Children of the Sun: Prelude to Bereavement

By Anthony Ferguson

To describe someone's emotions is one of the most difficult things a human being can do. While not technically difficult like calculating mathematics, to put thoughts and emotions into words that accurately describe them is simply beyond any person's normal ability. To illustrate bereavement, much less any kind of loss, is a herculean demand unfairly imposed on anyone in times of great loss.

To illustrate someone's loss without their presence, however, goes far beyond the definition of herculean into the realm of ludicrously impossible. The very notion of speaking for someone else, a lifelong friend no less, would turn people away and rightfully so. The task alone is plenty difficult for the grieving individual. Most turning away from this is the expected and normal outcome.

Yet for a select group of friends they must do that. A select few friends must retrace Michael Crawford's life journey for it has been lost to time. A life journey filled with calamity and loss unfair to any human being. Even the starting line the friends agree on is little more than a Prelude to Bereavement. A build up to a heartbreaking loss that will set Michael Crawford down the road to infamy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662463594

Anthony Ferguson

Anthony Ferguson is an author and editor living in Perth, Australia. He has published over seventy short stories and non-fiction articles in Australia, Britain and the United States. He wrote the novel Protégé, the non-fiction books, The Sex Doll: A History, and Murder Down Under, edited the short-story collection Devil Dolls and Duplicates in Australian Horror and coedited the award-nominated Midnight Echo #12. He is a committee member of the Australasian Horror Writers Association (AHWA), and a submissions editor for Andromeda Spaceways Magazine (ASM). A four-time nominee, He won the Australian Shadows Award for Short Fiction in 2020. His short story collection, Rest in Pieces will be published by IFWG in August 2023. Visit his website at https://anthonypferguson.wixsite.com/mysite

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Children of the Sun

Prelude to Bereavement

Anthony Ferguson

Copyright © 2023 Anthony Ferguson

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 978-1-6624-6358-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-6359-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

It was a dark and stormy night. Flashes of lightning illuminated the otherwise blackened sky. While the sound of thunder roared, fighting with the intense downpour to remain acoustically sensible. The kind of downpour creating a sloshy mess for anyone attempting to move under the storm's cover. Unless it was out of pure necessity, then the wise would remain under cover, to wait out the storm until better conditions arrive. That is, if one discounted the dense forest of the region, or the willpower of a select few.

To one of these individuals, he did not mind the downpour. His military service demanded adjusting to worse conditions after all. A dark and stormy night such as this was quite welcome in comparison. He appreciated the dense tree line, a great barrier to anyone attempting to observe from above, a companion to the dark storm clouds and pitch-black night sky. Despite the fact his gear was water resistant enough to stay mostly dry, any reduction in rain received was welcome, nonetheless.

The man was sitting against a building, with his large backpack between his back and the wall, the side of an entrance to a place he once called home. A home to others he served with during his many years. He did not wish to stay in his relaxed state for long, just enough to catch a needed respite. A respite to allow his mind to fully embrace the reality of the situation before moving forward. It had been so long since anyone had been here. The very idea of this place surviving to the present day was straight out of an overly naive, impractical pipe dream.

He looked towards his rifle laid across his lap. He had not fired the weapon since his journey started—a fact the man was rather fond of rather than the alternative. The need to take it off safe never arose, for he perceived no threats during his journey. It was drenched in comparison to his clothing, save for the minor dampness spread throughout his gear. It didn't matter, for the rifle could fire regardless. Rainwater alone cannot create a severe malfunction within the system after all.

He felt mentally clear enough and sat up from his relaxed seat. He first took his backpack off, then turned to his rifle. He adjusted the stock to its shortest length before folding it over for storage. As a precaution, he unloaded the magazine and dispensed the chambered round, placing it back in the magazine. He finished by placing each item in a dedicated storage area within his backpack. If this were a warzone or any hot area, this would have been one of the worst actions he could have taken. However, this was light years away from any such place, and it had been many years since conflict had marched through this region.

Opening another section of his backpack, he found an item resembling a black box. Flipping a switch revealed two buttons. One was for the power, which was already on. The second was for the soldier's subsequent task and he pressed it, accordingly, prompting an alert on an interface mounted on his left wrist. The nature of the screen resisting the rain despite the downpour was pondered and gone within a second.

The screen showcased him and three others with approximate distances calculated via signals bouncing between one another. He selected the others, tapping their names on the screen including his. Several tabs appeared above the list, the COMS tab opening with a tap on the screen. Scrolling through the options, the soldier found exactly what he needed, opening a communications line between the four.

Hey, guys, I found it. Start heading my way. His tone was formal, yet it lacked formality. In a normal situation, he would be reprimanded by superiors for lacking in communications discipline. Those times were long gone now, replaced by an era wholly unfamiliar to the soldier or anyone else he knew.

Rodger Rodgers, replied one of the others, his tone was far less formal. Be there in two shakes.

I see the mongoloid hasn't changed, Rodgers replied in a mirrored tone.

You're too easy Shelby, the mongoloid chuckled. What about you guys? His voice firmed up. How long until you get to 00's entrance?

Probably an hour, a firm voice replied. Frazier didn't stray far from me, so he'll be arriving the same time I do.

Bradford's right, the last of the four answered over the coms. Looking at the pings Ducote will reach Rodgers then we will shortly after.

Copy, see y'all when you get here. Shelby Rodgers closed the communications line and laughed. He knew the others will arrive faster than expected. Looking at the map it was clear from the pings Ducote had started running, while Bradford and Frazier had increased their pace as well. Normally the sight of a person running at them in military gear would be a valid reason for significant concern, much less in an area all to themselves. However, this man's arrival was spoiled long ago, and was far from a concern to Shelby Rodgers.

Stuff it, Shelby, Ducote wheezed. You'd be exhausted too if you ran that fast. The arrival of Paul Ducote tired and panting hard providing ample entertainment for Rodgers. His rifle was seemingly absent from view, presumably placed into storage like Rodgers had done earlier.

Sure, sure, Rodgers mocked the drained arrival. I can't believe 00 would make you run that fast.

You know damn well 00 is not the reason I ran here, his breathing lessened in severity.

You and me both PD. Rodgers walked over and helped Ducote remove the heavy backpack, placing it next to his. The two plopped down, using the removed packs as a rest and waited. Waiting for the last two to arrive so they can finally enter the building.

Do you think BB is going to help? Ducote asked after a few minutes of silence.

Of course, he will. What makes you think he won't? Rodgers replied.

I don't know man. I have no reason to doubt what Alan told us but— He sighed. "Why would anyone care about what Michael, Hannah, you, me, or anyone else did four-hundred years ago? Something doesn't feel right, and I'm not sure what it is."

To the untrained individual it would seem somewhat difficult to ascertain the physical emotions of the soldiers underneath their protective headgear. The combination of an insulating yet sweat proof balaclava, underneath a sealed helmet with integrated filtration system, shrouded by a hood on top would make any such attempts guesses at best. Nonetheless even these faceless soldiers had learned to read each other through other means. Interpreting those feelings became another issue entirely, regardless of how valid or intrusive they were.

The seated troopers had been down this road countless times. The ability to delineate gut feelings and simple nerves had become a home-grown skill amongst the troopers. Yet this time, it seemed all their progress had been undone. This skill to weed out the premonitions from the useless worries had seemingly disappeared, at least for Ducote. It was a hesitation he had not felt in a long time. The kind of reservation to completely paralyze a person's decision making for longer than any justifiable reason.

There they are.

Rodgers spotted the last of the group to arrive, welcoming the change in topic as Ducote did. Whatever thoughts they had left to sort were dashed, for better or worse they thought. Unlike the currently resting pair, these two had not stored their rifles, remaining at a ready position just in case. Their heads gradually turning, their eyes scanning the environment for anything out of place. The thought of making a joke at their expense crossed their minds, but Ducote and Rodgers shot it down. They knew themselves enough to understand they too would act almost identical to these two if the circumstances called for it.

The recent arrivals wore the same gear as the seated troopers. Normally, one would be correct in presuming all four troopers belonged to the same unit. If one were to discount the lack of various identifiers normally present on their equipment. Ranks, unit badges, names, anything that could be found on a normal trooper's uniform was missing. However, this lack of identifiers was far closer to standard equipment for these troopers than one would expect. Given their line of work, anonymity was far preferable to the alternative.

What took you guys so long? Ducote called out in a jeering tone. He seemed just as happy as Rodgers to have moved on from the conversation.

I for one did not want to show up exhausted and take a longer than needed recovery, the taller of the two arrivals answered.

Whatever Jack, you're no fun. Ducote turned his attention to the shorter one. How are you doing Jason? His indifferent tone dropped for a concerned, gentile approach.

Better than I expected, Jason Frazier replied. I guess reality hasn't set in for me yet.

Give it time, you'll probably face it once we're inside, Jack Bradford stated. The four remained in awkward silence for some time. Before they entered the building, Rodgers asked Frazier one last time if he was okay. Frazier's tone was unchanged, and so the others agreed now was the time to enter Instillation 00.

After picking up their gear, Ducote was the first to walk towards the building's door. A rather large door capable of fitting dozens of people and most vehicles through. On either side of the door rested a liftable covering protecting an interface. With Ducote on one and Rodgers on the other, they pressed their right hand onto the screen. An alert appeared on the interfaces mounted on the wall and on their left wrists.

Hello there! the message read, much to the groaning and laughter of everyone present. Welcome home Commandos, the message continued. Would you mind giving me permission to link with you again? Three of the four Commandos granted permission without hesitation, pressing the confirmation selection as soon as it appeared. Yet Bradford felt a slight hesitation to do so. He still gave permission anyway.

Thank you, Jack, came a soft voice over his headset. I'm glad to see you again. Whoever this was certainly sounded kindhearted, and perhaps a bit too friendly. He wished to meet the person on the other side anyway. The voice felt familiar, like a friend or relative he hadn't heard from in a long time. The others received similar words, their wide grins and happy expressions hidden underneath their helmets.

The door to the complex raised, allowing the squad to walk inside. There wasn't a single light source inside, barring a single terminal in the center of the room. It was on standby, requiring authorization to power back up again. Once the four arrived, the terminal changed status as if it knew they were there. It asked for a final confirmation before plunging underground, and for the group to hold onto their butts, prompting another round of chuckling.

The four gave their confirmations via their wrist interfaces. Various doors and safety bars enveloped the pad around them, and the floor began descending. The flight down was not uneventful, as the troopers' sense of humor was played to. Somehow, the affectionately described, elevator music, started playing over their radios. Earning some laughter and groans among the four troopers.

The elevator ride stopped in due time, opening to a room as dark as the ground floor some distance above them. Next to them on the wall sat another interface, this time asking for a confirmation permitting the base to power up from its dormant status. Ducote and Rodgers gave it, and the complex roared to life. The lights in the hallway gradually brightened to not instantly blind the arrivals and give them time to adjust their helmets. They had been on night vision after all.

To begin their process of standing down, the troopers removed the hood covering, the first step in revealing their hidden faces underneath. Given their helmets were a flexible, sealed system, a few releases needed to be pressed allowing the helmet to loosen up. These same releases were used to tighten the helmet around the user after they had adjusted it to their comfort. With the helmet removed, the last piece to go was the balaclava. Normally, this would be seen as an odd item to have underneath a sealed helmet with an integrated air filtration system. Yet these balaclavas were made with that in mind, hence another useful layer around a user's head working in tandem with the helmet, instead of obstructing it.

With the balaclavas gone the troopers' identities were finally uncovered. Faces revealed to someone within the base via his monitoring system. His first physical sight of them in a long time. They looked younger than he last saw them, perhaps a whole ten or twenty years at least. The last time he saw them they were nearing their midlife, barring Frazier, whom he last saw in his late teens.

Frazier looked like he could be their younger brother, not by physical similarities like hair, skin color, or facial features, but by maturation. While the others looked in their thirties, Frazier looked like he was in his early to mid-twenties. The fact he was the shortest of the group didn't help him either. He was below the average height for men at the time as the observer recalled. A fact the observer recalled was a frequent banter point between Frazier's older twin sister and best friends.

The troopers didn't stop with their headgear. They walked to an armory not too far from the elevator, with Ducote and Rodgers leading the way. Once there, they further continued their process of standing down from a combative state. The four took off their backpacks and began unpacking everything inside them. The unloaded rifles were safely stocked for later. While the magazines and additional ammo was placed in the respective storage.

With their weapons and ammo stowed, they started taking off their combat armor. The heavy armor piece around their torso went first. The heaviest part of their gear despite missing the ammo it helped them carry. The armored boots went next along with their gloves, unlatching the restraints that kept them in place, allowing them to take off the battle dress uniform itself. It was a process they had grown used to but a slightly uncomfortable one, nonetheless. The rest of the uniform was supposed to be lighter than their armor but had its own quirks all the same.

The first layer was thick yet flexible, intended to supplement the main armor pieces in regions of the body where armor plates were more cumbersome than practical. Almost like a thick winter coat with carbon fiber reinforcement. This layer included the hood that went over their helmets and could be taken off like a normal coat. This layer required an additional step before removal, as the wrist bound interface sat on top of this

One last layer remained, a thinner layer of skin suit designed to help keep the user cool in hot weather or the inverse. This layer needed a second person for assistance, given the rather unintuitive location of the zippers. The zipper ran up the middle of their backs, and unless the user was very flexible, the less than accessible location demanded a second person. Disrobed to their undergarments, the four could finally start to stretch and move without their gear weighing them down. After placing their gear in designated spots at the armory, the four made their way to the showers.

None of them cared they still had underwear on. Nor did it matter they still wore their dog tags. They simply walked in, tuned the temperature to their preference, and began enjoying the shower's effects. All four couldn't help but zone out the moment the water hit their bodies.

Hey guys, Ducote asked in a zonked voice. Is it me, or do these showers feel better than the ones on the ring?

It's just you PD, Rodgers replied in a mirrored voice.

Bullshit Shelby! His voice relaxed further. "I knew it would happen the second we came here. This, is, our, home, not some halo ring a galaxy, far, far away."

It was hard for anyone to argue against Ducote's point. Bradford felt like it was home, yet he lacked any recollection of being there. Frazier was already willing to call it home, it simply felt like a more livable facility than his previous station. Rodgers tried to say something to the contrary, but knew it was no use. Instead, his thoughts turned towards the person he could not wait to meet again.

It had grown hard to refer to that person as a thing, nor was it easy at first to think of it as being a person, let alone a member of the family. Nonetheless, he had demonstrated to everyone present he had earned their bonds innumerable times over. In an exceptional case, he even referred to one of the commandos as his father. If one knew the method of his creation, then it would be difficult to say otherwise to this arrangement.

The troopers knew who that father was without question, and deeply regretted he was not present to see his child again after so long. Figuring it was time they finally reunited, the troopers cleaned themselves up. The presence of fresh smelling soap and clean fitting clothes a surprise to the newcomers but worth a chuckle to the more familiar pair. They now looked like a group of soldiers who just got time off, R&R to experience after a long deployment somewhere.

Moving out of the showers, the troopers walked towards one of the last rooms they needed to visit before the base was fully operational. The command room, a place typically reserved for high-ranking officers wearing proper, working military uniforms. Those days were long gone, the need for keeping formal dress codes gone along with them.

Taking their seats, the four began tapping on the main interface in the room. A light, repeating tap until the screen lit up with a single question. A question posed to everyone, and one everyone had to accept. Three of them did it so fast leaving the fourth stunned. For a second, Bradford felt an air of intimidation around him. The others were staring at him, their expressions asking, What's taking you so long? without the need to physically ask.

Don't worry about them Jack, read a message appearing next to Bradford's prompt. A new message appeared shortly after. I can't blame them. They haven't seen me in hundreds of years. I'm just as eager to see everyone again.

Feeling reassured, Bradford tapped the prompt without further hesitation. The lights around the room began to flicker, alerts appearing on all interfaces, and a soft humming noise coming from below. The four looked at their respective stations, noting a loading bar had appeared, and was slowly filling to completion.

Damn BB, what's taking you so long? Frazier jested towards the interface. Did she slow down or something? He asked in unchanging tone towards the others.

She likes to take her time, Ducote replied, and turned to Rodgers. By the way, should we tell him? He pointed a thumb towards a slightly confused Frazier.

Let him figure it out, Rodgers laughed. You're in for a treat Jason, watch.

The boot up completed, with Ducote and Rodgers turning to face away from their interfaces. Bradford and Frazier did the same, trying to figure out what the two were looking at. They couldn't believe what they were seeing. A human-like projection was forming in front of them, gradually piecing itself together like any artificial projection would. When the process completed, the troopers couldn't help but feel moved.

It felt so life-like, without any hint of artificial origin. If they had not seen the creation of said projection, then it would be impossible to think it was anything but a human being. The person projected was a male in his late twenties. Whose appearance was a combination of two other people the four humans knew incredibly well. Anyone who saw him could argue with absolute certainty he would pass as a child of those two individuals.

The projection wore a uniform like the others, with the name BLACK BOX on his uniform's name tag. His stance was one expected of a soldier at parade rest, yet their earlier brief conversations do not entirely match the voice of a professional soldier. Rather, it was akin to close friends reuniting after a long time apart. Glancing again at the interfaces, Bradford and Frazier looked in shock between the two. The Artificial Intelligence Black Box was fully operational again.

Hello everyone, he said with a warm and welcoming voice. It's been far too long.

Within seconds Rodgers moved to embrace the AI's projection in a tight embrace, unwilling to let go or create room for anyone else. This took the newcomers understandably aback, for they didn't anticipate physical interaction with an AI to be feasibly possible. Let alone the AI to willingly accept the hug and reciprocate the embrace. How this was possible escaped even those who had known Black Box the longest, but that was never their concern. Black Box was a member of the family, full stop.

Hey! Don't keep him all for yourself! Ducote stated with sarcasm. Let me get a moment with him!

For a split-second moment in time Frazier appeared to have frozen in place. Momentarily expressing a face that could've been misdescribed as the thousand-yard-stare. Rather, he experienced a rush of pained nostalgia so intense he almost collapsed. Yet, these feelings departed as quickly as they arrived, leaving him an emotional hole so intense he couldn't even speak for a moment. Electing to finally join the conversation when that hole filled back to normality.

BB, did you develop a harem of bitch boys after I left? Frazier asked in a tone mirroring the lighthearted conversation. When did you learn to do this?

It's a long story Jason, Black Box replied warmly. One I'm more than happy to tell if you're interested in learning. The AI turned his attention to the man tightly holding him. All right Shelby, your time's up. Let PD have a turn.

What if I don't want to share you with that Ragin Cajun? Rodgers asked with a sarcastic, childish dissatisfaction.

See guys, this is what I have to put up with, Black Box said in a jocular tone towards Bradford and Frazier. My advice? Don't get involved with harems. The complete and total ridiculousness of the situation impelled heartily laughter the group didn't know they needed yet welcomed all the same. By the way, have you guys been broken into regarding teleporting? Black Box asked after the laughter ended.

"Teleporting?" Frazier asked dumbfounded whom Bradford shared a similar reaction.

Just one second.

Within that second all four humans experienced a flash of white light and appeared in separate rooms. Although each person was in a different location, the AI appeared in each room simultaneously. His presence soothed the confusion Bradford and Frazier experienced after the teleporting. While Ducote and Rodgers figured Black Box had set them up for personalized one-on-one time. However, these subsequent conversations could hardly match the tone of their previous dialogue.

Jason, you look like you're about to break down into tears. How can I help?

Jack, you look like you're staring at a stranger. What's up?

Paul, what's going on with Shelby? He looks like he's about to off himself.

Shelby, where is Hannah? I thought you would have brought her along?

These were all conversations the AI would be unable to discuss if he hadn't split them up. A frank discussion about the reality of the situation, especially for an AI removed from the others for so long. Things had most certainly changed or did not occur as Black Box expected. A painful notice he received in the subsequent conversations.

I look that bad, don't I? Frazier asked with an expression of forlorn. The AI couldn't help but share that expression once Frazier started talking to him. He couldn't remember anything after high school, receiving a blistering headache each time he tried. A headache he couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard he tried. Black Box was shocked to his core to learn Frazier severely lacked in his memories about Catherine, Hannah, or Michael, and he was too scared to investigate why. Black Box gently wrapped his arms around Frazier, providing a pillar of support for Frazier to lean on.

Sorry Black Box, but I don't know who you are, Bradford flatly stated. As Black Box was comforting Frazier in one room, in another room his heart was shattering. Jack Bradford didn't remember him at all, nor did he recall his Commando service and trying to remember anything after high school is ineffably painful. Given his unfortunate circumstances, Black Box didn't fault Bradford at all for having a shocked, reserved outlook on things.

Damn, I thought he was doing a bit better, Ducote answered in a downhearted tone. Black Box was trying his best to remain stoic and supportive for Ducote, but just couldn't as he heard the news. Ducote theorized the aftereffects of their powers were starting to kick in, again. One last, ultimate Fuck you to their mental state that wouldn't go away. An aftereffect the Commandos experienced before, and nearly broke themselves fighting it off.

Hannah has completely lost it, Rodgers revealed. The information Rodgers was telling Black Box painted an identical picture as Ducote did. Everyone's mental state had severely plummeted, and no one was safe from their outrageously enhanced traumatic involvements. Experiences that would still be traumatic nonetheless, but not to the extent the Commandos were facing. Rodgers also revealed Michael Crawford's missing-in-action status wasn't helping Hannah's wellbeing either.

The information dump Black Box received from the four friends he considered family did not sit right, regardless of how understandable it was or if it was completely out of his control. Memory losses, degrading mental health, and a compromised command staff. One of the worst-case scenarios Black Box thought up was occurring. A scenario whose imagery did not improve as the conversations continued.

I just hope they lived a good life, Frazier stated. He didn't desire much, nor did he wish for many things to have occurred. All he wanted was for those he cared about to have lived in peace. Although Hannah and Michael were special to him, he hoped more than anything that Catherine found her solace after he was gone.

Landon Frank and Robert Bell gave us a grace period to work with, Ducote continued. According to him, the troopers had some time to spare before the situation reached critical mass. Their original plan was to pick up Black Box, destroy 00, and head straight back to 07. However, Alan and Ellie Grant changed that. A revelation Black Box got a nice chuckle out of. For the lack of better words, we agreed we needed to find ourselves before we start trying to seriously help the others. A sentiment Black Box wholeheartedly approved.

Jack's memory wipe didn't help either, Rodgers continued. He wanted to say his stomach dropped but it wasn't intense enough of a descriptor for him. He had no idea Alan Grant was holding onto Bradford and Frazier, let alone either of them were still alive. I thought I had come to terms with the fact nothing made sense in this universe. Guess I was fucking wrong like I always am.

As hard as he tried, Black Box couldn't hold back his own emotions towards the matter. The means of an AI having near human behavior was not a question on anyone's minds, nor was the incredibly human feeling and warmth Black Box gave with his embraces. If anyone outside their family viewed them, they would find it rather abnormal how supposedly hardened veterans are allowing themselves to be overcome with emotion.

Black Box knew the truth of the matter better than anyone. It was standard operating procedure to compartmentalize emotions and trauma. Events that would normally affect the average soldier in the field or elsewhere, tightly packed and sealed away. Emotions and events that should have been unpacked long ago, are now coming out in full force. These troopers were now bearing the full brunt of their force and needed all the help they could get.

The AI immediately went to work constructing a plan. A plan to get everyone recovered enough to continue their self-assigned task. This was by no means a perfect mental health recovery plan; no such plan exists in the first place. Rather, it was a plan to spend time with each person Black Box held dear to him. As any family member would and should when someone is downhearted. Family does not end at blood couldn't describe them anymore perfect.

Wow, this place is bigger than I thought! Who ordered its construction?

That would be Commodore Alan Crawford, Black Box replied. The base already existed in an experimental form for some time but wasn't until Michael's promotion to Commodore did it become a fully-fledged military base.

For Jason Frazier, Black Box would take him on a guided tour of the facility, showcasing everything the headquarters of the Commandos had to offer. A large pool and spa area, decent beds and sleeping quarters, respectable bathrooms, and even a large mess hall that looked more like a fancy diner than a stereotypical grub hub. Installation 00 contained a rather luxurious assortment of amenities that most military installations did not provide. Black Box even boasted the base could survive completely on its own if need be.

Hey BB! What the hell did you do to my man cave?

Come on PD, I thought you were smarter than this! Tap the interface!

For Paul Ducote, Black Box showed him the machine shop, albeit a radically altered shop, hence Ducote's reaction. Almost instantaneously after Ducote tapped the interface, several industrial manufacturing arms appeared from the walls next to the desks. The center desk in the room lit up with a display asking what Ducote desired to build or work on today. Ideas and projects came flooding to his mind, ones he had conducted plenty of times and new ones now possible thanks to the systems at his disposal.

Bitch! What the fuck was that? How did you hit that with iron sights?

It's called skill Rodgers. You should aim better.

For Jack Bradford and Shelby Rodgers, Black Box paired them up at the gun range. The two were shooting a stock rifle circa 2100, a rifle originating from a classic family of weapons that never went out of use or style, despite their age. Given they were shooting indoors, a minimalist helmet with hearing protection was required. Yet this hearing protection allowed the user to hear normal conversations, hence their trash talk amid the gunfire. Their competitive sides were a sight to behold, and the two cycled through every gun they could think of. Exhausting hours barraging the targets downrange and sending plastic casings flying.

All right, this is working. Hopefully, they all will find the strength to continue.

With all the activity going on around the base, time flew by for the family of five, and before they knew it midnight was fast approaching. The troopers knew they had to turn in, but for some reason they felt a hesitation to do so. It wasn't hard for Black Box to guess why. Their expressions said everything.

Guys, I'm not going to disappear when you wake up, he joked. Come on, let me show you to your quarters. He guided them to rooms, allowing them to pick the arrangements they wanted. Each person chose a room to themselves, though Ducote and Rodgers had something else in mind.

Although the AI's projections in Bradford's and Frazier's room left without a hitch, he couldn't exactly leave the others just yet. Ducote and Rodgers had grabbed onto one of his hands before he could fade said projections. A somewhat foreseeable fate as Black Box did stand a bit close to their beds for some reason. He understood why this happened, and why he could be described as their emotional support animal. Though the three knew to define their relationship as such would be a massive disservice and oversimplification of the bond they shared.

He let them hold on until they fell into a deep sleep. Placing their hands near them in comfortable positions, he finally ended those projections, but he wasn't entirely gone either. Black Box was an Artificial Intelligence interlinked with the whole base after all. He could always see or hear what everyone was doing, even in places most people would rather not have an AI present.

For most people this was a logical privacy concern. However, checks were in place to prevent Black Box becoming a peeping tom if the AI wanted to for some inexplicable reason. He needed to be given permission from a person at specific interfaces, otherwise he couldn't just watch someone take a shower or use the toilet. Even then its audio only, with no video to see the person in question.

The troopers were a bit unique in this regard, save for Bradford. They preferred having someone to watch over them. Not in the sense of an analogue to the infamous Big Brother, but more of a parental figure keeping a caring eye on them. Even with this given explanation, it was quite the odd bond to anyone outside of the commandos. A computer made of metal and code was behaving in a manner almost indistinguishable from human beings. The why or how of this was a long-lost concern for those grown attached to Black Box.

The morning came passing January 3rd, 2552, as a memorable day for everyone. The troopers were reunited with someone they held dear, and even Bradford couldn't help but admit the AI was someone he could call a friend. Before they could forget, Black Box reminded them in the early hours of January 4th they needed to eat before they pursued their task.

The mentioning of food prompting the growling of stomachs and a chef wanting to feed them. It wasn't so much they had not eaten, but for those who knew, the AI's food was devilishly irresistible. The eager Ducote and Rodgers cleaned themselves up with glee, and the others were interested to see what their enthusiasm was about. Though Bradford's interest somewhat stung the AI, he nonetheless began preparing food for four hungry mouths.

With the orders in place Black Box's projection disappeared, presumably for the kitchen, and the four humans made their way to the mess hall. Their walk was not long, for the mess hall was only a floor above their quarters. Despite knowing this, the AI placed signs along the walkway with lighthearted instructions on how to reach the mess hall, just in case.

What the fuck? Frazier thought aloud. Where did all these people come from? His shock was shared by Bradford, while Ducote and Rodgers began laughing hard. Five people were working behind the counter at the mess hall. A dumbfounded Bradford and Frazier took their seats while Ducote and Rodgers sat next to them.

Getting a better view, the confused duo understood what was going on. All the cooks looked identical, and unless someone had miraculously given birth to identical quintuplets, there was no other explanation for this besides an AI's doing. All that was missing was a head chef barking orders to the others with the occasional use of donkey or donut as an insult.

The four humans devoured their food. It was as if they hadn't eaten a good meal in years. Even Frazier, the smallest of the whole group, was keeping up with Rodgers and his second helping. Everyone was more than satisfied with their food, a breakfast version of the fatass pig special as Rodgers had affectionally nicknamed it.

With full stomachs and rejuvenated energy, Black Box took on the task of reminding them why there where here. The troopers' content expressions dropping a little with the gentle reminder, though everyone expected this outcome. They didn't have all the time in the world after all, and the sooner they started the better.

With hardened wills and gathered courage the troopers began their task. To start their journey of remembrance that not only detailed a friend's life, but their own lives for the universe to see. The five set up their room of remembrance in a spare office room with plenty of space to spare. A circular table sat centerpiece in the room, with just enough space for four people and an AI to take a seat.

They didn't want to sit at a table with inquisitive undertones, however, and the AI helped teleport in additional seating options. Couches, reclining armchairs, anything to make the troopers comfortable was present in their room of remembrance. The room's colors were neutral and unprovoking. The similarities to a therapist's room more than apparent. Everything they were about to do could be considered a form of group therapy after all.

The group quickly decided on where each person would sit. At one side of the table, the current narrator would sit. The writer would sit on the opposite side of the current narrator. Aside from Black Box, the others didn't have to be present for the session, but everyone insisted on staying in the same room regardless.

In turn, as he was the first narrator up, Frazier took his seat with Ducote opposite of him. Black Box took his seat at the midpoint between them, in range of Bradford and Rodgers sitting on the couch behind him. Ducote's volunteering for the authorship was not exactly expected, then again nobody in this room had any experience writing a story. Despite their interest in nerdom franchises over the years, they never became interested enough to write fan-fiction.

This isn't an interrogation Jason, Ducote began in a careful tone as he set up the interface for his author duties. We will go for as long as you want to.

Thanks Paul, Frazier answered. Are we sticking to the plan?

A plan the group had decided on before they got there. A plan Black Box agreed to once they filled him in. For the sake of