PROCLAIMER
EPISODE 03 | SCENE 01
19 YEARS EARLIER • YEAR 328
The two young men freeze, staring down the barrel aimed at them. Renegade studies them from the floor—both less than half his age, maybe not even twenty. They’re gaunt, malnourished, their clothes threadbare, their hair unwashed. A sour odor hangs around them.
“Hands!” Renegade barks.
They raise them instantly. Keeping his gun trained on them, he pushes himself to his feet, brushing the dust from his knees with his free hand. He expects fear—terror even—but one of them meets his gaze, bold.
“Who are you?” the young man says, his voice carrying only a slight quiver.
“I think we’re supposed to remain quiet,” the taller one mutters, glancing sideways.
“Identification” the first says, louder now, his voice cracking.
Renegade’s gun clicks, safety off. The sound snaps through the silence. Both swallow, trembling.
“How about I shoot both of you straight through your tiny skulls?” he growls.
Their knees quake, hands twitching in the air.
The taller one speaks, voice brittle. “How’d you find this place?”
Renegade bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. After a moment, he slips a hand into his pocket and opens his palm. The coin gleams faintly. Both young men gape.
“Where’d you get that?” the shorter one forces out.
Renegade lowers the gun, though the safety stays off. “Let’s do a trade,” he says evenly. “You tell me the origin of this coin, and I’ll tell you how I got it. Fair?”
They exchange wary looks, each waiting for the other to speak.
Renegade holsters his weapon. “See? A friendly exchange.”
“It’s been here for generations,” the taller one finally says.
Renegade waits for more, but silence stretches between them. “I just happened to find the coin one day.”
The shorter man frowns, not liking the answer. “It’s not just a coin. It’s an ancient document, smuggled into Penumbra since the first century. The knowledge it carries is dangerous—still dangerous. The original makers hid it as currency to keep it from discovery. But once physical money went extinct within the first fifty years, the disguise lost its use.”
Renegade narrows his eyes. “What makes it dangerous?”
The taller one starts to answer—“You said—”
But the shorter man elbows him hard, silencing him “The Verum has been preserved with great caution,” he goes on. “Every attempt to reveal its teachings has led to persecution and near extinction. Secrecy has become a painful necessity.”
“Why would a coin—a mere document—provoke such hostility?”
“Information is powerful,” the short man replies.
Renegade smirks. “Looks to me like the persecution’s well earned. You’re spreading grand counterclaims, challenging everything this city’s built on. Who could fault anyone for stamping out a conspiracy that seeks to upend Penumbra itself?”
“It’s not a cons-spiracy,” the tall one stammers. “I-it’s the truth.”
Renegade scoffs. “All I see in front of me is madness.”
“That’s called obedience,” the other man forces out. “Something you wouldn’t know. There is nothing in Penumbra that can stop the Verum. Not even the Anima Project. It will fall and be swept away like every empire that tried to usurp Yahweh. But the Verum will endure.”
The tall one flinches as Renegade’s gun jerks up, the muzzle aimed squarely at them. Even the short one shudders.
The tall one trembles, eyes shut tight. The shorter man whispers, “I-it would be an honor to die like our Savior.”
Renegade’s finger settles on the trigger. His breath deepens.
“Oh, God!” the taller one cries, eyes lifted upward. “If You want us with You, how can we protest? I only ask that You forgive this man. Show him mercy as You’ve shown us. We have all shed innocent blood!”
Something in Renegade falters. The fury drains from his face, replaced by a sudden, quiet fear. Every word grips him. He lowers the gun, though his gaze stays fixed.
The tall one still refuses to open his eyes, but the shorter man watches as Renegade backs down.
Renegade nods toward the other room. “That monitor. Where’s it recording?”
The man hesitates, chest heaving.
“Take me there.”
“W-we can’t,” he stammers. “If we let you in, we put everyone at risk.”
Renegade slides the gun aside again. “Miles gave me this coin.”
The tall one’s eyes snap open.
“Where is he?” the shorter man asks, voice trembling.
Renegade takes a long breath. “He couldn’t make it. So he sent me. I’m his partner—Renegade.”
At the name, both men recoil, breath catching.
“Why couldn’t he come?” asks one of them.
“He’s sick. Really sick. He can’t even get out of bed. He didn’t know if he’d make it, so he called me over and gave me this coin. He told me I needed to come here, but he said little else.”
The tall one glances at his companion, who eyes Renegade with weary suspicion, gaze dragging up and down his frame. “No weapons,” he mutters.
Renegade’s hand hovers near his holster. He considers, then unclips the gun and passes it over.
“Anything else?” the short one presses.
“No.”
A quick nod, and the taller man steps forward to search him. His touch is timid, almost twitching. Renegade feels a flush of humiliation crawl up his neck as the boy pats him down, thorough but clumsy.
The young man steps back and shakes his head. “He’s clean.”
The short man clears his throat. “Follow us.”
The three descend inside a narrow, rust-bitten shaft that moans all the way down. No one speaks. The tall one keeps his eyes fixed ahead, avoiding Renegade entirely.
At the bottom, the metal lattice slides open with a groan. Faint murmurs drift through the rough, echoing corridor. Everything is raw—unfinished walls, jagged seams of cement, no polish, no color. Only a dim, tawny light emits from somewhere beyond the bend.
“This way,” the short one says, turning sharply.
A honeyed glow spills out from a hemmed in mess hall ahead. Children are the first to spot Renegade. They keep playing, but their laughters taper off into whispers. Then the adults turn, one by one. Conversations die. The whirr of life collapses into silence. Even the babies quiet.
Renegade stops, staring back at the roomful of eyes fixed on him.
“Over here,” the short man breathes, rapping lightly on a door tucked to the side.
Renegade turns toward it, feeling the crowd’s stares burning through the corners of his vision. He waits, motionless.
A minute drags by. Then the hatch slides open, and shadowed hands from within seize the two young men, yanking them inside. Renegade hesitates, then steps forward, crossing the threshold of the control room.
The door slams behind him, locking shut with a series of hard brassy clicks. Instantly, seven guns snap up, aimed dead at his chest. Renegade raises both hands slowly.
“What in the world are you thinking?!” a man with a silver flattop barks, voice cutting through the tense air.
Renegade starts to speak, but the short one interjects. “It’s Renegade, sir.”
“I don’t care who he says he is!” the older man snaps. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“We disarmed him,” the tall one splutters, barely keeping his voice steady.
“The Elders don’t need guns, you fools! You’ve just exposed us all!”
“He was already inside the bunker, sir,” the short one pleads.
The man’s fury spikes. “I told you never—absolutely never—to bring anyone in without verification!”
Neither of the young men answers. The room falls into a thick, punishing silence.
The older man fixes his glare on Renegade. “For all we know, he could be an anima.”
“I’m human,” Renegade says flatly. “Shoot me. You’ll see.”
“Don’t test me,” the man warns, voice cold and steady, his finger grazing the trigger. “I’ve no problem putting a bullet through wires.”
Without breaking eye contact, he addresses the others. “Send us into Code Blue. If he’s a spy, hit the evacuation switch without hesitation. If the Elders are truly behind this, we’re probably too late.” Then, quieter, almost under his breath: “Help us, Yehshua.”
One of the men lowers his weapon and slams a blue button on the console. Alarms blare from beyond the sealed door.
Renegade doesn’t feel full, but he doesn’t ask for seconds. He knows there are no seconds to give. He leans back in his chair and listens to the room.
Children start to drift up from their tables. A five-year-old boy runs to Mara and plants his hands on her lap.
“Can I go play now, Mama?” he asks.
“Show me your plate,” she says.
He sprints back to his table, grabs his metal plate, and holds it up for inspection.
“Finish your carrot,” she tells him.
He frowns, then eats the rest without arguing.
“Wash your plate first,” she says. “Then you can play.”
He nods. As he turns to run, she calls him back. “Give your mama a hug. She hasn’t gotten one yet today.”
The boy sets the plate down. Mara lifts him onto her lap and rocks him there. Renegade watches her tickle him until he laughs. They press foreheads and grin at each other.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“Love you, Mama,” he says.
She kisses him a few times, sets him down, and he takes off.
“So,” Puck says from across the table, “what are you thinking?”
Renegade looks over. He notices the adults quieting, listening in. “About what?”
“You look lost in thought.”
Renegade swallows. “I just… I think it’s time for me to go back.”
Puck checks his watch. “You know, I think you’re right.” He looks to Mara. “Hold down the fort?”
“Always,” she says, smiling, waiting for a kiss.
Puck gives it to her without ceremony, like it is part of the routine.
Then he turns to Renegade. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
They stand. People around the table offer final greetings as Renegade follows Puck out of the mess hall.
“We aren’t going up the shaft?” Renegade asks when they pass the turn.
“The storefront is too exposed, especially at this time of day,” Puck says. “Miles always used this route. It’s safer.”
They take another corner, descend a flight of stairs, and stop at what looks like a blank wall. Puck pulls out his coin and sets it into a small notch. The wall releases with a quiet shift, opening onto a vaulted door.
“Sorry about Laurie, by the way,” Puck says. “Before VITA, she lived in the city and got pregnant. Then she received notice that her baby was selected.”
“Selected for what?” Renegade asks.
“They never told her exactly. But it had to do with the Anima Project.” Puck’s voice tightens. “Miles didn’t have the heart to tell her that her baby was probably used in experimentation. But she pieced it together on her own.”
Renegade doesn’t answer.
“Well,” Puck says, “here we are.”
He slides his coin into a slot in the door. The lock clicks, and the door swings open. Beyond it is pitch-black and echoing.
“Underground tunnels,” Puck says. “Did you know about them?”
Renegade shakes his head.
“I guess those in power don’t know everything.” Puck steps aside. “This is how Miles came undetected. The network runs under Anima Corp.” He pulls out a paper map and unfolds it. “Here. Follow the red line. That will get you back. Destroy this once you make it out. And keep the coin with you when you return. That’s your key.”
Puck waits until Renegade meets his eyes. “We look forward to seeing you again.” He offers his hand.
Renegade studies it for a beat, then takes it. The grip is firm.
“One more thing,” Puck adds. “I don’t mean to be brash, but I need to be clear. I risked everyone’s lives by letting you in. I chose to trust you, and you told me I could. So I expect that trust to hold.”
Puck doesn’t let go.
“Otherwise, me—and all those men, women, and children—we’re done. We’re helpless. We’re at your mercy.” His eyes don’t blink. “Please don’t let us down. Our lives are in your hands.”
Renegade feels Puck’s grip tighten.
“I promise… I promise I’ll be back.”
“Promise me we’re safe.”
“Of course. You’re safe. Yes.”
The grip tightens again. “Thank you.”
Renegade nods. They let go.
“I do hope we get to see you again,” Puck says.
They trade one last look as Puck starts to swing the vault door shut.
“Wait!” Renegade calls out.
The door opens wide again.
They stare at each other.
“What about Auggie?”
“What about your son?” Puck asks, and he catches the worry in Renegade’s eyes.
“He’s… going to be resurrected one day, right? Like Yeshua?” Renegade holds his breath.
“Well… he will be resurrected one day. Yes. That’s true.”
“Is that the hope you were trying to give me? Because that’s what I’m hoping for.”
Puck opens his mouth, but nothing comes.
“I just need to know,” Renegade says, pleading now. “I just need to know he’s okay.”
Puck’s silence lands heavy. It steals a beat from his chest.
“Renegade—Auggie…” Puck swallows. “VITA exists to spread the verum. We’re here to share Yeshua and the hope of eternal life that he brings. That’s why we’re on mission. That’s why we haven’t left Penumbra. People need to hear this message.”
“Yes, but what if they don’t?”
Puck swallows. “That’s why the verum matters, Renegade. Without it, no one has any reason to believe there’s hope at all.”
“But there is hope. There is.” Renegade’s voice tightens. “You told me. I saw it. I believe it.”
“Renegade, I’m—encouraged—to hear you say that.” Puck chooses the word carefully. “But this hope is for those who actually believe.”
“Are you saying my son didn’t have hope?” Renegade’s brow knots. “Because I saw it. He was hopeful. He believed in a future—believed we’d be together. Believed it wouldn’t end.”
Tears slip down Renegade’s face.
“But did he believe in the One who can give that hope?” Puck asks.
“He believed I could.” Renegade’s voice breaks. “Auggie believed in me. He trusted me. And I tried. I really tried. And I’m still trying.”
“Renegade, I’m sorry.” Puck’s eyes hold steady. “All you’ve done is work and work. You thought that was the solution, but it’s the problem. The hope of the verum isn’t about working. It’s about resting. And those who never stop working for their salvation die without it.”
“So what are you saying?” Renegade snaps. “Auggie’s a goner? There’s no hope for him? It’s too late?”
Puck exhales, slow. “Unless we rest in Yeshua and let him work out our salvation, there’s no hope for any of us.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
“There has to be another way!”
“There’s not, Renegade. There’s only one way. This is the way.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I can’t force you to believe it.”
“I won’t believe it. Tell me there’s another way!”
Puck closes his mouth.
“Please, Puck.” Renegade’s voice cracks. “I’m begging you. There has to be more than just Yeshua. There has to be a backup plan.”
“Yeshua is the backup plan.”
“My son deserves to live!”
“None of us do,” Puck says. “It’s not up to you to save your son. And it’s not up to me. We’re only charged to tell them of Yeshua, because only he can save.”
“Well, my son never heard of Yeshua. You never told him.”
“Renegade, please don’t blame me.”
Renegade shakes his head. “Miles could have told him.”
“Miles didn’t even know about the verum until after Auggie died.”
Renegade blinks hard, trying to stop the tears.
“But you know,” Puck says. “You know about Yeshua. If only you grab hold.”
Puck waits. Renegade’s silence stretches.
“I don’t know,” Renegade says at last, slow and raw, “if I want to live in a world where my son isn’t there.”
Then he turns and stalks into the darkness of the tunnels. Puck watches until Renegade is swallowed by black. Only then does he swing the vault shut and seal it behind him.
The green lights in the Anima Corp’s preservation warehouse flicker on. Renegade steps fully inside. His hair is damp and unkempt, his eyes bloodshot, his mind fogged over. His clothes smell stale. His shoes, caked with grime, carry him down the rows of suspended children.
This used to be where he came to reset—to recover his drive and keep the project moving. Every child in every tank used to look like shed skin to him. Now all he sees are bodies, scattered in liquid cylinders. Even Auggie.
Renegade stops at his son’s tank. It’s larger than the rest, the centerpiece of the warehouse. The moment he meets Auggie’s lifeless eyes, his own face collapses.
“I killed you,” Renegade whispers. “I killed you.”
Then he breaks. The weight hits and doesn’t let up. It drives him to his knees. The same wail he unleashed when Auggie died in his arms years ago tears out of him again, full strength, as if no time has passed.
It feels like he has gone backward. Every memory, every emotion he has buried and feared comes loose at once and pours over him. It crushes him until he curls on the floor, fetal. Tears spill down and pool around him, darkening the concrete.
