Undead. Spirits. Evil incarnate. Just a few terms used to describe the growing Orthon menace. But the reality being that Ravan’s former army pose more an inconvenience than any actual threat. During my time in Shanty Town, I saw a disempowered people, slave to hoodlums and creatures from the Wastes. Mere shadows of their former selves. Most are unable to speak, save inarticulate grunts. Others lack the capacity to clothe themselves or see to their bodily functions, or even seek shelter when the weather turns foul.
The unenviable task of protecting the unfortunate falls to those that survived Ravan’s process with a modicum of their humanity intact. I spoke with former Doctor Blake and Doctor Herald (both officially deceased) at the ration centre. Both men had been grafted or fused into one singular mass and for easier referral preferred to be called, ‘Genesis’.
Evidently, these men of learning combined to beat the harrowing process of their rebirth. Genesis said, in the accepted sense of the term, the Orthon race no longer aged. Frank in its discussion, this gestalt entity showed no apparent hate for Ravan and his London Body Shops. Instead, it spoke of Minerva: newly announced as the goddess of death. The Orthons were upon her doorstep, or so it claimed, seeking a way back in. When, or if, that time would ever come wasn’t the issue. Forever, if that’s what it took. Regardless, Genesis would do her bidding and wait. Because waiting was all it had left. And when I glanced into the eyes of the former doctors and the endless darkness within their souls, I had a sense of what forever truly meant – and it chilled me to the bone.