Sindaris closes his eyes intently trying to filter through his own mind and enter the surrounding thoughts of the contaminants. Being only one mind he can simply stretch out his feelings and absorb their thoughts turning his own mind into an intelligence junction. Since all contaminants share their very lives and memories any of them would know who killed the contaminants the night of the first real emergence.
He can see well into the minds of dozens nearby when he really focuses. A disturbing amount of them are eating. There’s a feeling akin to a pinging in his mind when he suddenly gains full knowledge of a coordinated attack on a military group in Centre-city near the stadium. The entire attack isn’t to kill the immune people, it’s to kill one person specifically.
Sindaris hears himself gasp as he learns that this sniper was infected at some point and the genetic scarring by the virus allows contaminants to weed him out with enough effort. A name: Running Fro appears in his memory. Sindaris is sceptical for a moment but remembers that these others are constantly stupefying. He focuses through their minds looking for one that still has enough mental prowess to remember the real name.
He is focused for a long time digging through them all, eventually finding a mind with a name and an actual image memory.
Rennin Farrow.
Sindaris grins, baring his sharper than normal teeth, as he delves for knowledge of this man.
He learns that during Rennin’s infection the share-mind absorbed a lot of information about him. At least enough information to learn of many conversations with an infamous doctor who’s apparently called: Coughing.
The doctor has terribly bright eyes that shine green and Sindaris himself feels a cold dread towards the colour. The standing image of the doctor shifts like liquid into the form of Rennin Farrow then back and forth, one to the next, over and over.
The doctor has been combating the virus personally with his toxins and the other fought an unknowing android agent of the controller and survived, and is now murdering contaminants by the dozens. Both these men result in a severe rush of adrenaline and murderous intent. Obviously the controller wants them both dead very badly.
It is then that he realises that Rennin Farrow is just a way to find this doctor. Caufmann. The contaminants are throwing themselves at the stadium to get to him. At that moment the image of Caufmann transforms into a giant eyeless creature that momentarily overwhelms Sindaris with a terrible wave of fear.
Sindaris’ eyes open to meet Sarah’s multi-mind gaze. “Don’t even think it. They’ll all kill you,” she says.
Something about having temporary access to all those minds gives Sindaris a vast intellectual boost and with it he senses deception. He flattens the sensation behind a wall of the icy snow he loved as a child. “I’m sorry, but I’m leaving here.”
She shakes her head. “It’s dangerous.”
Sindaris does try but he can’t repress a smile for the life of him. “You were truthful in one respect, we are both imperfect.”
Sarah’s face looks strained. “Yes?”
“You might not realise it but you’re still under their influence. Rather hopelessly, I’m sorry to say,” Sindaris can feel his muscles tense up and the bones in his knuckles expand pushing against the inside of his skin. “Hunting me failed. So they must have tried setting a few alternate traps around for me. For those like me. I shudder to imagine what happened to those wretched souls.”
Sarah shakes her head. “We won’t hurt you. We’re going to protect you.”
Sindaris nods. “I do believe that. I even believe you do also, but I’m afraid it isn’t your thought. Allowed, perhaps, but not yours.”
Sarah shakes her head. “What? No.”
“You’re one of them, whether you know it, like it, or not,” says Sindaris solemnly.
A tear rolls down Sarah’s cheek but it could be any one of the silent ones crying. “No, we’re different.”
“In some way that’s true, but you’re obviously trapped here and you feel an overpowering need for me to remain here, don’t you?”
“Well yes, but…” something in Sarah’s face is struck with realisation and as each of the other minds catches on the expression in her face becomes more certain until finally she speaks again. “No…”
Sindaris’ expression softens. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that!” she shrieks, taking a step back.
Sindaris takes a step forwards. “The controlling entity wants Doctor Cough-Caufmann,” he corrects, “dead as well as the sniper, very desperately. Desperation indicates that this seemingly invincible contagion is quite fragile to say the least.” He takes a breath as the image of the powerful blind monster slaughtering infected in the arena enters his mind’s eye. “If I kill the controller, you’ll be free. Whatever fragments you have left will be yours.”
Sarah doesn’t answer.
“Free of influence.”
Sarah’s eyes fix on him and there’s a peculiar focus in them. “Influence? If we’re influenced then we have some control.”
Sindaris nods. “Yes, but you’re still being driven.”
Sarah smiles and her misshapen teeth show. “I know how… to help you.”
Sindaris and Sarah’s eyes are transfixed on each other. For a moment Sindaris is struck with paranoia so profound he isn’t sure whether it’s all his own but suddenly everyone in the room is he, himself. He can feel his own mind in all of them as if they are him. The others in the room that have remained quietly concentrating so Sarah can speak all open their eyes in unison.
Sarah speaks first a little shakily being on her own mental power. “I am Sindaris Tessol.”
The pair standing next to the barrel fire in the centre of the room speak next. “I am Sindaris Tessol.”
A woman in the corner speaks next. “I-I am-m Sindaris T-Tessol.”
“Oh my god,” says Sindaris, awed as he feels several dozen more versions of his consciousness appear all over the city.
Sarah looks at him. “If we are you, then you are not in Blackhaven killing the controller.”
With Carmine on the heavy mounted gun, the Dead Star and Genome gunships have taken down a dozen buildings and succeeded in creating a bottleneck for the contaminants down two main kill zones. The military blockade around the district perimeter has been firing for a straight hour. Any contaminant trying to go around the debris is being killed, and there have been so many. Commander Croft’s voice comes over their gunship radios. “Dead Star?”
“Still here.”
“I was going to have you flayed for bringing those buildings down, but your idea sure has worked. Combat is beginning to taper off. Land your gunship and assist Raston Squad, they must be exhausted.”
“Are there many survivors?” asks Rennin.
“Only squad to suffer zero fatalities.”
Jesus. “Any hostiles left in the stadium?”
“Still a few pushing, but Raston’s holding.”
“Copy, sir. Taking us in.”
Rennin is still riding a wave of rapture and can’t stand it any longer. He takes Drej’s knife, holding it above his leg, about to stab himself in the thigh to see if pain will let him think clearly; but the knife vibrates again, distracting him.
The shimmering pearlescent weapon is more a machete than combat knife, the surface seeming to glow before his eyes, the contours in its pattern appear to move or slide as if it’s made of liquid. Rennin sheaths it and reconcentrates on landing.