Mythos Effect

Chapter 7: Terrors in the Dark

Lieutenant Cato stood outside his tent, staring up at the night sky. It looked so peaceful, the stars floating along in the fathomless depths of space. It almost made him forget that he was in the middle of a warzone.

His reflection was interrupted by the arrival of his fellow lieutenant, Acteon, who moved up beside him. "All right, dinner time," he said. "Tonight's special: dextro-amino nutrient bars with a side of wishful thinking." He tossed a bar to Cato, who stared at it with utter revulsion. Nutrient bars were the bane of military life; the thick rectangular masses of unidentifiable foodstuffs were cheap, easy to produce and a single one provided for all the dietary needs of the average soldier. They were also the most vile-tasting excuse for food to have ever been made, and every Turian soldier came to appreciate real food because of them.

"Oh, joy. I'm so happy, I could just piss myself." If the sarcasm in Cato's voice were any heavier, it would have collapsed in on itself.

"I hear that. Whoever said that when something tastes terrible, it's good for you, had never eaten one of these things." Acteon stripped the wrapper off his own bar and took a bite, grimacing in disgust. He uncorked his canteen and took a big gulp of water. "Better get used to them, though. This world is levo-amino based and our supplies have been cut off, so these pieces of crap are what we'll be eating for the foreseeable future."

Cato sighed. "The universe would be so much simpler if every race had one kind of DNA. But noooo! Nature has to have diversity!"

They shared a brief chuckle and then went back to choking down their bars. Cato once more looked back up at the sky, letting its tranquility wash over him. Acteon noticed this, and gave him a wry grin.

"Stargazing again? Doesn't that get boring at all?"

Cato shook his head. "Never. Every planet has a different set of constellations you can see. It's like going to an art gallery, free of charge. I could stare at them for hours."

"You see one star, you've seen them all," Acteon replied dismissively. "Honestly, I'd be bored out of my skull in just ten minutes of looking at them. Give me a gun and a target to shoot any day."

The peaceful atmosphere was then shattered by a scream. The distinct flanging tones identified it as Turian, and in all his life, Cato had never heard such a wail. It was of such utter despair and terror that it made his fringe curl. When it finally died, another rose to take its place, as unnerving as its predecessor.

Acteon seemed to be experiencing the same feeling. "What the hell is that all about?" he murmured.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Cato answered. "Let's go."

The two officers jogged over to the source of the shrieks. Upon arrival, they were confronted with an enlisted Turian who was pinned down by four others. Wild-eyed and screaming bloody murder, he thrashed about in an attempt to dislodge his captors. As a testament to his frantic strength, he was giving them quite a ride. The ruckus had drawn a sizeable crowd of other Turians, no doubt coming to see what all the commotion was about.

Cato stepped forward and barked, "What in the name of Palaven's holy earth is going on here?"

One of the Turians restraining the panicked soldier, a grizzled staff sergeant, looked up and gave as good a salute as he could under the current circumstances.

"I don't know, sir," he said, making sure to keep his grip on the writhing soldier firm. "Private Orthus just came running into camp, yelling something about a 'demon.'"

At the mention of that word, Orthus screeched, "DEMON! IT'S AFTER ME! THE EYES! THOSE HORRIBLE EMPTY EYES!"

Cato stood dumbfounded at the sight of this soldier so mentally devastated. Iron discipline was the hallmark of the Turian military; whether it was firefights or weathering artillery bombardments, every soldier was trained to stay calm and focused. Yet, right before his eyes, there was this one soldier, practically frothing in hysteria. Whatever managed to render the trooper so distraught was something Cato fervently hoped he would never have to see.