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Speaker 1: [rock music]

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Speaker 1: Mortal

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Speaker 1: Steel. Prologue: Unmaking. Six

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Speaker 1: months ago.

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Speaker 1: Gabriel Kline waited for the people
on the other end of the video call to die.

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Speaker 1: Everyone still with him in the
conference room averted their eyes, but not
Gabriel.

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Speaker 1: Gabriel stared directly into the eyes
of a doomed man. Professor

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Speaker 1: Saitama did not turn away from the
camera as people piled furniture against the

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Speaker 1: doors in the video behind him.

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Speaker 2: We are releasing everything we worked
on. Please do not

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Speaker 2: judge us harshly for what you find.

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Speaker 1: "It is not my judgment you should
fear."

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Speaker 1: Something collided with the doors in
Saitama's conference room, causing their

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Speaker 1: makeshift furniture barricade to
shudder. People screamed and spoke hurriedly in

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Speaker 1: Japanese. Saitama's gaze did not
waver, though, and neither did Gabriel's.

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Speaker 1: He would not miss a moment of this
magnificent man's life.

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Speaker 2: Should I beg forgiveness then?

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Speaker 1: "It couldn't hurt, old friend."
Someone started sobbing next

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Speaker 1: to Gabriel, and he put his hand out
for them to hold. Marie gripped the hand

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Speaker 1: tightly, as if she could prevent the
Japanese team's fate simply by holding on tight

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Speaker 1: enough. Something hit the door again
hard enough to scatter the barricade. People

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Speaker 1: hurried to rebuild it, but it was
futile. A long, pale snout pushed

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Speaker 1: through the buckling barricade. More
people braced the door itself. An inhuman

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Speaker 1: hand with sagging pale skin and only
three fingers slid through the opening

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Speaker 1: crack. Still the Japanese team braced
the door with as many people as could fit

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Speaker 1: around it. The creature raked its
dagger claws across the women and men bracing
the

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Speaker 1: door until none could hold it any
longer. Tears streamed down Gabriel's

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Speaker 1: face, but still he watched as the
demons tore the door from its hinges and

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Speaker 1: ripped into the people on the video
feed. Nightmarish creatures with impossible

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Speaker 1: proportions, like tall dogs with
reverse joints, sagging skin, and

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Speaker 1: no hair. Professor Saitama stared
forward into the camera, chin held high,

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Speaker 1: awaiting his fate.

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Speaker 2: Arigato, Gabriel.

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Speaker 1: Mercifully, the other man cut the
video feed just as the massacre began. Gabriel

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Speaker 1: Kline stared at the black screen
where his friend's face had been just moments

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Speaker 1: before. A living, breathing,
wonderful man and his dedicated team of

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Speaker 1: selfless heroes, torn apart for the
crime of existing. Gabriel

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Speaker 1: placed a hand on the black screen and
bowed his head, letting the warm tears patter

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Speaker 1: down onto his robes. "Arigato,
Saitama."

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Speaker 1: Pastor Ethan Cutter was wheeled down
the hallway of the Advanced Clinic, the only

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Speaker 1: such building in Last Respite, one of
the three remaining human strongholds in the

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Speaker 1: old Los Angeles area. It differed
from the other clinics in Last Respite. Those
were

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Speaker 1: hot, cramped buildings packed with
people too sick to cure, too injured to heal.

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Speaker 1: If you went to a clinic, you usually
went there to die. The Advanced Clinic, in

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Speaker 1: stark contrast, was the pinnacle of
human achievement. It was the place you went to

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Speaker 1: become something greater. But like
the other clinics, it was a place you usually

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Speaker 1: went to die. Ethan told himself he
was prepared to die. He'd told everyone else

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Speaker 1: that at every step along the way. But
as they prepped him for surgery, he found that

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Speaker 1: he was actually terrified. Maybe it
wasn't too late to back out.

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Speaker 1: Dr. Marie Singer glanced at a rapidly
beeping machine. "Your heart rate's rising."

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Speaker 1: "What can I expect here, Doc?" She
smiled reassuringly and

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Speaker 1: held his hand as they wheeled his
gurney into the operating room. "Oh, this'll be

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Speaker 1: easier than any of your training
until now. This step is on us. We'll take good
care

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Speaker 1: of you." Just like they'd taken care
of the first three candidates before him,

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Speaker 1: the ones that had died on the
operating room floor. He wasn't supposed to know
about

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Speaker 1: that, but people talked. Dr. Singer
glanced at his vitals again and frowned.

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Speaker 1: "Ethan. Can I call you Ethan?" "Yes."
"Ethan, you

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Speaker 1: need to calm down." "I just need to
know what to expect." She pursed

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Speaker 1: her lips, clearly uncomfortable with
talking about the next step. Ethan knew in the

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Speaker 1: abstract what was happening, of
course. He'd signed up for it, after all. But he

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Speaker 1: needed to know. If he knew, he could
face it. All of which was

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Speaker 1: ridiculous, of course, because he'd
be unconscious for it. Somehow it still mattered

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Speaker 1: to him. The doors to the operating
room slammed closed with finality. There was the

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Speaker 1: sound of an air seal, and then all of
them were bathed in an antiseptic mist. Dr.

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Speaker 1: Singer waited until the mist stopped
to speak. We're going to make you into

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Speaker 1: something better. You will still be
you, just more.

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Speaker 1: In order to do that, first we have to
unmake you. There is no better

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Speaker 1: word for this. The first two-thirds
of the operation will be removing body parts and

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Speaker 1: keeping you stable. It's a delicate
balance between working fast enough to keep you

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Speaker 1: alive and working slow enough to not
make any errors. Ethan turned away from

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Speaker 1: the surgeon and stared straight up at
the ceiling. That was all he needed to hear. A

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Speaker 1: mission. He gave that mission a
singular focus. Hmm.

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Speaker 1: Heart rate's falling. She leaned over
him and placed an oxygen mask on his face. Dr.

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Speaker 1: Singer held his hand again and
squeezed tight. She dropped the reassuring
smile,

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Speaker 1: which must have been effective on
children, and gave him a serious, humorless gaze

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Speaker 1: instead, searching his face with
those intelligent dark brown eyes. Ethan

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Speaker 1: felt the anesthesia start to kick in.
Will you fight for me, Ethan?

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Speaker 1: For all of us? Yes. I will fight.

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Speaker 1: And then the world faded into
nothing, and his fight began.

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Speaker 1: Part one. The Messenger. Six months
later.

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Speaker 1: Pastor Ethan Cutter, ordained
minister and cyborg, waited

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Speaker 1: outside the Archbishop's office door,
his face four and two-quarter inches from

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Speaker 1: the wood. The wood was an old-world
hardwood with a synthetic lacquer. It had an

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Speaker 1: approximate breaching strength of
zero point four tons. Ethan shook his head to

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Speaker 1: clear the simulations for suggested
breaching points. Just a moment. Just a

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Speaker 1: moment. An elderly man in ornate red
robes opened the door and smiled up at

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Speaker 1: Ethan. Sorry for the wait. It's a
chore just to get up at my age. He

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Speaker 1: turned and walked back into his
office, leaving the door open for Ethan to
follow

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Speaker 1: him. I don't suppose you have that
problem, though, do you? Negative.

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Speaker 1: Ethan winced at his own words. No,
sir. Archbishop

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Speaker 1: Gabriel Klein collapsed into his
large office chair behind his desk and gave
Ethan a

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Speaker 1: look of undisguised exhaustion. Do
you even sleep?

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Speaker 1: Ethan moved into the room, ignoring
the fourteen yellow warning marks that flashed

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Speaker 1: around the room on his HUD, warning
him of potential dangers like hidden weapons or

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Speaker 1: secret entrances. Sometimes. Not like
I used to. The

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Speaker 1: Archbishop motioned for him to have a
seat. Ethan didn't know how to tell the man

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Speaker 1: that he didn't need to, that his
titanium joints experienced no strain from

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Speaker 1: standing, that even if he did feel
discomfort, he could simply turn it off.

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Speaker 1: Please, sit. Yes, sir. Ethan sat down
without even considering

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Speaker 1: it. That unnerved him. Had he chosen
to sit? More

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Speaker 1: importantly, could he have chosen not
to?

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Speaker 1: Yes, he could still choose. The
Archbishop folded his hands and watched

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Speaker 1: him carefully. His skin showed early
signs of melanoma, most of it benign, but the

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Speaker 1: spot on his neck was ninety-four
percent likely to be malignant and growing. The

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Speaker 1: outlook, considering his age and
other cursory data, was not good. You have skin

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Speaker 1: cancer. The Archbishop's eyebrows
went up. Then he spun in his office chair and

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Speaker 1: looked out the window behind him. It
wasn't a real window. Windows were defensive

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Speaker 1: weak points. It was a real-time video
feed of the view from the other side of the

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Speaker 1: four-foot concrete and steel wall,
and that served the purpose for his thoughtful

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Speaker 1: stare. I'll consider myself lucky to
die of skin cancer.

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Speaker 1: The electronic part of Ethan's mind
didn't really know what to do with statements

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Speaker 1: like that. It started searching for
old movie and TV quotes and feeding him

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Speaker 1: ideas. It liked those one-liners for
some reason. He shoved the unwanted information

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Speaker 1: away. He did that a lot lately. This
was something he could handle himself.

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Speaker 1: What's wrong? Archbishop Klein looked
over his shoulder and gave him a weak smile.

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Speaker 1: We're living on borrowed time,
Cutter. All of us. When the strongholds in

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Speaker 1: Mexico finally fall, they'll circle
back north to clean us up. And that's all it

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Speaker 1: will be. Cleanup. Ethan let the words
hang dramatically

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Speaker 1: between them for just a moment. There
was more here. Klein wasn't the type to

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Speaker 1: lay down and die. Unless... Unless we
do something

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Speaker 1: drastic. Archbishop Klein turned all
the way around and met Ethan's eyes.

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Speaker 1: He started to speak, but hesitated.
I'm not ready to reveal the full extent

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Speaker 1: of that plan. I would probably be
killed if I did. Not even to me?

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Speaker 1: Klein let out a short,

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Speaker 1: Especially to you. Four months ago,
Pastor Ethan Cutter had awoken from his coma

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Speaker 1: just hours before they started
disassembling him. They'd given up on his
recovery

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Speaker 1: and were repurposing the parts for
the next candidate. Despite his miraculous

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Speaker 1: recovery and the ultimate success of
the Hail Mary project, they had not warmed much

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Speaker 1: toward him since then. In truth, the
leadership of the advanced clinic had

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Speaker 1: considered dismantling him four
separate times. He wasn't supposed to know that,

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Speaker 1: but keeping his second mind from
rifling through unprotected data was like
keeping a

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Speaker 1: hungry dog from its food. "But you
don't need to know my entire

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Speaker 1: plan to do your part in it."
Archbishop Klein absentmindedly touched the spot
on his

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Speaker 1: neck, then abruptly stood and
straightened his robe, straightened his back,

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Speaker 1: lifted his chin, and narrowed his
eyes. "I'm letting you out of your

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Speaker 1: cage, Ethan. Are you ready to kill
some goddamn

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Speaker 1: demons?" Both halves of Pastor Ethan
Cutter's mind were in complete

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Speaker 1: alignment on his answer. For the
first time since he woke, all of him

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Speaker 1: wanted the same thing. "Yes, sir."
"Good.

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Speaker 1: Now go." The archbishop nodded once
and waved in dismissal. Ethan spun his right

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Speaker 1: hand like a drill bit, then clenched
the fist and stepped into the hallway. He

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Speaker 1: looked back over his shoulder at the
archbishop. "I'll give 'em heaven."

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Speaker 1: The conference room was standing room
only today. Gabriel didn't often leave

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Speaker 1: his post at the advanced clinic. They
had teleconferencing, after all. But this

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Speaker 1: emergency meeting necessitated the
leaders of the Last Respite Holy Military Base

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Speaker 1: meet in person. Somehow, the practice
of meetings had survived the

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Speaker 1: apocalypse. Figures. Meetings, like
cockroaches, could never

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Speaker 1: truly die.

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Speaker 1: Archbishop Lucius, Chair of Public
Communications, was standing and

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Speaker 1: screaming, like usual. He pointed an
accusing finger at the seated Gabriel.

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Speaker 1: "You let it out?" "He has access to
only thirty

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Speaker 1: percent of the designed weapon
systems." "It's an abomination.

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Speaker 1: Who knows what the Japanese hid in
that tech?" Gabriel ignored both lines

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Speaker 1: of argument. This wasn't about public
safety or blasphemy or

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Speaker 1: espionage. What would the now
deceased Japanese research team hide anyway?

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Speaker 1: Professor Saitama had been honorable
and faithful to their shared cause until the

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Speaker 1: very end. Gabriel felt that it was
sometimes better to let a friend stab

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Speaker 1: you in the back, to fully trust some
people and simply hope for

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Speaker 1: the best rather than live in
paranoia. Lucius was not one of those

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Speaker 1: people. "He hasn't hurt anyone."
"Yet.

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Speaker 1: What about that incident at the
firing range?" Gabriel ground his teeth.

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Speaker 1: "If the bar for technology is
perfection, we will never

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Speaker 1: make another advance. Perhaps we
should fight the demons with

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Speaker 1: reliable sharpened sticks, Lucius."
"Don't mock me."

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Speaker 1: "Gentlemen, please." Bishop Erica
Long,

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Speaker 1: ever the mediator, raised her hands
between them. The rest of the room was

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Speaker 1: remarkably quiet. The other factions
in the church seemed content to let these two

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Speaker 1: duke it out. Erica leveled a serious
gaze at Gabriel. "You

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Speaker 1: released an experimental and
dangerous prototype into an

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Speaker 1: encampment of civilians. We at least
deserve an explanation."

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Speaker 1: Gabriel ignored the self-satisfied
look on Lucius' face. He took a deep

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Speaker 1: breath. How to convincingly reveal
just the tip of the plan.

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Speaker 1: "There is a possessed in the
outskirts known as Stalker, a

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Speaker 1: former priest." A wave of
uncomfortable muttering went through the
assembly.

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Speaker 1: This was a sore topic. The rebel
priest had been well-liked until he'd

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Speaker 1: taken a demon into his heart and set
himself up as a leader in the outskirts

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Speaker 1: surrounding Last Respite. Old Los
Angeles had been a populous place thirty years

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Speaker 1: ago. Not everyone could fit inside
this fortification. Not even close.

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Speaker 1: "I've sent Pastor Cutter to find him,
and if he can,

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Speaker 1: kill him." "What?" Lucius slammed his
hands on the table, and

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Speaker 1: the room fell into disorder as people
fought to speak. Bishop Erica was unable to

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Speaker 1: bring order to the room. Gabriel
ignored the lobbed insults and waited, seated

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Speaker 1: patiently in his chair until the room
calmed enough to speak again. "The

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Speaker 1: Stalker has a psychic link back to
the southern demonic horde. He's feeding

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Speaker 1: information to them. If we intend to
survive the year, we need to sever that line of

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Speaker 1: communication." Lucius' face was a
deep red. He was about to start

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Speaker 1: another tirade when Erica spoke
first. "You should have spoken to us first,

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Speaker 1: Gabriel." Gabriel tried his best to
look apologetic. If he had

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Speaker 1: spoken to them first, it would have
taken a week to drag every leader into the same

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Speaker 1: room, assuming that they would even
approve his mission. He'd accomplished the same

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Speaker 1: outcome here, and much quicker, if a
little more heated.

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Speaker 1: But I agree with the strategy. You
can't be serious, Erica.

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Speaker 1: It's worth the attempt, Lucius.
Besides, if he fails, the Hail Mary

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Speaker 1: prototype will be destroyed in the
process. Lucius seemed mollified by that.

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Speaker 1: He was a hothead, but not an idiot.
Either way, he would gain something. He wanted

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Speaker 1: to see the cyborg project killed.
Bishop Erica Long turned to Gabriel again, and
she

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Speaker 1: raised her voice as if to speak for
the entire room. Let's see what your

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Speaker 1: pet project can do. It walks a
dangerous line with blasphemy, though.

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Speaker 1: But it's either this or we ask New
Hope or Crucifer for help.

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Speaker 1: Lucius' face darkened at the mention
of the rival denominations, only a

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Speaker 1: shade lighter than the demons
themselves in his eyes. And just like that, he
was

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Speaker 1: sold on the plan. Do you have the
detonator, Gabriel?

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Speaker 1: Gabriel nodded once. Give it to me.
He hesitated, but

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Speaker 1: knew he'd lose this one. He'd already
used up all his political capital on this

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Speaker 1: earlier stunt. So he fished the
detonator remote out of his pants pocket from

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Speaker 1: beneath his robes and put it in
Bishop Erica's outstretched hand. If he goes

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Speaker 1: rogue or doesn't report in or lays a
single hand on an innocent,

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Speaker 1: I will slag him. Unfortunately, she
had the power to do that.

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Speaker 1: They could monitor everything he saw
and did through his eyes, unbeknownst

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Speaker 1: to him. Gabriel would just have to
hope that the cyborg didn't have another

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Speaker 1: accident. He looked around the room.
Every one of his peers had

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Speaker 1: the same look of resolve on their
faces. This was the outcome they all

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Speaker 1: expected.

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Speaker 1: I understand.

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00:20:48.932 --> 00:20:54.032
Speaker 1: Pastor Cutter stood in the armory
amidst the hum of activity. For reasons he
didn't

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Speaker 1: understand, he was given only thirty
minutes to prepare for this mission. Given its

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Speaker 1: apparent importance, that didn't make
much sense. But he found it physically

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Speaker 1: difficult to question orders. So he
waited patiently as women prodded and adjusted

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Speaker 1: the thousands of parts that made up
his new body. They were all women, wearing

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Speaker 1: identical black and white robes with
simple headdresses. Nuns.

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Speaker 1: Half a dozen hands pulled on him,
filling internal containers with unidentified

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Speaker 1: liquids, running last-minute
diagnostics. Meanwhile, the

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Speaker 1: table in front of him was being
covered with a selection of external equipment.

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Speaker 1: There was no way he could carry it
all, so he was already making a mental inventory

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Speaker 1: of the pieces he knew he wanted.
Without asking, that inventory was being tracked
in

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Speaker 1: a list on his HUD. Even after four
months living with the second mind bolted on,

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Speaker 1: its capabilities, however mundane,
still surprised him. It seemed like the

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Speaker 1: Japanese had thought of everything.
Ethan picked up the first item on the list,

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Speaker 1: marked high priority. It was a
comically large handgun, jet

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Speaker 1: black with silver ornamentation.
Silver crosses marked the sides of the gun's
grip

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Speaker 1: with another thin silver cross on the
top for iron sights. He turned it around in

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Speaker 1: his right hand. The weight felt
right. Just six months ago, he'd have

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Speaker 1: to fire this weapon from a seated
position just to stay upright from the recoil.
The

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Speaker 1: nun still laying equipment on the
table paused when she saw him pick up the gun.
You

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Speaker 1: like that? That's my personal
handiwork. It fires custom silver lead

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Speaker 1: ammunition. You could take down a
T-Rex with that. Does it have a name? A

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Speaker 1: name? It's just a gun. Ethan narrowed
his eyes. Not in

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Speaker 1: my hands.

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00:23:02.452 --> 00:23:07.852
Speaker 1: All right. What's its name then?
Ethan responded without hesitation.

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Speaker 1: The Messenger. Even though it was his
first time holding the weapon, he

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Speaker 1: placed it in his hip holster with
practiced precision. The gun was so long it

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Speaker 1: spanned from his hip almost down to
his knee. What's your name?

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Speaker 1: Sister Fran. Nice to meet you, Sister
Fran. Oh, we've met before,

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Speaker 1: number four. We have? Of course. You
were asleep,

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Speaker 1: but we've been there since the
beginning. Who do you think keeps you running?
It's

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Speaker 1: us.

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Speaker 1: Ethan looked around at the nuns
working around him. People staring at computer

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Speaker 1: screens with cables running directly
into his body. People muttering to each other

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Speaker 1: in hushed, serious conversations as
they pointed at numbers on a larger screen above

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Speaker 1: him. He recognized one of the nuns.
The surgeon, Marie. The last person

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Speaker 1: he saw before the anesthesia kicked
in. He turned his focus back to Sister Fran.

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Speaker 1: Thank you "You're welcome. Try not to
get too beat up. Every bullet hole is

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00:24:18.996 --> 00:24:24.656
Speaker 1: more work for us. Now hold still."
She smiled gently and lifted his left

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Speaker 1: arm. A valve opened in his wrist and
Sister Fran began carefully pouring liquid into

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Speaker 1: the hole, her face a mask of focus.
Perhaps this was holy water.

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Speaker 1: It would be good to have some on hand
in case he actually found the possessed man

257
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Speaker 1: today. It was a solid defense against
psychic intrusion and could ward off lesser

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Speaker 1: demonic creatures. "Is this the holy
water?" "Hmm? Water?"

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Speaker 1: "Yes. Did you bless the water?" Fran
looked around at her

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Speaker 1: co-workers as if there were some
mistake. "Sir, we blessed the

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Speaker 1: napalm." A wide grin spread across
Ethan's face.

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Speaker 1: "I like you, Fran." A red light
flashed above Ethan and the

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Speaker 1: nuns hurried over to him to start
unplugging cables and sealing valves. Once they

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Speaker 1: were done, he looked like a regular
human being again. Almost. "We're out of

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Speaker 1: time. You need to move." Ethan
nodded. Two nuns started pushing open

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Speaker 1: the heavy steel door, leaning on the
door with all their weight as they walked. The

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Speaker 1: other dozen or so nuns stood in a
loose group around him, parting just enough so
he

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00:25:42.496 --> 00:25:47.876
Speaker 1: could leave. They stopped looking at
monitors, stopped adjusting machines.

269
00:25:48.436 --> 00:25:53.476
Speaker 1: They had dark circles under their
eyes. Each of them was covered in grease and

270
00:25:53.716 --> 00:25:59.416
Speaker 1: sweating through their heavy robes.
And yet, they were all smiling. He might

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00:25:59.556 --> 00:26:04.496
Speaker 1: never know the debt he owed these
people. He didn't even know most of their names.

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00:26:05.376 --> 00:26:11.236
Speaker 1: Sister Fran gave him a thumbs up.
"God go with you." Then she rushed over to the

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00:26:11.316 --> 00:26:16.736
Speaker 1: table, still loaded with equipment he
couldn't reasonably carry, and handed him a

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Speaker 1: pair of grenades. "But, just in case,
take these too." Ethan

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00:26:22.736 --> 00:26:28.536
Speaker 1: gave the group a sharp nod of thanks,
then started toward the doorway, bright with

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00:26:28.656 --> 00:26:34.116
Speaker 1: light from the outside world. The
forty-foot concrete walls surrounding Last

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00:26:34.196 --> 00:26:40.096
Speaker 1: Respite came slowly into view as he
walked out of the advanced clinic. What was left

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00:26:40.156 --> 00:26:45.856
Speaker 1: of humanity withered and died outside
those walls. The outskirts were a

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Speaker 1: lawless hellscape where the strong
made the rules and the weak got trampled.

280
00:26:52.556 --> 00:26:58.516
Speaker 1: The apocalypse had come and gone
here. This was just the fight to determine

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00:26:58.596 --> 00:27:04.176
Speaker 1: who would rule over the rubble.
Today, he was finally going to get a say in
whether

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00:27:04.236 --> 00:27:09.936
Speaker 1: that would be good, compassionate
people, or literal demons. Truthfully,

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00:27:10.336 --> 00:27:15.356
Speaker 1: he didn't know whether he was an
instrument of God's will or not, but he was an

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00:27:15.416 --> 00:27:20.776
Speaker 1: instrument of retribution. A lot of
prayers had gone unanswered in the last thirty

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Speaker 1: years. Most of them he couldn't do
anything about. But for those few who

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00:27:26.756 --> 00:27:32.436
Speaker 1: prayed for retribution, well, they
were about to get their

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00:27:32.596 --> 00:27:34.256
Speaker 1: prayers answered.