The Ikon

[Shryke]

Eichel stood inside an observation post dug deep in the face of the mountain. It offered a perfect view of the entrance leading up to the abandoned mine now serving as the last refuge of Volkhan'€™s regime. He was supposed to be overseeing a detachment of marines who were providing over watch for the heavily guarded entrance.

While the Volkhan trusted him, it was only because the false Ikon believed the staple that embedded itself onto the base of Eichel'€™s spine was still operational. That was not so. Following his interrogation of XiaoBei on Mikolayev, he found his way to TOR-ONE. Eichel likes to think it was his own actions that inspired the good doctor to develop the counter to the nerve stapling.

Luckily for him, his face was hidden behind his own helmet. His mind was not set on overseeing anything, but plotting his reinstatement to the Coalition political system. His position was surely harmed by not resisting the Volkhan like so many officers did. But if he could be called anything, his title would surely be master of self-preservation.

It was this instinct that led him to TOR-ONE. The same instinct that led him to Phantom relic long forgotten. And the same instinct that saw the nanites invading his body bent to his own will. But not without cost. As the nanites spread through his body, they sought to turn him into a drone. They spread to every corner, burrowing, embedding, essentially doing what the nerve staple did, but on a much larger scale.

His body had turned a shade of pale one would reserve for a corpse. The veins and arteries were a pronounced purple, and and flagrantly contrasted with his skin. His body required a richer concentration of oxygen, and he cannot go very far without the modified marine power armor before succumbing to exhaustion.

All of that was a small price to pay, he told himself. The nanites were under his will. He could have them replicate. He could have them regenerate parts of his body. He could have them infest anything he desired. A small price to pay indeed.

'€œMaintain watch, I will report to the Ikon,'€ he said, his voice slightly distorted as it passed through the helmet'€™s vocalizer.

One of the marine sergeants saluted, and Eichel made his way down the narrow twisting stairwell. He switched off his vocalizer, and selected a frequency that he knew was specific to a certain mechanical general.

'€œViatcheslav, it'€™s time to end this.'€

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