The Scout That Doesn't Bark

It had only been a few minutes since the GentlePug dashed away to retrieve his Brass mask; now he was returning with it in his grasp, panting as if he had just run a marathon. There was also a deep look of worry on his face... if that even counted for Pugs.

'No, I'm sure it does.'

Ilyas watched as the GentlePug staggered to the ground while handing him the mask with a shaky paw. He didn't say a word, and that was mainly because he couldn't. The poor, adorable thing was on all fours, catching his breath.

Ilyas did not put the mask on immediately; he instead inspected it with a puzzled expression on his face. 

'Didn't it get battered that night? Why is it... Huh.'

Having noticed his reluctance, the GentlePug stood back up and, following a deep breath, asked, "Good sir, aren't you going to..." He took a few rapid breaths, then continued, " ... wear that mask of yours?"

But the GentlePug also tilted his head at the mask in confusion. He knelt over, almost head to head, with Ilyas and frowned at the morbid thing as it rested in Ilyas's weak grasp. "Oh, forgive my encroachment, but I could've sworn it had a few more fractures. Strange. Maybe I was a bit dazed that night-"

"-No, no." Ilyas interrupted. "You're right. It did. I remember the brass splintered and cut into my temple."

They both continued staring at the mask in bewilderment for a few silent seconds before the GentlePug retreated, cleared his throat and said in a poorly concealed, unsettled tone, "Well, heh heh, a strange thing for a strange man. Although I must say, good sir, your face is much more flattering than that ghastly thing. Something about it feels like... the way it stares into my eyes makes me feel like it's mourning my death before-"

"-Killing you." Ilyas finished. He then looked back at the GentlePug with a hesitant smile and said, "Yeah, I thought so too. I gotta say, GentlePug sir, I'm not a fan of it either. This thing is quite uh... You know what I mean! It's unpleasant!" 

The GentlePug looked quite comforted by their shared sense of dread. "I'm just glad I saw your face first. Once you put that thing back on, I'll have a pleasant image as a reminder." He chuckled then retreated somewhere behind the tree with determined strides as if remembering something.

Ilyas stared at the mask until a strange, disturbing thought crawled into his mind. It felt as if the Brass mask was more guilty of the murder he committed than he was. It looked at him as if it had just completed another necessary task and, indifferently, yet regretfully, moved on. He reluctantly tried to imagine the fight from Benjamin's perspective, and how it must have seemed to have this 'face' stare at him as two fists bashed his skull with bloody menace.

Was he afraid? 

Was the growling and seething a way to channel his fear?

Or did he not fear much since he had already seen his true face? It could always be, as the GentlePug said, 'I'm just glad I saw your face first'. 

'It doesn't change the truth.'

Ilyas looked up and sighed. 

'I am a murderer. I killed that man, not the mask, not the anger; it was me. With my own two hands.'

Because it was true, his memory was becoming increasingly vivid now, and it was ever clearer how his actions were a reaction to actual incidents that had transpired, not erratic spurts incited by the Brass thing.

Benjamin's strikes angered him.

His audacity charged him.

His selfish, disgusting, and wrathful eyes beckoned his fists like moths to a flame. He felt his indignation surge back then, viscous and hot.

So no, it was not the mask, but the mask nonetheless honoured his kill as if it were its own. In a way as to say, 'We only did what was necessary. The poor soul died, but it had to. Now, which poor soul is next?'

The mask was right, but his illogical heart and soul rejected it.

'I am a murderer'

'I am a murderer.'

'I am a murderer.'

To kill someone... Ah, what a horrible thing. The guilt, horror and disgust would not leave him any time soon.

He had to deal with them later, because for now, the cold, necessary, yet comforting embrace of the brass was calling to him.

He pressed it to his face, and it immediately hugged him, missing him, attempting to reach the far reaches of his head.

It didn't feel foreign; in fact, it felt part of him. It felt familiar and right. 

Just as the GentlePug returned from behind the tree, the sound of mechanical cold breathing came from Ilyas's once-human face. His hair fell on some parts of his face, a reminder of his humanity. The thin tubes coiled around him like pet snakes yearning to be ever closer.

"Oh dear, just as I remember," The GentlePug said regretfully. He set the bag of tomatoes between them and sat down opposite Ilyas. 

Retrieving a tomato, the GentlePug began, "You know, good sir, I was going to reprimand you for your use of the term 'GentlePug'."

Ilyas cocked his head at his companion in horror as he traced back their conversation, then suddenly bowed his head again in shame and extreme embarrassment, "I sincerely apologise for my lack of manners! Please don't discount my merits-" Ilyas paused for a moment, then said, "Please don't judge me too harshly, I am not the best with words!"

The GentlePug watched him curiously, then chuckled and said, "Let me finish, you silly man. GentlePug, huh? I don't hate it as much as I thought I would. I think that I will allow you to call me that if you please. But only you! Why, you may ask? Well, that's because it's truly a thing that only a strange man like you could say. Something to identify you with." The GentlePug bit into a tomato, made a delighted noise, then said, "And also because of these phenomenal delicacies you have in your procession. Such fine flavour and texture! Never have I seen anything like this. Although I do apologise for encroaching on your possessions, it was a necessary precaution to save your life."

Ilyas raised his head and remained thoughtfully still and silent, watching the GentlePug. He had a question he desperately wanted to ask. A question of how he would view his rescuer from now on. He took a deep breath and asked:

"GentlePug, sir, if I may at least have a question... If I were to have lost, would you have saved that bastar- I mean, my adversary?"

The GentlePug slowed his chewing, swallowed, then looked at Ilyas solemnly. 

"No," he asserted bluntly. "Absolutely not."

The GentlePug swallowed the rest of the tomato, then added with a hint of sorrow in his eyes, "I understand how you must feel right now, good sir, and you have the right to feel that way. You don't trust me, and you shouldn't trust me yet, given your circumstances. However, I did not perform a good deed for your trust; I simply wanted to. It is my choice. I am a scout of the Marianne City Retreat, so I was scouting the area our forces and refugees could take to avoid those - forgive my language - damn Salivites. I saw a fire, so of course, I made my way to it. What I saw, however, were not Salivitians, but ordinary-looking men discussing in alien attire. I didn't hear it all, good sir, but I did catch a few important things. I heard what that man intended to do, and I heard your reprimandings."

The GentlePug paused as if pressed by the weight of his reminiscence. He looked touched and saddened by what he remembered, then continued, "You were not treated fairly, I must say. Losing the trust of those you care about is a tricky thing- No! An abhorrent thing! So I am quite glad that you delivered to that man his 'consequences'. I buried his body somewhere to divert the Salivitians from our trail if they catch its scent. I'd assume that allowed us these few days, but I don't think we have much more."

Ilyas wasn't shocked by what he had heard; he was only deeply touched. He felt seen and...

No.

Not yet.

He wasn't about to let heartfelt words and kindly gestures dictate his trust and closeness to others. Granted, this GentlePug did save his life and risked a few days out in the open for him, but Ilyas was too freshly scarred to let himself be vulnerable again.

He was going to wade with caution.

People were tricky. People were enigmatic. People were scary.

Ilyas nodded. "I'm sorry for that, GentlePug, but I'm quite happy that you understand. I know I said one question earlier, but may I ask another?"

The GentlePug nodded.

Ilyas sighed then said, "Salivites? Marianne City? What do you mean?"

The GentlePug laughed as if he had just heard a joke, but then, sensing the masked man staring at him with confusion and curiosity, he slowly turned serious and said, "You... You seriously don't know, good sir?"

Ilyas shook his head.

The GentlePug tilted his head. "Did you... Oh, I see, the wound on your head must have done more harm than it showed. They are tricky, aren't they? Well, let me remind you then." The GentlePug made himself comfortable, then began:

"Well, you see, good sir, the Salivites are a rising power that mutated to develop a human-based metabolic dependency. They weren't so powerful before, but with their increased trade with the Sycrusian empire, receiving slaves in exchange for resources, their might became quite frightening. There aren't many Congruents around here, so they weren't met with much resistance. Now, everyone who wasn't engulfed by their barbarity is making their way to the northern shore where the last city still stands, Marianne City. Hopefully, in a month or two, the Mathesonians arrive, then all is well."

Ilyas was always exceptional with his diligence. Fighting on the front lines as a Breakfast Warrior or going above and beyond in performing Tasks. Still, he was not blessed with the will to indulge in a Task that involved surviving an escape from cannibals.

'And did he say 'mutated'?'

Just where the hell was their Vault located so that he had to exit into this place?

'What... What about the Big Places?'