Kummer/Wishful Thinking pt1
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
Kummer sat on the floor near the containment cages amid a modest-sized group of Alphas, sprinkled intermittently with the occasional Delta. It was not all the Alphas that were housed there by any means, some still remained in the electrified cages, while others were on their way either to or from parts unknown. However, when Sutra-Dhara Anima read aloud, it often did draw a good number to stay, listen, and watch.
The gray walls and white overhead light of the very large - almost cavernous - room, seemed to shimmer with the passing of shadows, shapes and images. Sutra-Dhara, arms gesturing about, summoned illusion after illusion. The story, Kummer suspected, might have been “Swiss Family Robinson” - however in Sutra’s version the “Family” portion along with a shipwreck, seemed to be the only similarity to the original.
The young wolf politely gave her his attention as best he could. Most of the Alphas were entranced - those that were paying attention anyway. The Deltas in the audience were mildly interested, though not nearly as much as the Alphas tended to be. The Deltas were usually driven by a morbid curiosity to see which character visage in the illusionary play they could recognize from among the Deltas and Alphas at the facility. This was in addition to seeing just how mangled Sutra-Dhara could make the original classic story.
Kummer looked around, then at Sutra-Dhara. She was in her element, moving her illusionary performers about the room while narrating her unique view on a “proper” rendition of the story. She was in full command of her Art. In this case, it meant Robert Louis Stevenson was likely spinning fast enough in his grave to drill for oil. The young wolf shook his head slightly, then slowly and quietly eased backwards away from the crowd.
“Me save place,” a bat Alpha said gleefully to Kummer.
Kummer nodded with a brief smile. “Ok. You do.”
Moving back to the edge of the crowd, he skirted around the outside, then quietly headed for the doorway out. He thought Sutra might have noticed him leave or missing, but he wasn’t sure. You just never knew with Sutra-Dhara. She was directing her “shadow play”, which meant she possibly had forgotten anyone actually existed. He was never sure, he still had not figured out how to work with her as the Corporation directed. In any case, she most likely would not have noticed his absence. With a brief look back at the spectacle, he shook his head then walked quietly away.
Kummer knew why she was doing the puppet show. He’d heard the other Alphas talking. Like Fehral said, they loved to gossip. Kummer knew the official stance: Alphas cared for the Deltas. If an Alpha became assigned to a given Delta, they cared for that Delta; provided the Alpha knew they had been assigned of course. Deltas - lately as it turns out - now felt they should accommodate the ‘needs’ of the Alpha. With ‘needs’ being a vague concept at best.
However, reality was a bit more complicated than that. Some Deltas had as much use for Alphas as they would a kleenex or ablative armor. Still more Deltas ignored Alphas altogether or kept their distance. Other Deltas had started being the opposite, in fact spending “quality time” with the Alphas in one kind of a relationship or bond or another. Yet other Deltas used - there was no better word - Alphas like some boobie charm. Ok, just Brigid’s Verse used one particular Alpha like a boobie charm. Given he was a gargantuan white-furred, Cheetos-addicted boob, that only made sense really.
Kummer sighed; being a commodity was a hard pill to swallow some days.
Killing Dance and Fehral had told him “get allies”; as such, Kummer had been working on that. An ally watched your back, and you watched theirs. However, an ‘ally’ did nothing when you felt the odd, occasional pangs of loneliness. A friend did that, and a friendship meant trust. Trust? It was in very, very short supply among the Alphas, and the Quartermaster said the next shipment was on backorder.
The only cure he found left to him was work, and the chance to deliver some righteous retribution on the Lost, Vahzilok and others whom Kummer caught kidnapping innocent bystanders. That only succeeded because it made Kummer too tired to think about life as he currently knew it.
Out of sight, out of mind. Well, almost out of mind. Possibly, ‘delayed of mind’ was more accurate. At least he didn’t fear being assaulted in the night anymore with the hyenas gone. Just best not to think of the hyenas at all. Iceberia was the only threat that remained as threats go. The tiger didn't worry Kummer that much. Provided he could hear the attack coming, he knew he'd put the attacker's head through the cage bars if at all possible. Punishment be damned.
Kummer was in more control of himself and his new body. Flare ups still sometimes happened. Sometimes parts of him did not work together correctly, but it was thankfully brief now. It was still going to be a long road with a lot of work, and he knew it.
Kummer’s steps took him through the complex, up a set of stairs and then finally to the roof access. A security officer gave him a passing glance but nothing closer. It wasn’t like Kummer could fly, and they’d be on him before he could manage to scale down to the ground below from the fourth story. He knew better to try. Ever since the ‘hyena issue’ took place, Security had been increased around the Alpha cages. They had not actually done anything yet. Fortunately, they were content to watch for now.
A light wind blew across the rooftops of the Grandville complex. It stirred the smoke and scent of ever burning refuse that never quite seemed to leave. A crimson glow covered the sky, through the brown-gray clouds the color of dried leaves that were smeared across the late afternoon sky. The young wolf Alpha stood on the roof watching the weathered slate and tan skyline quietly a moment. Out of the corner of his eye he also watched the security officer on patrol. The officer watched Kummer. It was a stalemate. That is, until the security officer came down with a case of boredom and turned to look elsewhere.
The Alpha sat down on the roof’s edge and watched the cityscape outside the walls. Despite the crunch of the officer’s boots on the roofing material, it was almost blissfully quiet. Taking a chance, Kummer unzipped his leather jumpsuit and pulled out a thin, weatherbeaten dime novel. It wasn’t new by any stretch of the imagination. The cover had a stylized painting of an American gunslinger walking on a dusty road. Kummer had already - through much concentration - deciphered the title. It was “A Man Called Noon”. It was about an assassin with amnesia who was helping do the right thing for a small western town. Kummer liked it.
Kummer, like all Alphas, had trouble reading. The Corporation had seen to that. It didn’t fit their mysterious "plan". The young wolf shook his head. He had been carved up to be a ‘scout’ and ‘tactical recon’ unit. He winced at the very thought of the word, "unit". It made him feel like a microwave.
In any case, he was a ‘unit’ meant to go in, assess how horrid the opposition was, then come back and report on it. However, he couldn’t read very well since the Corporation turned him into this. Not literal words in any case. A scout is meant to infiltrate, gather information, and report on it. Yet he couldn't easily and quickly read anything the enemy chose to print and leave laying around, or even use a computer. A scout, spy, and assassin and whatever else who almost could not read in a world of high tech computing and digital paper? Real stupid. Obviously, dreamed up by a "real supervillain of genius".
He held the book protectively in his lap and thought on that a moment.
Why have an Alpha scout or Alpha anything then in the first place? He mused irritably. Well, we protect the Deltas. And if that was really true, even Ceylon Spinel would require an Alpha. Yet, he doesn't. He also isn't the only Delta like that.
He exhaled slowly. Tactically speaking? Deltas are better trained and equipped, which makes them astounding when coupled with their powers. In practice, they spend a lot of time protecting the Alphas. So the Alphas instead become a crutch, a way to put the Delta at risk, a way to create a vulnerability. Like manufacturing a family member to kidnap at whim, thereby forcing the Delta to cooperate if needed. It made sound tactical sense based on the psychic-induced training he had in his skull. Kummer shook his head slightly. The only real thing a Delta might need protecting from is themselves.
Quietly, he opened the book to where he last left off, and slowly tried to read. To help focus, he ran a furred finger along whatever passage he followed. Sounding out the harder words, he concentrated, working through what they were. Hopefully, he would not get a headache this time.
He was so engrossed that he didn’t hear the roof access hatch open behind him.
