Cellblock Thurisaz, Inquisitorial Watch-Fortress [Codename: 'Hanging Mountain'], Undisclosed Location
Berkano-Minus Three Hours, Fifteen Minutes.
It appeared to his jailors that The Prisoner had lost all sense of time. This was not unusual in a place like this - and while it had occasionally interfered with the ability of interrogation to provide reliably useful outcomes ... the common position of his jailers was that such disorientation represented a "a feature, not a flaw".
But as with so much about him, this was a lie.
In truth, The Prisoner had indeed lost track of the days and weeks. He even possessed only the most haphazard sense of the hours; with the minutes seemingly varying and slithering in scope, undulating on a case-by-case basis.
This was helpful. In conjunction with his Purpose, it had allowed him to exist in something of a 'timeless' state within his cell; almost immune to the sorts of existential boredom which had so consumed other denizens before him.
Also helpful had been the lack of distraction which might provide a 'false grounding' for him within Time's flow.
There were no bricks in the walls to count, to name, to deliriously begin to converse with in order to "pass the time". (It sounded silly, but The Prisoner had read of this occurring in a book once - The Jarl of Hangifjall)
If there were guards or guard-shifts outside his cell, he saw them not. And the provision of such nutrients as were required to keep him from the brink of starvation appeared to come with no set regularity.
Indeed, about the only reminder he had yet found that there even WAS a world, a galaxy, a universe outside of his cell were the almost-imperceptible micro-gravity fluctuations which had told him that his gaol was not terrestrial in nature.
Yet this did not at all mean he now lacked a sense of time.
Only that it had become clearer - much clearer, now - what his actual relationship with Time was.
For a free man - although The Prisoner had never, truly been one - Time marked the passage of a being from a starting point; or measured the distance between events.
In the absence of any real surety of when his incarceration had begun, or any occurrences worthy of note or recollection once the interrogations had stopped, [once his captors had ceased their interrogations of him in frustration], The Prisoner had instead come to view Time as something entirely different.
At first, the inexorable counting down toward something which could not be changed.
And then, simply, what it actually was:
An Inevitability.
For The Prisoner knew that there would be only one way a figure such as he would ever leave a facility such as this.
In death. The 'final' liberator of all Men; whereupon the Prisoner's previous status as Hangatyrman would become altogether literal.
He had no idea when this might occur; and so it was no longer an idea with any distance between him and it. Any distance worth measuring, certainly.
Just a reality. A free-standing concept.
His only real companion, here in this small cube of what yet remained of "real".
Yet even in Death, his Duty might not end.
And perhaps, if he had demonstrated both amply and aptly his ferocity - his dedication, his zeal - in the commission of his Calling ... he would be Selected. Judged 'Worthy' by the Chooser of the Slain to be received into His Halls. Carried 'forward' to fight the War Eternal by more direct means than he had been afforded thus far.
Trade this present Hangafjell for Helgafjell, he mused - before the Fire at the End of Time came and consumed all
For that was the *other* means by which he might yet leave this asteroid -
"Come the Apocalypse".
After so long, he had almost come to view Time as a friend.
For one day, one way or the other, Time would End him and his captivity here.
Except, in a sense, 'dying' meant failure. And The Prisoner did not believe in failure.
-----
Sentry-Post Newun, Inquisitorial Watch-Fortress [Codename: 'Hanging Mountain'], Undisclosed Location
Berkano-Minus Thirty Minutes.
"Shouldn't we ask him to remove his mask?"
"Why bother? Geneprint already confirmed he's exactly who he says he is."
"But-"
"Look, do you really want to bother Inquisitor Geirroth with this? He is who he says he is - and who he says he is is right here on the manifest."
"Yes, Serje ... but it's your funeral if the Master has an issue with this"
Behind his Mask, the figure smiled.
------
Cellblock Thurisaz, Inquisitorial Watch-Fortress [Codename: 'Hanging Mountain'], Undisclosed Location
Berkano-Minus Six Minutes
A knock at the door jolted The Prisoner out of his reverie.
Wait, that couldn't be right. Guards did not knock. They simply entered. It was, after all, their place.
Only a guest need knock. To signify a desire for entry. And guests, here, were rarely of the "voluntary" variety. "Kicking-and-screaming", yes - but "knocking"? The Prisoner could not recall such an occurrence.
Something was up.
---
Operational Command Center Trihofdudum, Inquisitorial Watch-Fortress [Codename: 'Hanging Mountain'], Undisclosed Location
Berkano-Minus Three Minutes, Fifty-One Seconds
"Sir? We're picking up significant and ... weird readings on the aetheric-augur.."
"What is it? Incoming vessel making warp-transition to reality?"
"Negative; it's larger and ... longer than that."
"Possibly interference from the binary star and its gravitational flux."
"Not likely, sir. Object is showing up as clear and consistent .. at least the front of it is."
"What do you mean?"
"There may be some distortion due to how fast it's moving; but right now it's not registering as having an aft. It just stretches out behind, all the way to the edge of augur-range. Kinda like .. like a spear."
"Display on main screen.
Throne! There's no way that's an Imperial ship.
COMMS, signal a full-scale, base-wide alert. I want Landing Bay and Custody Suite in lockdown.
Direct all hands to brace for impact; activate interior defence-grid, and signal Master-at-Arms to prepare to repel boarders.
I shall notify Master Geirroth personally."
ANSUZ-ANSUZ-ANSUZ
---------------
Cellblock Thurisaz, Inquisitorial Watch-Fortress [Codename: 'Hanging Mountain'], Undisclosed Location
Berkano-Minus Two Minutes Thirty Seven Seconds
"You may call me .. "the figure paused a moment, as if in thought (damn hard to tell behind that bloody mask) "Kahrl."
It was the prisoner's turn to pause: "As in, 'a Man'?"
"Yes, that'll do."
"A fine pseudonym. Now who are you really, who knows of both me and my present place."
"It also means 'Time'. And "Death", if you prefer. Albeit with slightly different pronunciation and in a related language."
The prisoner stiffened. "Have you been reading my thoughts?"
"Not yet. We are just .. acquainted with what runs through the minds of men in your .. predicament"
------
Secure Comms Channel, Inquisitorial Watch-Fortress [Codename: 'Hanging Mountain'], Undisclosed Location
Berkano Minus Two Minutes, Twelve Seconds
"What do you mean 'my guest'?" the voice dripped a deep and restrained rage.
"His craft entered our exclusion zone a little over an hour ago. Long-range hound-defences failed to engage. We assumed technical malfunction; but when it came closer, our augurs stated it had been sent with the highest authority; and further, that its passenger was here on your hospitality."
"Why was I not informed?"
"With respect, Sir" - this voice had attained all the delicacy of one who is painfully aware that he's gone from 'treading on thin ice' to 'treading water' ; and with what had at first appeared to be an island on the horizon, now instead rather more overtly resembling an potentially approaching fin - "We received hand-prepared permits of entry and arrival bearing your personal seal and the requisite authorization codes. The visitor was even gene-logged ahead-of-time in our systems as an expected and anticipated personal guest. There was simply no way we could have kno-"
The choking silence which abruptly ensued, mid-word of mid-sentence, suggested that the Gravitas-bearing voice rather forcefully disagreed.
"Other than, of course, actually thinking to *directly ask* your Lord, to confirm? "
The choking silence, continued.
A sigh. "Look, I appreciate that the Schola Progenium does not necessarily positively select for intelligence nor critical thinking ... but you might, perhaps, have noticed over the previous eight spans we've been here, that while we *do* occasionally have "guests" over for "social calls" and such "conversation" as my "hospitality" doth regularly tend to induce ... they *never* turn up "under their own power". And *always* clad in irons."
A third voice - quavering, but clearly of similar rank to the now-silent second: "T-th-that's just the thing, Sir."
"What."
"He *was* in Iron!"
There was a crack of discarding tension; soon-swift replaced by mounting terror. This time, from the one who had at first seemed so derisively [self-]assured.
"SEAL THE LANDING BAY!"
---
Cellblock Thurisaz, Inquisitorial Watch-Fortress [Codename: 'Hanging Mountain'], Undisclosed Location
Berkano-Minus Fifty Four Seconds
"How could you find me? I thought that the-"
"Being chained between two Star-sized pyres is a neat trick, it is true. But I am a patron of prisoners. I keep one eye on That Which Is Hidden."
"Who are you?"
"I am thine Brothers' Keeper. And the Finder of Lost Children."
The Prisoner noticed a blue-frost luminous rune had appeared upon the device mounted on the Iron Mask's arm : blinking - pulsing - with increasing rapidity.
"Are you an Angel?"
"Only in a manner of speaking. And as much as I enjoy the riddle-game, our time here is now at an end.
You may perhaps think of me as a 'Valkjosandi'."
"...a 'Chooser of the Slain'?"
"Exactly. Now if you could just step about three meters to the right..."
"For what purpose?"
"Life."
"But I thought you said-"
"-Slain? Yes. This is where the part about 'Angels' comes in."
The Prisoner obliged.
Several seconds passed.
During which conspicuously nothing happened.
The Masked Man looked down slightly at the device mounted on his wrist; tapped it; "Ah."
Where The Prisoner had been standing less than a minute before promptly exploded with a howling prismatic light, wreathed with sound-that-was-not-sound - felt altogether somewhere else than the ears, and 'seen' by senses beyond his eyes .. but definitely resonating rather discomfortingly somewhere in the inner ear's vestibular system.
Somewhere off behind the meters-thick reinforced ferrocrete and otherwise-impenetrable plasteel blast-door that bounded the room, alarm klaxons began to sound.
After a moment, the weft-skein seemingly 'stabilized' into a portal; bone-ringed and with a shimmering iridescence where the aperature's contents made contact with external reality.
Within, a most curious shade of purple. And, it would seem, Destiny. Or at least, Death.
"Release", at any rate.
Fists began to pound with a frantic urgency upon the exterior door to the interrogation room - which shouldn't have been lockable, much less from the inside, the Prisoner noted.
"Step astride the Steed of Ygg"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Only in principle"; the Mask seemed to beam.
"Who are you, really?"
"Haptagud. Now get in the Portal."
Mere moments - which had passed like a lifetime for those on the outside of the door as they desperately attempted to gain entry - later, armed men bearing the insignia of the Master of this place burst in, their weapons firing with the precision of well-trained and well drilled men in a blind panic at the space where the rapidly-closing portal appeared almost to blink out of existence.
They were followed soon after by the hulking figure of Inquisitor Geirroth - the Master of this place, a Master no more. Presiding over only emptiness where once there had been a treasure. Left to marvel, and to curse in spite at the inevitability with which 'time' confounds us all.
Before it vanished completely, words from two disparate voices seemed to hang amidst the air:
"Where does this lead?"
"The War Eternal."
----
Epilogue:
Ordo Mazdayanos Oubliette-Class Containment Facility [Codename: Vara ]
"Are you an Angel?"
---
