Buried deep beneath the desert, the secret laboratory was pulsing with unknown energies. Within, a select handful of individuals contemplated their master plan, exchanging glares and smiles as they did so, none of them wishing to give the others a shot at their back.

They were dressed in ornate, purple robes, each with a hood. On the back of the majority of the gowns, there was a large letter “S” adorned in one of a variety of metals, depicting the individuals place within the group. Those without the S were seemingly given less attention, as those with the golden “S” gathered together over a central plinth. Those with the golden S were the pillars of the group, and without them, there was no brotherhood.

Together, the golden “S” group huddled over a large, complicated looking scroll. Depicted on it were the several steps of a process clearly identified as being highly experimental, and probably dangerous, by the various warning sigils which decorated the scroll from edge to edge. The illustrations were seemingly hand-drawn, but were in such perfect three dimensions that this was almost impossible to comprehend, and were so rife throughout the document that there was barely a postage stamp’s worth of space left on the entire scroll. The tallest being, one bearing his own personal heraldry on his back rather than the “S”, carefully traced line after line of a single caption; merely one of many that surrounded an entire illustration, and together, these captions seemingly attempted to bring order to the chaotic scribblings of the author, who by the looks of it was clearly not right in the head.

At last, one member of the golden “S” caste stood up straight, seemingly satisfied at something. Although his speech was clear, and eloquent enough to betray his upper-class origins, he sounded like he was trying to swallow a scarf, probably because of the large one that covered all of this face bar his eyes. His eyes in themselves were a different story altogether; tiny black slits on a sea of green-tinted skin, which opened up sporadically to show two vast, soulless orbs of yellow. Despite his curious appearance, his companions seemed unworried, and were possibly even comforted by it.

“I am satisfied,” he said, “The scroll states that we should add hide of the chosen animal equal to 20% of the subjects weight to the chamber before we do anything else.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you said the last time, Brother Nym. You may be the scientific mind here, but this scroll has puzzled scholars for years…”

“Am I not the man who found this scroll, and translated it?”

“And was exiled from the Empire for your rantings about how human beings cannot be pure in their simple, organic forms? Ha! The Emperor kicked your ass personally!”

Brother Nym stared at his mocker, the one known as Brother Nate. Nate was the same caste as Nym, one of the multiple-chosen, but that was where the similarities ended. Nate was an arrogant son-of-a-gun, brought up in the gutter of the Imperial Capital, and only ever earned a living by catching people off-guard and helping himself to their salaries. Nym, on the other hand, earned thousands a year prior to his exile, searching ruin sites for even the most simple, extra clue of the Ancients’ existance, and possibly their folly as well. People like Nate annoyed Nym; the kind of person who did nothing moral for a living and still thought it appropriate to insult someone else’s honour. In fact, the only reason Nate even wore the S of gold was because he didn’t give a damn about his own body, let alone anyone else’s.

“Brother Nate, with all due respect”, and that is very little indeed, he thought to himself, “the last times must have been malformities. We followed the instructions precisely as was set down by Lord Vyass all those millennia ago. We have composed the right solution required for the procedure, and we have measured the amount of hide required to 3 decimal places on two different weighing systems.”

“And despite all that, you failed. What makes you think this time will be any different?”

“Because”, interrupted the largest individual of all, “this time I am present. When I am present, there are no mistakes, there are no ‘malformities’. I think you meant abnormalities actually, Nym. If you can’t even speak your OWN language then is there much hope of you translating another one so we can use it?”

This one, the one who had just spoken, was bad news. Towering over everyone else, and clad in a gown that showed total superiority, he was known as Goliath, the Leader, and a number of other horrendous aliases, most involving mutilation in one way or another. Goliath’s face was completely covered, hinting at horror behind a mask, with the exception of one eye; a hideous staring orb of bone-white, passing out an aura of malice which made sure the Brotherhood had little opposition, once Goliath had stepped forward.

“Sir,” spoke Nym, “I speak Kha’Hysh, the old language, better than I speak my own. If that does not put confidence in you then nothing will.”

The room fell silent. No-one had ever spoken to the leader of their group in such a stern way, they all knew that. They also knew, however, that Nym would get away with it. If it wasn’t for Nym, this entire organisation could never have been formed, nor their blessings achieved. They awaited Goliath’s words of reply.

“If you say so, Nym. But, equally, remember your place. I am the sole, mighty leader of this brotherhood. You are merely an exalted member; one of the many-chosen. Be careful how you express yourself, if you must express yourself at all.”

“Yes, my liege.” replied Nym, making a mental note to quote that exact speech back at the Leader when he was at Nym’s mercy.

“Very well then. Is Brother Holt prepared?”

“As far as I know.” Nym shrugged, not really caring if Holt was or not. Holt was a quiet one, and although he had his friends, Nym wasn’t one of them. Nym wasn’t anybody’s friend, at all. Most people figured out, or were told, that to know Nym was to be next in line for the Hybridisation ceremony, and no-one was in a rush to be top of the queue. At least, until the process was deemed safe enough for rapid usage.

“Bring in brother Holt.”

A door crashed open and two men, or possibly one boy and a monster, entered through it. Which one was brother Holt was painfully obvious; the lad, looking in his late teens, had been physically prepared for this most sacred and revered, if most risky, of ceremonies. His head was totally bald, as were his legs, which were showing underneath the flimsy, neophyte gown he wore in preparation for his Choosing. His eyes looked glazed over, as if doped in some way, and he walked like a drunkard, which may have been further proof of his drugging, or maybe the fact that his companion was shaking him with bone-crushing strength to spur him on.

His companion dwarfed him. Standing at least 2 metres tall, the giant figure made the ground shake with every step, and all souls who met his eyes shielded his gaze with their arms. He was truly awful to look at, covered from head to foot in tribal garb, unlike the rest of the brotherhood. He also sported various trophies won through mortal combat: fingers, toes, arteries and even a shrunken head, the lattermost of which looked, and smelled, like it had been pickled for anything up to a century. He was the Headhunter by title, Khara by name, and he was the gaoler of the Brotherhood.

“Ah, brother Holt. So glad you could join us. Now, before we begin, is there any particular marvel of nature that you wish to join with? We have a wide variety, and I’m sure we will have whatever you wish.”

The only reply Goliath got was a lethargic groan, which sounded remotely like “help me” but was not particularly clear. The Leader looked at Headhunter, and smiled maliciously. Headhunter returned a toothless grin, only his was marginally more gruesome to look at, as the various scars on his cheeks and mouth formed a violent collage of blood and war, and the smile gave anyone the impression that he wanted war with them, and he wanted their blood.

“Very well,” stated the leader, “We shall surprise you. Khara, place this soon-to-be-saved soul in the Chamber of Ascension.”

Brother Holt was thrown, unceremoniously, into a large, cylindrical chamber embeddened in the wall. The room buzzed with a combination of excitement and horror, particularly amongst the “S”-bearing members. They had seen this many times, including at least once from Holt’s point of view. Each counted down in their heads how long it would take for the drugs to wear off, and Holt to regain full awareness of his situation, just as they had.

Ten.

“Brothers! This is a glorious day indeed!”

Nine.

“When we accept the promotion of our newest neophyte, Brother Holt, to the status of full initiate!”

Eight.

“Many of you have become initiates by ceremonies other than the one Holt is to take part in…”

Seven.

”..and to you I say this. Damn you. Damn you all to the blackest pits!”

Six.

“For there is only one source of salvation in this world…”

Five.

“And that is the complete and utter destruction of the belief that we require only our carbon-based shells to experience life!”

Three.

“Brother Holt, we commend your actions here this day!”

Two.

“Salvation awaits you, brother!”

One.

The Chamber of Ascension locked with a horrific clang as the lock, at least 20 kgs in weight, was shunted into position. Everyone in that room knew that Holt would now be in the right state of mind for sheer panic, an emotion which was seen as beneficial to, if not required for, the procedure.

“What’s happening?”

The Leader turned around to admire Brother Holt. Through the Leader’s mind poured hundreds of thoughts at once: his own experiences with the Chamber of Ascension, what would happen to Brother Holt in the next five minutes if everything worked and…what would happen if it didn’t.

“Open the trapdoor and release the first ingredient!”

Above Holt, a previously hidden individual opened a small trapdoor, no more than 30cm squared. At least 5 metres off the ground, it was virtually impossible for Holt to make his escape by that route, and everyone there knew it, having all tried it themselves. Especially Nym, who had wished to back out of his Choosing at the last second, despite being the one to recreate the procedure in the first place, and had groped desperately for the trapdoor until it was too late.

The trapdoor operator then let something fall into the chamber. At first, it appeared to be nothing more than a lump of azure-blue goo. Each member of the Brotherhood, in turn, moved as close to the chamber as he could, until the Leader put his arm out as a warning. One by one, they all gagged as they realised what it was.

12 kilograms of meat. 12 kilograms worth of Neo-Stryder hide. Everyone assembled instantly gasped at the choice of monster; the water-walking, meat-eating Neo-Stryder is hard enough to see, but to catch and kill one showed ridiculously good hunting skills. Its translucent blue skin had been intensely processed, or so ‘they’ said, to remove the internal organs, any necessary body fluids and, indeed, anything else that wasn’t the creature’s outer layer. Were any blood to remain, the Choosing would fail instantly and Brother Holt would be just another victim of an unstable process, and would resemble an insect who flew into a wall at extreme velocities.

“Release the second ingredient!”

A couple of side doors opened in the chamber, about a metre off the ground, and everyone waited for the comedy. Holt grasped the opportunity, just like everyone else had during their time, and dug into the wall and up the chute. Everyone counted a few seconds, before Holt was flushed back into the chamber by enormous quantities of solution. Water-like in appearance, this great liquid began to fill the chamber up, leaving Holt gasping for air and banging frantically on the front window, as if that would increase the amount left in his lungs. The “S” caste all laughed. They had seen the exact same thing happen from Brother Holt’s point of view when they had been chosen, and it was always most fascinating to see it from another perspective.

“For the benefit of members who have never seen a Choosing before,” the Leader slipped in, “He will not drown, as you may think. Included in the narcotics we gave him earlier was an oxygen pill: a small pill which will provide the brain and the body with oxygen for anything up to 20 minutes after ingestion. Of course, if we have not finished in 20 minutes, then he will drown, you can count on that. Stiff upper lip, Holt!”

The stiff upper lip comment was a recently acquired tradition. During Nate’s Choosing, someone had shouted “Stiff upper lip!” at the Chamber, remembering it as a phrase used by Nate on many occasions. The irony was delicious, and since then each Choosing, in turn, has had the phrase repeated at the point of no return. Nate hated the tradition, internally roaring every time the phrase was used, including now. Before the brotherhood, no-one laughed at Nate and lived. At least, not for more than 5 seconds. But now, he thought, was nothing more than an equal member of a bunch of young and old prats who thought some old scroll could save their race from extinction, despite his recently gained gifts.

“15 minutes remaining.” intoned Nym, who was keeping an eye on Holt’s vital signs. The Chamber had been designed so that even the smallest stimulus could be read from inside it, including heart-beats, brain activity and blood pressure. It was only deemed necessary after someone perished, having suffered 5 simultaneous cardiac arrests during one Choosing a few years back. Also, Nym wore a small auspex in front of his eye, mounted in the style of a pair of spectacles, which was feeding him with endless amounts of numbers depicting the subject’s statistics: speed, strength and agility were all summed up from ridiculously complicated formulae and fed directly into Nym’s view.

“How long must we wait?” chanted the Leader. This was his favourite part of the choosing: the catechism. A slow, methodical question and answer session with Nym which put everyone in suspense, just as the Ancients did with their ceremonies.

“We wait until it is ready.”

“When will that be?”

“When the body of the creature has melded with the solution.”

“When will THAT be?”

“That will be soon.”

“That’s now, you great pillock. Look.”

Nym raised his eyes from his control panel to see that Goliath was, in fact, right. The Stryder corpse was nowhere to be seen, having been totally taken in by the solution. This was irregular; normally the corpse took at least 10 minutes of the 12 the Chosen now had left of his oxygen pill. This time, it barely took two. The only thing left in the tank, besides the solution, was a still-panicking Brother Holt, who was draining what little energy he had, banging on the doors of the Chamber.

“So it is.” said Nym, wondering what the hell just happened.

“Forget the damned catechism. How is he coping?”

“Vitals, fine. Heartbeat, as regular as you would expect. Neurokinetics are a bit weird….but then again he may still be recovering from the narcotics.”

“Begin the final phase. That is, if you feel he is ready for it.”

“Sir.”

The solution in the chamber now began to grow violent, spurred on by powerful air-inlets activated only moments ago. As bubbles rose inside the chamber, Holt began to look more relaxed. The sensation of the bubbles was fantastic…almost like being massaged by Nature herself. Slowly, Holt sank down to his knees, holding himself, and wearing an expression of total relaxation.

“Boy, is he in for a….shock!” remarked Nate, speaking for the first time since the entire ceremony began. The rest of the brotherhood laughed, as they knew what was going to happen as well as Nate did. Nate and the Leader simultanously nodded at Nym, who went to press one final button on his control panel.

After this one, there is no going back, he thought.

click

And the room became as bright as the sun, with Brother Holt screaming as if he was falling into it.

3 minutes later, the room went down to normal brightness. As everyone nursed their blinded eyes, they all turned expectantly to Nym. Only he now knew whether the procedure had been a success or not.

“Dammit, Nym!” barked Goliath, “Give me numbers, statistics…ANYTHING!!”

“Hang on, hang on! These numbers are still erratic, and the chamber must have been damaged in some way! I can’t get a credible heartbeat rating!”

“I don’t care if his heart is beating or not, tell me if he’s still alive!” (That comment got a few looks of confusion from the non-chosen.)

“Hang on…3, 2, 1….got it.”

Nym’s audience hung in suspense on his every word, and this pause made them hang on even tighter. Nym was not a man to pause unless he was thinking, and even then he mumbled. For him to fall silent was extraordinary. Nym carefully looked at the statistics in front of his eye. 4 numbers, each representing a fraction of Holt’s new genetic make-up: strength, agility, toughness and intelligence, with each using 1000 as the level of a human at his peak, in that department.

“Sir….” mumbled Nym, “This auspex must be wrong…”

“How so?”

“It’s registering Brother Holt’s strength at 2200….” The chamber gasped, unable to believe what they had just heard, especially Nate, who was paralysed with shock at the sound of such strength. “Agility…1500….Toughness….800…a bit dissappointing that….Intelligence at…my Lord…..no, this auspex is faulty. It MUST be faulty….”

“Nym, stop messing around and give me a reading. I want to know how intelligent Holt is now.”

“But…it can’t be…”

“NYM!”

“It says 3000. 3000, Goliath. Three kalieshing thousand.”

The chamber erupted with a cheer that resembled the fall of a tyrant from his throne as everyone welcomed Brother Holt to the S-caste. Nate held his head in his hands, unable to believe the statistics he had just heard. 2200 for strength, after only undergoing a single choosing? Impossible! Nate himself had been through a total of five choosings, and the last time his strength was given as 1900. And 3000 for intelligence…Nym was a world-renowned physicist and he was measured at 1800….

What IS this guy?

“Brothers, Chosen and non-Chosen alike,” Goliath screamed, “Brother Holt is no more! He has undergone the greatest of all blessings, and has bonded with Nature. Please cry with joy, and welcome our newest initiate, who shall henceforth be known as Brother Neo, both for his bonding partner, and for the fact he ushers in a new era in our process!”

The cheers carried on from all directions as the Chamber of Ascension crashed open in traditional style, pieces of the front flying across the room and the solution spilling over the floor. The cheers turned to awe as the new, improved Holt/Neo stepped out, and calmly walked, on top of the experimental solution, towards Goliath.

“Brother Neo, here is your gown, complete with the symbol of our brotherhood emblazoned in silver. You are now our newest member. Enjoy your new gifts, as they have been granted to you by the technonature of our ultimate master, and by the genius of his child, Vyass Sestrel.

“All welcome Neo to the Brotherhood of Sestren!”

And in the corner, still shaking, was Brother Nym, still with Auspex in hand. He was not cheering, nor was he shocked at the water-walking skills of his latest creation. He was shocked at something else. For a man that had an IQ of around 210, and who spoke several languages, that auspex reading had scared him deeply.

When his stats were taken by Goliath, the one who had funded the first choosing, his boosted intelligence came out at 1800; an extra 80% smarter than the peak human being. But Neo….he was a freak of nature. A…monster. How could anyone…anything….be so intelligent?

3000….

Impossible….