Cogito, Ergo Sum

The sound of maddened machinery and rampant devices filtered into Liam's awareness, chimes and clicking noises distantly echoing away in the void. He felt a strange sense of calm wash over him as a rain poured from nowhere, small droplets of water contrasting against the darkness. He found himself standing alone, surrounded by an inky darkness, with small blue lamps illuminating a path of texture-less gray panels. He tried to turn his head to examine his surroundings, but could feel no muscle contorting and flexing with the motion. Upon looking down, he saw that he had no body, no form at all. He floated above this path, weightless and without feeling. The path went onwards into the dark, and the further he looked, the lamps were swallowed by a dark fog. The lamps, old oil lamps, carried small blue flames within their bronze housing.

He remained still for a while. The rain came down, through him, around him, disappearing into the darkness where it did not touch the roofs of the lamps. He tried to push his hand away from himself to inspect it, seeing no such appendage until it neared the furthest point from his chest, watching as a translucency began to manifest. A faint orange came into being as he reached out, outlining a vague approximation of his hand and his wrist. He rotated the ghostly hand from palm to back, finding a sigil emblazoned on his ethereal flesh.

As he stood there, he realized that he had no idea how much time had passed, nor could he accurately recollect the events that preceded his arrival here. Something had happened, something terrible. He looked down the path once more, and a sense of purpose flooded through him. He needed to know where he was, why he was here. Faint lights blinked in and out of existence in the darkness beyond the path, but he felt as though the void would swallow him whole if he ventured beyond the path. He moved to walk, and felt nothing as he glided along the panels. Water poured off of their surfaces into the darkness and fell away from his vision.

He had no idea where he was going until he heard a faint cry that rang in his ears with all of the clarity of an alarm clock ringing in the morning. He turned and found a figure standing on one side of the path, holding a limp body in their arms. The figure looked up and their features swirled away into nothingness, their form and the body within their arms disappearing shortly after. A small voice screamed out for help, but the sound was swallowed by the black. The sound of the cry felt familiar, but ultimately, no memories came to him. A strong unease spread over him. He continued onwards down the path, searching for a lifeline, something to remind him of where he was, how he came to this place.

"Liam..." came a faint whisper to his left.

He turned to look, though no one stood there. Memories slowly trickled into his consciousness, hardly realized and vaguely present. The voice was important, that much he knew, for he felt a sense of longing and attachment when he heard it, though he could not identify why. There was a history there that he couldn't unravel, but he could feel it; this was someone important to him. Someone he-

"Liam..." came another from his right.

Remorse. Pain flooded through him, but it felt distant, obscured. He thought he could hear crying in the distance, but that too was consumed by the void. A tidal wave of regret crashed down upon him and he felt himself draw nearer to the inky darkness encompassing him. His vision almost dimmed, but the lanterns lit ablaze, the fires driving back the black.

Despite his desire to know more, a primal surge of fear flooded through him, and he felt a pang of pain in his back.

He pushed further faster, rushing along the path, the blue flames rushing past him. As he flew faster, he noticed the panels were not fixed in place, but instead flew upwards from the void below to make his route. He slowed down as he neared the end of the path, and found a doorway with an orange light shining behind it. He reached for the handle, his translucent hand stretching forward, and he felt warmth beneath his fingers. A tingling sensation spread from hand to arm and arm to chest, and soon, his entire was vibrating. A large shadow grew from his chest and slowly took on shape and form before his eyes: a pair of eyes that swirled with a strange orange light, the door falling away into nothingness.

He stared at the eyes with curiosity, feeling a vague sense of familiarity with them. They were not organic, faint discs of metal spun slowly within the irises, and a pervading aura of cold and calculated composure hung heavy in its gaze.

'Who are you?' he thought. His internal monologue bounced from unseen walls and echoed around them.

'That is not the right question,' the sentence was attached to no voice, nor could he imagine the origin of the speech. Foreign letters filtered into his mind, and he felt as though he knew their language.

It was as if the sentence was an idea, or a concept, coming into his mind like information. It did not echo in the darkness, nor did it make any sound. Liam realized that this entity was not someone, but rather, something. He paused, the rain still falling against the gray plates behind him.

'What are you?'

The eyes closed and disappeared from his perception. They did not vanish, they did not travel, nor move anywhere; they ceased to exist. The display was unnerving and unnatural, as if it wasn't there, as if it never was.

'That is the right question.'

Liam felt his mind twist around this answer as the door behind him swung open. He was moved into a large room and was greeted by the sight of two familiar figures: Neat Stitch and Peridot Beam. At the sight of them, more information seeped into his mind, a more complete history before him. It was still incomplete. He knew who these two were... but the details were missing. Vague attachment and familiarity only did so much to soothe him, and he needed more. He desperately needed more information. The room was only an imitation of a place, smokey lines building the foundations and the structure of the place, but the two seemed real. Liam felt as though he could touch the fur on the stallion, and as he came closer, he found his fingers made no contact. He tried to speak, and no words came to him. He was merely a spectator. He drifted away from Stitch and waved his hand towards the pair.

Stitch pulled a shimmering gray tablet from somewhere. The world and the objects within it seemed only partially-realized, and the harder Liam tried to decipher it, the faster it frayed and blurred before him. He reached out for the tablet with an invisible hand and found that his fingers met no resistance. He pulled his hand back slowly in disappointment. Stitch motioned for her to sit down atop a large surface, and at a glance, it seemed to be a bed.

"Are you still feeling pain beneath the scar tissue?" Stitch's voice echoed.

She nodded, fumbling with her blindfold, "a little bit. It's not as bad as it was before."

"The medicine's helping?" Stitch asked.

Peridot's damaged eyes shifted behind the cloth. That... she wasn't blind before. He knew that. He knew that something had happened in his memory that had hurt her.

That he failed her. It was his fault.

"Yeah... that's not why I'm here, though," she said tentatively.

Stitch quirked an eyebrow at her.

"What seems to be the problem then?"

She shuffled in her seat anxiously.

"Has Liam been in to see you?"

Stitch pulled his lips back and rubbed his chin, eyes widening somewhat. Liam crept forward at the mention of his name. He could feel a tension in his chest and pain rippled down his back again.

"Why?"

She bit her lip.

"I feel like something's wrong. Like something bad's happened."

Liam couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. Something was wrong. Was this a nightmare of sorts? Why was he seeing this? For the briefest of seconds, it almost looked as though Peridot was watching him move to the side of the room. He leaned forward and she tilted her head.

"Well," Stitch said quietly. He glanced at the door, "he's not been in the facility for a while, but Director Moon has assured us he's alright."

She turned back to Stitch quickly.

"Wouldn't she say that if he wasn't?" Peridot's voice shook.

Stitch sighed and closed his eyes.

"What are you saying, Peridot?"

She pulled away her blindfold to reveal teary, milky-white eyes. The scar across the bridge of her muzzle crinkled as she frowned, her lip quivering. That was his fault. His failure, on display to the world. He failed her.

"I feel like he's dead, Doctor. I felt that before when he... when he..." her voice wavered.

Liam watched as Stitch slowly walked over towards her and nuzzled her. She sniffled and wiped at her nose with her foreleg, pulling away from him abruptly. His mouth opened, but he paused, sensing that he had erred in the motion. He looked off to the side before looking back to her.

"I'm sure he's fine, Peridot," he whispered.

Liam could see on his face that he was lying. What had happened to him?

"You don't understand," she whimpered, "the feeling was... it left when he woke up, but now..."

She broke away from him and tried her best to focus her blind eyes on him.

"The feeling won't go away."

"You're imagining things," Stitch said with a reassuring tone.

They remained silent for a while before Peridot fixed her blindfold back into place. She shook her head at him.

"You're lying," she said quietly, "you know what's happened to him."

"He's away currently, and Director Moon said he's fi-"

"You're both lying," Peridot shivered. A disgusted look fell on her features.

"Tell me the truth."

"The truth?"

She nodded.

"Is he dead?" she asked stiffly.

Stitch took in a shallow breath and sat beside her, then the ghostly world crumbled away, and they crumbled with it. Liam stood shocked, still processing the scene that had unfolded before him. Liam stared at his hands as they drifted through nothingness. He felt nothing but an empty void, no heat nor cold, no wind nor rain nor sound. It was as if his senses had been amputated; was he dead?

The book.

He tried to read the book and everything had fallen apart. The Sarkists were here, long ago. He needed to warn them, to tell them that the situation had been complicated, but he had to figure out how to escape this shadowy place. An explosion of sound erupted around him, gears and mechanisms clicking and spurring into motion. The panels swooped together and created a platform, the rain pouring off its sides. Liam was in the center, the lamps arranged in a circle around him, blue light dancing in the reflections of the water.

'You are not deceased, Liam Webb, though it is not something to celebrate.'

Liam felt the presence in his head again. He identified the letters in his mind's eye as Greek.

'Your physical body lives, though, control has been lost.'

Liam became aware that he was breathing, though it felt as though the sensation had been numbed considerably. The rain returned and the rattling of machines echoed in the darkness.

'What are you?' Liam asked the presence.

There was no response for what seemed an eternity.

'A defense mechanism.'

Liam remembered the parasite that had traveled with him, and the words he spoke that weakened it, how they came from a place deeper within his mind. He remembered those words when he was ripped from the vision, and the letters that danced in his mind when the entity communicated with him... it all made sense. This thing had been with him for a long while.

'Against what?'

He already knew the answer.

'Against the Flesh, more specifically, the taint within you,' it explained.

He remembered the terrible realization in Celestia's hidden vault. No fear came to him, though he suspected the entity was suppressing that reaction, an alien sensation pouring over his brain. The eyes materialized in the void once more, the discs training on him coldly.

'I'm infected?'

'Perhaps,' it mused, 'the circumstances are unknown to me but the purpose remains; to prevent the Flesh from controlling the body.'

Liam watched the eyes intently.

'If I was infected, we shouldn't be talking. Higher brain activity goes dark about twenty minutes post-infection, and if I was infected-'

'We are not talking.'

'Aren't we? You revived me, didn't you?'

It did not answer.

'Where are we? What do you mean defense mechanism?'

The eyes did not blink.

'Your mind. According to your memories, the final steps necessary for my installation were not completed. Preventative measures were hindered significantly. Your continued survival and resistance to the infection was not guaranteed considering my limited defensive capabilities.'

'What are you? What's your name?'

The eyes did not blink.

'I am Stalwart, The Geas That Binds, the Everlasting Triumph. I am the machine, I am the inventor, I am the hammer and the nail. I am the first of my kind, and the last.'

Liam paused.

'And what am I?'

It did not answer immediately, as though thinking.

'You are the first of your kind, and the last.'

'That's not very illuminating.'

'It is all I can say.'

'Are you a Mekhanite?'

'No, but I am of their labors, meant to preserve your life and to stop the Flesh from spreading.'

'How did you-'

'Irrelevant. There is not much time left, Liam Webb. The taint is spreading. The mental barriers I have constructed within your mind have been eroded. The parasite is almost through.'

Liam felt an itching sensation slowly spread across his back.

'What do I do?'

The eyes vanished again.

'You must resist it while I regain my strength. Your body has fallen, but your mind has not; this is what the Flesh seeks to destroy. This is the weakness it seeks to abscond. Do not let it consume you,' it boomed.

'What happens then?'

'I consume you, as it should have been before, as was planned.'

Consume him?

Stalwart was gone, and slowly, the rain stopped and the buzzing began. He could feel a pressure building within his skull, and momentary flashes of light blinded him, glimpses of the world outside. For just a moment, he could see, a heavy red fog in a red room.

A flash of pain erupted from his back and he felt his body involuntarily gasp. There was no numbness. For brief moments, the world came and went, and he recognized the state he was in. Beyond the veil of pain, he recognized that he felt hollow, a profound frailness and weakness in his limbs.

He could feel thousands of little fingers against a cold tile, his fingers, searching the floor aimlessly, throbbing with the beating of his heart. The pain was excruciating. He could feel bile his throat. The world came upon him again, glass, a cell. The walls were red. The walls were his, extensions of his body. The pain was unbearable. The weight on his back threatened to pull him off of the gurney. He weakly groaned and shuddered, a shaky hand reaching for the stand beside him. His eyes went to the open sore on the back of his hand and he watched with grim fascination as the scorched flesh repaired itself over the molten symbol in the center.

Delta, lambda. Then, the burning sensation swept over his hands.

A pressure compounded inside of his skull, forcing further observations from the forefront of his brain. His head lolled back, eyes rolling in their sockets as he felt a wave of foreign information flood through his mind. His fingers pulled back as his tendons tugged upon them freely, a sick crunch cutting through his raspy breathing as his pinky cocked backwards. It was trying to break him.

"Lun-..!"

The buzzing returned in full force, a grating ringing in his ears and the taste of blood on his tongue. Another assault on his mind. He gasped as he tried to get a breath in, tried to focus his thoughts. Meat. The idea filled him with a comforting warmth, a respite from the storm. How all the meat could be one.

"No," he wheezed.

He started violently shaking as he regained ground. Fetid, sickly flesh and mounds of pulsating meat, images of butchery and carnal abandon flooded his mind. How it could all be his, how he would take it into his arms and let it live freely, unchained by the oppression of the mind. A return to nature.

"...-iam? He's awake, he's-"

His head drifted to the reflective glass pane, staring at himself in the window. He realized why he felt so hollow. He realized that fear and terror are secondary to agony, noticing all of his tendrils and veins stretched out over the floor and walls. He realized who was speaking to him. He tried to speak back, then he felt a lung collapse inside his chest. He struggled to breath, the mounting waves of pain overriding all else. He should be going into shock. He would be going into shock... but it was keeping him hurt. The intercom above crackled.

"Painful..." he hissed, his left hand balled into a tight fist, "... Sarkic... I'm-..."

The muscles in his abdomen contracted at once, sending his body lurching forward violently. He grunted, then gagged. Worm-like tendrils frantically swam around the base of the gurney, seemingly excited at his attention. His left arm jumped upward with a painful jerk, his shoulder popping out-of-place. The layers of pain continued to stack upon each other.

"Liam, what can we do for you?" Sunny asked hurriedly.

Liam shook his head weakly.

"Can't," he gasped, "get... Luna..."

He felt the flesh of his foot split apart and he let out a haggard scream. If he was going to die, if he was going to be consumed by one or the other, he needed to warn her.

He had to warn her of the coming storm.

Author's Note

WRITERS BLOCKKKKKK.

It's killing me. I wanted this to be a much longer chapter but I cannot, for the life of me, get it to flow right or move in the right direction. Leave your comments, concerns and criticisms down below, theories are welcome too, though will not be answered!

See you all for the next release.