Time's Crucible Part Two
Time's Crucible
http://www.weasyl.com/~iscin
TIME'S CRUCIBLE
by Iscin
This is a work of fan-fiction commissioned by LoneWolf669. Gargoyles, the character of Brooklyn and setting belong to Disney Inc.
PART TWO Resistance
Turnaabout
Cortez has been a great many things in his time serving the Holy Ones. The impossible made real, many times over. Yet still he always finds it fascinating when one of these gargoyles transforms, so suddenly and completely, from living flesh into cold stone. His grip around his assault rifle loosens slightly as his comrades take up flanking positions around the girl, checking their corners as they do so. She is beginning to weep like a child. What relationship did she have with this thing? Whatever it was, that will soon not matter as Cortez takes out a charge from a belt satchel. One of the gunners approaches Hope and slings his gun back over his shoulder before reaching down and grabbing one of her arms. The girl is pulled away against her wishes, a scream punctuating the sobbing. Cortez has no doubt that their quarry could still fight, but she seems to be too distraught at the moment to do much. Best to fact quickly then.
As is the standard protocol with gargoyles, the moment they have petrified you blow them the hell up. Plastic explosives work great, such as the C4 charge Cortez is holding in his right hand now. With the girl restrained he approaches Brooklyn's trapped body. The expression frozen onto the gargoyle's face looks almost serene. It is almost enough to make the soldier feel sorry for his defenceless prey, almost. He now sets the charge down square on Brooklyn's chest. It is shaped so as most of the blast will travel downwards against the stone body. It may well blast a hole in the floor so Cortez motions for everyone to take steps back towards the exit. Fortunately as the Holy Ones foot soldiers prepare for discarding Brooklyn's body they are oblivious to the shadows moving atop of the adjacent buildings.
They are fast, faster than even Brooklyn was. Six blurs swoop down and now back up, breaching the building from the gaping hole in the wall. As they enter two of them throw satchel charges at the looming VTOLs. They detonate and send the aircraft tumbling down with their crew bailing. Only now do the soldiers inside of the building now realise that they are once more under attack. Cortez is the first to start firing, quickly joined in by his comrades. They spread their feet and take steadfast firing positions, bracing against the recoil of their high calibre weaponry. However, not a single shot is landing in their targets as their attackers, now very obviously gargoyle shaped, begin dispatching the soldiers one at a time. They seem to know how to handle the Holy Ones' soldiers with frightening efficiency.
In the confusion, Hope is now being pulled away by her captor, dashing back towards the room's exit. However before the soldier can leave with his captive one of the gargoyles puts herself between him and the door. A white canine-like gargoyle, she has fur instead of scales. She is dressed in black kevlar and holding something that looks suspiciously like the same kind of firearms which the soldiers are using. Whilst her friends are still busy mopping up the others she stares the soldier down. He pauses, weighs his options and now lifts his weapon. The white gargoyle remains where she is as something leaps down from the ceiling. Neither Hope nor the gargoyle has to do a thing as a beast not unlike a giant four legged canine with wings accosts the soldier, tearing the gun away from him and knocking him onto the floor. He quickly surrenders.
The gargoyle grabs the girl's hand and pulls her under a protective wing as the fighting finally starts wrapping up. Only a couple of the soldiers are still standing now, their backs to the hole in the side of the building. They are gripping their weapons in fear, eyes wide and alert as four of the gargoyles start to casually walk towards them. All of them are dressed in kevlar body armour, even without their reflexes the soldiers know they are unlikely to hold them back. At the very last second, they surrender simultaneously, dropping their weapons and falling to their knees with arms raised with open palms. It seems as if this fight is over, although not quite for one of the gargoyles. A big burly one with brown skin walks up to the two prostrating soldiers and with a swift motion from either hand knocks them both out cold.
'Is that everyone?' The she-wolf gargoyle says
'Yeah, nothing else on my scanner.' A relatively diminutive yellow gargoyle says whilst looking at the device on his arm.
'Good. Make sure to bring him too.' The she-wolf says with a claw pointed at the stone body of Brooklyn.
Home Base
In no small length of time the gargoyles return to their home, or to be apter their 'home base'. The building itself is nothing to look at from the outside. A decrepit pawn shop which was boarded up so many years ago when everything went to hell. Its only saving grace being that the street it is situated on is not quite so cluttered with detritus as most of the others. Said gargoyles and their two charges, those being the girl and the petrified gargoyle, swoop down onto the roof of the two-story building. There is a hatch here along with a concealed trigger to engage the opening mechanism. One by one they begin shuffling inside and Hope is unable to resist the comparison to entering a submersible moments before diving.
Since all the windows and doors are boarded up from the outside, and reinforced with what looks like metal sheeting from the inside, the light inside is provided by a series of electric lanterns being suspended from the ceiling. It takes Hope a couple moments for her pupils to dilate, eyes adjusting to the low ambient light inside here. As she gets a clearer picture of their home she is taken back a little. It is as though both living quarters and armoury have been merged into one. The demarcation between where the gargoyles plan to conduct their rebellious operations and where they lay roost every night is difficult to make out.
Most of the gargoyles are already busy putting away their equipment; all of which looks a great deal more clean and expensive than the actual building they are in. The two largest gargoyles, the brown and blue ones, are still carrying Brooklyn between them. Neither looks as though they need to share the burden of Brooklyn's stoney weight, but they both seem a lot more concerned by their brethren's condition than Hope would have guessed. They set him down for a moment and start to check the body for chips or worse. Any damage is best fixed before he returns to flesh and blood. Not that Hope understands very much about gargoyle biology.
But Hope does not possess the luxury of free reign here as she is being guided at claw point by the white she-wolf. She is shown into a room which is spacious but far more utilitarian than homely. There are a couple of tables, mismatched chairs and a sink by the other end of the room. Hope is pointed in the direction of one of said seats. Hope looks past her newest captor, checking Brooklyn one last time. She only looks away when the she-wolf closes the door and barks at the human to sit down. Hope does not cower from the bravado, but she still does as she is told. The plastic seat is cold to the touch, far more so than the ambient room temperature which is a little surprising.
'So, do you care to explain what Dr Alistair's daughter was doing outside of the compound today?' The white gargoyle asks whilst standing on the opposite side of the table.
The question is one which completely catches Hope off guard. By this point, she had thought that everything unexpected had already happened. Yet shockingly not only does this resistance fighter know of her father, but more alarmingly she knows of Hope. The revelation is doing nothing to settle the nerves that Hope has buried deep inside herself. She starts to duck her head forward, letting the hood droop down to help cover her eyes out of fear of revealing anything on her expression. If this bitch has any idea who Hope really is, then the only question that remains for Hope is how is she not dead yet?
'I can tell by your silence you weren't expect me to know who you are. Evidently we require a long chat about things.' The she-wolf gargoyle says and proceeds to pull out one of the chairs and sit down opposite of Hope.
'What about?' Hope asks all whilst trying to maintain a firm tone in her voice.
'Custom dictates that we know each others names first. I already know yours, of course, Hope Allistair. You can call me Larka, and we have a great deal to discuss about your father.'
Brooklyn sits up with a start, knocking the hand that had just placed something around his neck. The red gargoyle blinks and looks around him, taking in the faces of two strange gargoyles and the equally foreign room they are in. There is a blue gargoyle and a smaller yellow staring back at him. Both of them have empty hands raised in a gesture that comes across as 'settle down, you're okay now.' Without having exchanged any words he knows that he is safe, at least for the moment. Brooklyn looks down at the bunk he has been laid out on. He pieces together what few fragments of his memory from before remain. He touched the Phoenix Gate, and after that came a flood of images. Guns, masked men and the city in ruins. Brooklyn remembers being confused, not unlike how he feels at the moment. As his brow furrows over the blue one finally says something.
'You're remembering aren't you?' The blue gargoyle's voice is baritone and reassuring, not unlike Goliath's.
'Why... this is weird.' Brooklyn replies, his mind still busy processing.
'The first time often is. We haven't had to initiate someone new in almost a year now. That pendant around your neck has brought you back to flesh. You can't see right now from here, but outside it's nearly ten in the morning.' His host explains.
'Oh.' Brooklyn looks down at his chest and see the dangling black object. It looks a little like a broad arrowhead cut from obsidian rock.
'Being turned back into flesh with it on is a bit disorientating your first time, so I wished to give you a moment to reclaim your senses. Now that you're awake and lucid let me introduce myself. My name is Hawthorn.' The blue gargoyle gestures to himself with his left hand, before now moving it to direct Brooklyn's eyes to his yellow friend. 'And this is Skip.'
'Am I allowed to speak now?' Skip asks in obvious snark back at the taller gargoyle.
'Sadly, yes.' Hawthorn grunts back.
'Hello, new guy! Don't let big blue intimidate you none, we're all on the same team here. Right blue?' Skip says whilst jabbing an elbow into his reluctant friend's shin.
'Yes, yes. Feel like you can stand up friend?' Hawthorn asks Brooklyn, still very much focused on their friend; though how much if it is concern or suspicion Brooklyn is unable to assess.
Just as Hawthorn suggested there is disorientation and more besides as Brooklyn flexes his digits, claws scraping against the edge of the bunk. Things have not felt this numb since an incident involving some exceptional barrels of scotch so many moons ago, in a different time and place. His two attendees step back as the red gargoyle gets up on his feet. He is wobbling just the slightest and his eyes are blinking with vis vision trying to refocus. It is disturbing, but even without the assurances from Hawthorn, he knows deep down that he will be fine. But it is not himself whom Brooklyn is worried for. Even with his short term memory still in flux he remembers a girl in a hoody and no small amount of independence. Brooklyn remembers that they were being hunted, chased by those who wore masks and shot near indiscriminately.
'The girl. Hope. Did you find her?' Brooklyn asks, deciding to trust the strangers seeing as they have given him little reason not to.
'Yes, we did.' Hawthorn says before now raising both hands up as Brooklyn takes two steps forward. 'She's alright, don't push yourself. Our leader is still talking with her.'
'Talking to her? What about?' Brooklyn asks.
'You don't know who she is, do you?' Skip asks more than a little amused by the red gargoyle's ignorance. 'Maybe we should talk about a few things too.'
Bleak Future
No one is sure of the exact origins of the organism who call themselves The Holy Ones. However their own nomenclature would suggest a religious origin, yet they do not discriminate on personal beliefs and have accepted a great many faiths as well as those with no theological convictions whatsoever into their ranks. The only constant, the only uniting purpose and dogma about their organisation is their belief that the gargoyles and other supernaturals like them are all that is wrong and unholy with the world A pestilence that either wilful or not created chaos whoever they dwell.
At first The Holy Ones acted as nothing more than bigoted lobbyists. Trying to manipulate the politicians and the media into ensuring that human rights would never be extended to the supernaturals. It was a devilishly orchestrated campaign that presented no end of frustrations to an ever increasing supernaturals population; however it was nothing more than that, at least at first. There were a few protests, even a couple of riots, but nothing that hinted as the insidious thing that The Holy Ones were to eventually become.
Then in 2026 new legislature was finally passed by the senate and congress. Gargoyles had been accepted as official citizens, with all the same rights as human citizens. At that moment, the leadership within The Holy Ones took steps that went far above and beyond what could have ever been expected from them. One after the other, state after state America was plunged into a civil war. One born of fear and misunderstanding, but cultivated and weaponised by puppet masters either working for or in allegiance with The Holy Ones. It was anarchy in the streets and homes for many. Weapons born of high technology and arcane magic were employed by disparate groups against one another. The cancer spread to other lands and cultures too, consuming the whole world in a struggle that seemed to have begun for no reason.
Disaster finally came as nuclear weapons are launched. World leaders without a world to lead turned to their last and ultimate option. It would have been the end of all civilisation, and quite possibly all peoples, if not for The Holy Ones. They had foreseen this. More than that really, for they had in part orchestrated much of this. So their time was upon them, as they had created safeguards in the form of bunkers and sequestered resources to start anew. First you burn down the old one, then you build the new one on the ash enriched land. But things did not go according to their plans. The end of the world was postponed, or perhaps it was better to say that the exception was fortuitously fumbled.
Terrible weapons and even more terrible curses were unleashed upon all of the 'global' cities. Those which no one nation, but all nations, dependent upon to sustain their civilisation, their economies, their very existence as nations. New York was prime among these unlucky centres of course. Whilst some of the overs were outright wiped out by either nuclear fusion warheads or violent hell fissures, New York suffered differently, half and half under the blight of a curse and the ravaging effects of a neutron weapon. This form of destruction was selected for the simple reason that they desired the infrastructure to remain intact. For the great buildings of Manhattan to serve as a temple for when the righteous would step out from their protective dome and inherit the Earth.
Fortunately, the execution of their final solution was imperfect and compromised at nearly every step. They killed many, but not before a great many people were evacuated. New York as a city was cleared out of the unfaithful, however, many still survived and returns to resist their would be executioners. This led to failure for The Holy Ones as they emerged after the attack and found that there were still those alive, both normal humans and supernaturals. True to their legacy the gargoyles had returned to New York, if not to defend then to avenge their city. At every step of the way, they have been compromising The Holy Ones' plans to make the city their own, rendering much of the metropolis a kind of No Man's Land.
Today there is no government but for the tyrannical attempts at order performed by The Holy Ones. However, there are some attempts at rebuilding in areas outside of the direct influence of the tyrants. Republics begun by honest meaning people, trying to restart the boundaries and order of civilisation. However so long as The Holy Ones exist, these upstarts can never be secure in their own futures. Resources are becoming increasingly more limited, especially ones such as fossil fuels and the kind of products that can only be created with a high technology industrial base. To keep themselves supplied The Holy Ones maintain an army of significant size and transported on VTOL craft. They are sent out either into the city or beyond, to find resources and to continue the extermination of what they see as the 'aberrants' and 'race traitors' alike.
Brooklyn remains seated whilst thinking about the history which has just been imparted to him. So many lives lost, so much suffering and pain for no descendible reason or gain from these Holy Ones. If Goliath were here now, he is sure the big guy would have something poignant to say. Temporally trapped in this future Brooklyn can only come to one useful thing to say. No matter what the place, time or people there is one thing that remains the same when it comes to gargoyles; especially those such as him. The purpose for which he exists almost feels like a curse more than any kind of honour in moments such as this, and yet it is still what he is, or perhaps even who he really is. So he stands up, looks both Hawthorn and Skip in the eye and takes a deep breath.
'I want to fight!' Brooklyn proclaims consigning himself to this conflict. The thought of returning to his own time and place does not even enter his head.
'We didn't say anything about having you join us.' Hawthorn replies, a little perturbed by the stranger's eagerness.
'But we gladly accept all the help we can!' Skip is quick to interject, jabbing an elbow into the taller gargoyle's hip.
'Great! But there is still that girl, Hope. You were saying something earlier about me not knowing who she is. So, who is she?' Brooklyn, switching his gaze from one to the other. But neither Hawthorn nor Skip seem too eager to answer that one.
'Well, she is s-' Skip begins until he is interrupted by their boss walking in.
'How is the new guy?' Larka asks as she strides on in, immediately focusing in on Brooklyn.
'Well I'm moving now.' Brooklyn reports for himself, rolling his shoulders and stretching his wings to demonstrate the working limbs. 'These two were just bringing up me to speed about what has happened the last few decades.'
'I thought they were.' Larka shoots a cold look down at Skip, obviously she suspects him of being the more likely one to talk without asking for permission first.
'I'm interested in helping you. But I'd also like to see Hope now.' Brooklyn says and takes a couple steps until he is on the level with Larka; he notices that both he and her are around the same height, though the red gargoyle has slightly more muscle on his bones.
'You two went through a lot back there didn't you? I was just talking with her actually. Nice girl, she likes you. But you two only just met and we still don't know much about you either.' Larka starts to walk past Brooklyn and turns to keep her eyes on him, he feels as though he is being sized up.
'Well I'm not from around here if that's what you mean. But helping the good guys is what I do.'
'So we're the good guys. You're very trusting aren't you?'
'Well you haven't shot at me yet. My name's Brooklyn.' The red gargoyle says, turning around to face the rebel leader and holding his hand out.
'Larka.' She shakes the offered hand. 'You must have cared about this city to have that name, from wherever or whenever you come from.'
'I do. Now can I speak with her?'
'You may. But I do have a condition.'
Silent Night
This block of the city is poorly monitored by The Holy Ones. Mostly because it has already been stripped of anything valuable from years ago now. Of course this is the reason that the rebels made sure to setup base here. After having hijacked what few surveillance devices exist they only have to worry about the occasional patrol now, typically no more than one a week, sometimes even in a whole month. Larka has told Brooklyn this and more before letting him take a little stroll, along with Hope. Brooklyn suspects she does not trust him nor the human, but at this point her options are apparently limited, assuming she is telling the truth. In spite of being a gargoyle, Brooklyn is still an outsider, a foreigner to this time, place and people. This makes him more relatable to the girl. That cynically part of him understands this and thus the objective.
'This is only the second time I've been outside. On the streets that is.' Hope says as she walks along the sidewalk, remaining in the shadow of the abandoned buildings.
'Not had much reason to go outside before? I don't blame you when I look at this place.' Brooklyn says before realising he is being depressing. 'I mean, it's just that I am still unused to seeing all of this.' He says gesturing at everything around them.
Without any people to occupy the apartment buildings, retail stores and other businesses, the urban jungle is slowly being converted into a real jungle. Already there is the presence of fresh green foliage. Wild shoots, omnipresent weeds and even some vines and the occasional half-grown tree. Brooklyn even thinks he saw a some fauna to match the flora. As soon as you remove people nature is quick to start reclaiming her territory in whatever form it takes. Yet in spite of the beauty of it the gargoyle is unable to bring himself to appreciate any of that. This is not the city he knows, not the place it should be.
'I was raised in the dome so I don't have much to reference this too.' Hope says as they come to a crossing along a road littered with abandon car wrecks, many of which have bene stripped of valuable parts. 'But why is it strange for you?'
'Haven't you figured it out? I am not exactly a native, at least not in this time.' Brooklyn explains, his voice trailing off at the end.
'So you're a stranger to.' Hope comments more to herself than to the big red guy walking next to her. 'But they trust you right?'
Brooklyn makes a series of noises that all translates to the biggest noncommittal way of saying 'kind of' he can muster. Whilst some of the other gargoyles do seem to trust him, just by his very nature making him a mortal enemy of The Holy Ones, he has not received anything quite so positive from their lupine leader, Larka. Perhaps it is just her way of insulating herself but Brooklyn does not feel genuinely welcome among the rebels, at least not until he has proven himself somehow. And then there is that condition she gave him for speaking with Hope on his own, assuming that someone is not watching them even now, or even better if one of them is bugged; there is definitely no way he can take the medallion off during the day after all.
'They trust me enough to help them win back the city. What's left of it anyway.' Brooklyn finally says as Hope takes a seat on a surprisingly intact and clean bench along the sidewalk.
'Did she ask you to do something?' Hope asks once the gargoyle has taken the set adjacent her. She keeps looking straight on, her hood obscuring most of her face.
'Yeah. She did.' Brooklyn answers truthfully. And both of them go quiet for what is a disturbingly long minute.
'Do you keep your word with girls?'
'Best I can.' Brooklyn answer with a chuckle at the end.
'Promise me something Brooklyn.'
'What is it?'
'Don't go back.' She asks and pauses, looking dead ahead at nothing.
'Back to the base?' Brooklyn asks obtusely.
'Back to wherever you're from. Please.' She turns to look him in the eye. 'Don't leave me. I don't have anyone, not anymore.' She is fighting back something, a vulnerability she dares not show anyone else. Whatever this girl has been through is something beyond words, at least any that would be sufficient.
'Okay. I'll stay, Hope. I'll stay.' Brooklyn says, extending his right wing out along with his arm to hug around the hooded girl's shoulders.
'Good.' Hope says as she leans in against the red gargoyle.
They stay sat, alone in the scene of desolation for what must be almost ten minutes of nothing but reflective silence. In contrast to their external state of almost blissful ease, their thoughts are clouded with fears and uncertainties that neither one of them cares to place into words. For Brooklyn especially there is still so much that he does not understand about this time, these people who have saved him and what importance the girl resting besides him have in any of this insane future. Perhaps there is a logic behind all of this, but for now all he can do is try to keep both himself and her safe whilst they help the freedom fighters with whatever plans they have to unmake their oppressors. But as the sun starts to set they must return to the rebel base. There is still much for them both to do before they can rest.