Chapter Text
Prologue
Autumns, Foggyland
July 1939
The echo of footsteps resonated in a stuffy, sparsely decorated office room. A man in a pristine white coat paced with restless energy. He frequently stole glances at the two portly soldiers standing guard at the door. One soldier, his porcine helmet securely fastened, stood rigid, gazing attentively at the manicured baroque garden beyond the room's window. The other, of superior rank, cradled his helmet beneath an arm while smoking a cigarette. An amused smirk deepened the lines of his double chin.
“Doctor Andonuts,” he drawled, his thick accent emphasizing the syllables. He gestured towards a chair with exaggerated politeness. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
The man, Dr. Andonuts, stopped and straightened his posture. A fleeting look of annoyance crossed his face. Flicking open an ornate pocket watch, he said, “I’ve been kept waiting for an unacceptable amount of time. Is the general planning to grace us with his presence anytime soon?”
The smoking soldier offered a shrug, his self-satisfied grin still plastered on his face. Dr. Andonuts’s gaze drew to the helmets of the soldiers. Equipped with small eyeholes and elongated gas masks that gave them a swine-like appearance. It was rumored that the design was an eccentric choice by the Pigmask leader. Beyond the whimsy, the helmets had superior shrapnel and poisonous gas protection thanks to their hardened steel reinforcement. Cleverly positioned eyeholes allowed soldiers to monitor their flanks with just a subtle shift of their gaze.
Dr. Andonuts assessed the two portly men beneath the helmets. The leaner of the two easily pushed sixteen stone, which made the doctor question their combat efficacy. Yet, the Pigmask Army had not only seized control of Autumns, but they have marched unopposed into their neighbors to the east. The Winterish Prime Minister had adopted a policy of “appeasement” towards the Pigmask leader, but that only allowed the gluttonous madman’s greed to go unchecked. Dr. Andonuts had bet a colleague back in Winters that the Pigmasks will either invade the Nowhere Islands, or an all-out war would break out on the continent before the end of the year.
His mind then wandered to several years prior, when he became the scientific world’s darling for his wildly advanced work on bone marrow transplantation and was hailed as the man who may cure cancer. The acclaim made the world conveniently forget his earlier theses on the refinement and enhancement of the human race, which many declared as rehashed eugenics. But the Pigmasks hadn’t forgotten. They had promised funds and, more crucially, human subjects. Subjects on which he conducted experiments that would’ve landed him in prison or worse back home — though he believed it was all for the greater good. The offer to continue his life’s work, despite the obvious treason and many strings attached, was too good to turn down.
The doctor snapped out of his reverie when the soldier flicked his cigarette to the tile floor and squashed it with his boot. The scientist made a face at the blackened mark the cigarette left on the immaculate tiles.
Soon after, the door swung open and a formidable, black-clad Pigmask General marched in. The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted, the previously lax soldier snapped to attention, matching the stance of his helmeted comrade.
The Pigmask General’s imposing figure stopped just short of his guest, sizing up the man. “Doctor, I trust you bring good news?”
Dr. Andonuts adjusted his glasses and smoothed back his thinning hair. “General,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “My experiments on the Nowhere Islanders have borne significant results. The unique nature of their psychic abilities, which manifest post-trauma, holds unimaginable potential.”
The general’s eyes sharpened, showing his intrigue, though his face remained impassive. “Go on.”
“Specimens who survive my procedures show a wide array of powers, from telepathy to mental manipulation, and even raw destructive capabilities. I’m close to creating a genetic chimera. A super-soldier embodying every psychic trait we’ve catalogued.”
The general nodded. “And how long before this “chimera” is ready?”
“Soon. Very soon. But I must ask for more subjects.”
The General’s eyes turned icy. “We have just supplied you with a new batch of Islanders two weeks ago.”
“Whilst every Islander has the potential for psychic powers, not all have the genetic predisposition to carry more than exactly one trait.” The scientist stiffened his back. “Unfortunately, most subjects don’t make it through the procedures that combine those powers, making the selection process more arduous.”
“And is this why you go through so many?”
“Exactly,” Dr. Andonuts said. “A perfect subject might be out there, but we must cast a wider net.”
The General’s gaze remained trained on the doctor. “You promised us a super soldier. The King expects results. So do I.”
“And you’ll have them. I’m on the cusp of a breakthrough. Once I stabilize the process, I may even mass-produce these soldiers. In the meantime, I need more subjects.”
“Very well. I’ll see what can be arranged.” He lifted a finger at the doctor. “But don’t forget that His Majesty’s patience is not infinite. Don’t push your luck.”
Dr. Andonuts pursed his lips and met the General’s glare. “Just make sure I get what I need. The rest will follow.”
The General studied the doctor for a brief moment, then flashed him a thin smile.
“You may be in luck, Dr. Andonuts,” he said, his voice matching the still-reptilian stare. “We may soon tap Islanders straight from the source.”
Dr. Andonuts tried to hide his reaction, but he knew he’d failed from the General’s widening grin. An invasion of Nowhere Islands may well spill into total war in Foggyland. The General seemed to drink in the doctor’s surprise.
“Something the matter, Doctor?” the General asked. His smile still hadn’t reached his eyes.
Dr. Andonuts shook his head. “No. Nothing. I… I just realized that a colleague of mine apparently owes me ten quid.”