizeable binder, packed with tattered pages.

"Yes, these are his notes. Found on his person while he was in the morgue. I suppose I should point out that he isn't making much sense. Or any sense, it's just... He honestly believes that he spent a week as a horse, sir." Just saying that made him feel ridiculous.

Without wasting another moment, Laswell snatched the folder away, pulling out the front page and reading to himself.