Chapter VII
Day Two (Night to Morning)
Marco Didoria [Western Metropolis]
What’s a man to do? Stuck in some shantytown watching the sun dip below the distant emerald ocean. The riddle made no sense. No, it made more sense than the white washed buildings that filled the city square—the ones without even a door, window, or chimney. There were no housecats like back on the old world and the roads were a pinch too narrow for any cars. And just why was that clock tower on its side, anyway?
Marco’s gaze lazily rose between the two skyscrapers (now reflecting a brilliant indigo and red from each square window) where a small tower jetted from the top of a rocky plateau. The slit on the tower’s domed roof hosted a white protrusion, what Marco assumed to be a light. Yet what if it wasn’t a lighthouse? Perhaps he should investigate.
No. Besides, he had a weeping book at his side (and wow, the howls can get to one’s nerves quicker than a few stabs in the gut) and a jeep he wouldn’t trust to abandon for long. Marco drew closer to the woman-statue as if about to ask her for some clue, and then returned his watch to the lighthouse. Then he noticed it—a little speck, like one of those ants you squish in the mud, moving about behind the light. Could it be another playing the game, he thought. That’s right. It was just a game, after all. I should be safe since the sun is almost gone, then again will I be able to see anything?
A high-pitched crack dispelled Marco’s thoughts. He lost balance, using his elbows to absorb the impact of his fall. Enough sunlight remained to illuminate the large hole in the lady-statue, and the chunks of marble lying by the tubs of liquid. Someone shot at him; someone had actually shot at him! Checking with a fury he breathed a sigh of relief to see no new wounds and then darted while crouching towards the neighborhood of featureless houses. He didn’t stop until one of the houses served as a wedged between him and the accursed lighthouse.
“The distance, has to be a long range rifle,” Marco panted seeing the first patch of stars in the sky (interestingly all in rather bland circular formations, it would have made boring astronomy). “Dammit,” then, for the first time since viewing the ungodly corpse, he groped at his new, shining revolver. That’s right. The assailant would wait and, after seeing no further movement would come to confirm his kill. All Marco had to do was wait him out and attack when the time came. Hey, a point is a point, right? What’s another stranger dead-- especially for a stranger who had shot at him.
The crickets grew especially loud coming with it the pungent smell of gunpowder. How long had it been? An hour? Maybe he would be better off staying frozen there until dawn. Yes, then he’d be doubly sure to watch out for any pesky ants in the distance. Never again would he be so careless. Or so he thought. A voice washed over him from behind, a female’s dark, melodious voice. “I have a teaser pointing at your spine. This teaser will render you permanently paralyzed.”
Marco jerked. He had told himself a million times: if someone snuck up on him he was to shoot without thinking. Yeah, easier said cozy and alone. Then he said: “wait, I—“
“Drop the weapon on the ground, move ahead ten spaces and turn around. Slowly.”
Marco tossed the weapon away from the dark concrete wall of the building, stepped ahead ten spaces and turned to face the woman. Slowly. To him she was nothing more than a shadow, a faint semblance of eyes with an amorphous body. Somehow he pictured her smiling.
“Good,” she said, “no sudden movements or I will kill you.” Marco watched the black blob move closer, felt it snatch the weeping book from his grasp, and return to its original position. He couldn’t see, but there was a pop, a clank, and the crying ceased. The night then seemed eerily quiet. “I was hoping you would be of some use, but I see you have a neck brace like the others. Still, maybe…”
“Are you going to kill me or not?” Marco said with his hands instinctively up (perhaps he had been a criminal before?). “An explanation would be nice, seeing as how you nearly put a hole through me earlier.”
She laughed. It was sarcastic, as expected. “Oh, well I’m not exactly the kind to care about lives as insignificant as the ‘test participants’. Still…”
“Still what?”
“Call it a hunch. You seem the type that can help me. Maybe in turn I can help you.”
Marco could see her a little more clearly. She had dark hair to be sure, short though covering her ears. Her armor, or was it a tight suit? The kind those dancers wear. No, it looked more textured, with sheaths along the belt, horizontal slits moving down her pants and a plastic-looking plate over her abdomen. Her eyes gave off a pointed, yellow gaze. Marco could only describe her as a ninja with demonic pupils, although she seemed very well developed where it counted.
“The only way you can help is getting me off this rock,” Marco said. “Well, maybe if you have some kind of arsenal that would help too,” he flashed his white teeth, thinking himself funny.
“Oh how I’ve longed,” her voice rose and shocked Marco, “to get off of this damnable rock. Even without the confinement of the explosive collar—even then I cannot figure out how escape is possible. I do have ideas…”
Marco wrinkled his nose. Something about her he just couldn’t trust. He decided to pry further, however. “I’m about as clueless as one can get. Seeing as how you’ve got me as hostage, I’m listening.”
She laughed again. “Come, there are ears here. There are special designated buffers where we can talk.”
* * *
The tick, tock and clang of the clock bounced back and forth in Marco’s ears. The clock tower had been close and for that, at least, he was grateful. Ahead he could see the shadows of the gears twisting and grinding. The woman sat on a wood beam (presumably a pillar that broke following the tower’s collapse) and indicated for Marco to take a seat on the floor ahead of her. Grumbling and thinking of the revolver in her custody, he obeyed. She now sat above him by a head-- her brows furled-- her sarcastic smile visible from a small fire she had lit near the entrance. The young man sighed feeling as if he were forced into story time or some other nonsense. Shaking his head, he then tried to remain serious.
“So, these ‘ears’ are deaf here?”
“Correct, this tower has been cleansed by me personally. You can say I’ve taken this city as my residence. I haven’t been out of my usual spots in a while.”
“So, no collar?” Marco examined her delicate neck, also covered with the black tight-suit armor. “You also seem to know a lot. Who are you? More importantly, tell me your plan. I don’t want to be in the dark about anything.”
Her smile vanished. “Just because I’ve let you live doesn’t mean I trust you. This is a killing field, after all. I’m Contra, an exiled assassin for the eighth-sector judge circle of the Apian Empire. They intended to put me where most exiles go, Zaybous, but there must have been some mistake. I ended up here!”
“’Apian’? And what exactly is ‘here’? Oh, and the weeping book—“
“One at a time,” she said, fiddling with his revolver and avoiding his eye contact. “I won’t try to explain what Ap is other than a planet that I happened to have served long ago, before the bastards cast me out. I barely know more about what here is than you. I know it is worse than Zaybous could have ever been. There is also evidence that it is in close proximity to planet Ap. I once spent two months on a voyage at sea from this island. No—there’s nothing out there. It just keeps going and going until you wind up here again.”
“Wait, so you literally went in and straight line and—“
“Yup, like one of those podchasers.” She noticed Marco’s blank look, “Eh, anyway, the volcano is sealed shut with titanium multi-level locks. The test facility building at the east has some interesting things inside, yet nothing that will get me off.”
“How long have you been here?”
“The six year anniversary is any day now,” her eyes returned to his. “Funny to
think I was exiled due to a simple misunderstanding.” She gauged Marco’s expression and looked as if waiting for him to ask for more. He decided to play along.
“Go on.”
“A record mix-up, someone had it out for me. My file was placed in the criminal section and the criminal, your typical murderer, in the supervisor. Funny thing was, I wasn’t even supposed to have a file—I’m no judge. The slave traders and exile transporters don’t know anyone personally, so one look at the file and they believed it. I was in bed, night, sleeping soundly when a knock came to the door.”
Marco grimaced. He could picture the rest.
“Five hooded men apprehended me and put restraints over my mouth before I could raise a word of protest. After all—my file was in the condemned rack—I already ‘had my trial’. And my brother, damn him,” she looked down. “Sorry—I only recently put the pieces together that he was most likely the one who did this to me. Anyway, long story short. I find myself with the rest of the cattle in the cage of a starship set out for Zaybous. I went to sleep and,” she paused, “I woke up inside this clock tower.”
Marco was taken aback. He almost felt sorry for her, though then again, was his situation much better? At least she had gotten the opportunity to live six years. With the collar he had a few days at best. His past and his future were meaningless.
“So, this book,” Marco broke the silence. “Was it audio devices?”
“Yes, actually,” she smiled with half-closed eyes, “a form of terror. Anyone without the knowledge would think it was legitimately crying and lose their mind. Ironically it was attached to a book about the folly of mankind.” Then, as if reading his mind, she said, “you’re thinking about sleep, right?” Her yellow eyes were glued to him. “I’ve told you all I will for now, it’s up to you wither to stick around or to run off. At this point I’ve made up my mind: you can do what you want. Help me or run off, whatever. I doubt I can accomplish anything that I haven’t tried before. Though your name would be nice…”
“Marco,” Marco said, “Marco Didoria,” he deliberately looked away and shrugged his shoulders. “First, give me my damn gun back, then we can talk about the whole I scratch your back, you scratch mine crap.”
“Someone’s foul tempered,” she slid the revolver forward without hesitation, to Marco’s surprise. Then she said: “Oh, you know what happens to the winners of these contests, don’t you?”
Marco stared at her for awhile, and then said, “no, can’t say I thought much about it.”
“Wise. Goodnight, Marco.” She pressed her back on the surface of the pillar after lying down and closed her eyes. “Feel free to shoot me, dear, though it may cost you your life.”
Marco continued to stare, utterly confused.
Revol [Railroad tracks]
It’s amazing how memories work. There are those times when you have brief flashes of images, of faces and things that warm your heart—yet you can’t quite place the specific time and events those images belonged to. Until this very moment, Revol had dealt with this problem, yet now it all flooded back like the cap in his mind had been plucked away.
It’s so dark now, and it was raining before. Where did the rain go?
What did it matter if he used to be an outdoorsman, a charming man in his early twenties who had just drew up plans for a new logging company? That was in another world, a fiction. All that mattered was his torso, filled with too many lead bullets to count, and the pain of his ribs that chewed at his flesh like a pair of monstrous teeth. But he had to get up. He had to survive. He was Revol, rated most likely to succeed in his senior year, a star hunter and wilderness survivor man.
Then his memories included the dark days following his capture, but he quickly brushed the thought of that away.
Heaving to his feet sent a biting pain through the left side of his body. It took all his effort not to scream and alert the others of his exact position. He then surveyed the sparsely forested direction he had came from, and then froze after hearing a rustling sound…
Jackie Cho, that Asian woman he had pointed out to Daniel, broke into the clearing with her fiery eyes on him. Her weapon has changed as she now clenched onto Alex’s heavy-duty machine gun complete with circular magazine. She pointed it at him. Revol stared at the black tunnel that was the SMG barrel with his mouth agape. He could only think of one thing to say, “wait.”
“It’s a miracle you’re standing,” she said with a voice more snide and sarcastic than he would have hoped. “Unfortunately you cut up Alex pretty bad. You’re too dangerous to keep alive.”
Bitch, he thought. Isn’t it obvious from my wounds I would die anyway? Still, maybe I can talk my way out of this one.
“W-wait,” Revol said again, “I was caught up in the moment, y-you know I would never play this damn thing. I lost it out there, please. I’m going to die anyway, so can’t you let me go?”
Jackie grinned ever so slightly, tilting her head. “If you’re going to die anyway all the more reason to kill you. Better the points go to someone.”
“You can’t be serious! You’re enjoying this, killing innocent people, I can’t believe you—“
“Look at you trying to place fault on me when you betrayed your own friend and nearly killed Alex. I’m sorry. Actually, no, I’m not. Goodbye.”
Revol was just about to say ‘wait’ for the third time when a series of pops, like firecrackers, washed over the land. Jackie smiled over the smoking barrel of the weapon, eyeing Revol as he examined the new holes all over his stomach and thighs. Both his shirt and pants were soaking with a crimson red. Needless to say he reeked of blood.
Then something hit Revol, something powerful and internal, like a part of him had just switched on. A little voice like the one that admonished him from within the test facility spoke inside his mind, though this time it was even deeper in pitch. “Submitting cleansing impulses. Submit.”
“Yes sir,” Revol said out loud, causing Jackie to stare in confusion. She thought about shooting again but figured he was just loosing the last shred of his logical facilities.
“Bodily functions down. Nearly fatal,” the voice said, “Enter soldier mode, then follow with survivor mode for approximately three days time.”
Revol’s eyes flashed with intense yellow, causing Jackie to gasp. His pain faded away and the dark green and brown colors around him grew more warm and vibrant. Glancing at his arms Revol smiled as the mussels in his arms bulged from a rush of concentrated steroids commanded from his S-4 implant. By the time Jackie shot another round at him he had ducked and leapt to the right with the prowess of a master martial artists. He lunged for the woman, his fist connecting with her skull.
Jackie was thrown back and slammed against the surface of a nearby tree, one with a tall trunk that provided little cover. By the time she had recovered Revol had already covered half the distance to her, his arm back ready the jab his index and middle finger into the whites of her eye. Revol’s hair danced wildly in the wind, his grin broadened and his excitement flooded into his veins.
He felt powerful, like he could snap any obstacle in half. More importantly he felt really pissed at the bitch in front of him who didn’t show him mercy. In the name of the laws of the land, she will die! But Jackie had other plans. Instead of sidestepping or attempting to avoid his advance, she took a bold step forward and jetted out the sub-machine gun. The barrel kissed Revol’s forehead and then—
A sharp, severe headache was the last sensation Revol ever felt. His body launched into the air and from the back of his skull brains shot out much like the blast of a shotgun. His moist eyes pushed out and his tongue dipped out from between his teeth. The new hole between his eyebrows came complete with a waterfall of blood.
Jackie rubbed the red bump on her forehead where Revol had hit her and cursed at the corpse. She only took a second before examining his body for all of his items. Once these items were secure she turned to leave.
Jackie Cho [Railroad Tracks]
[Continued Above]
Before Jackie had the chance to walk six meters towards the location of the other straggler, a familiar presence grappled her attention. Like last time the encompassing darkness of the moonless night masked most of its finer details, its silky blue hair covering parts of its red and yellow eyes. The beast stood and full height (towering at least seven feet tall) its sapphire armor shining just barely from the starry illumination. Jackie, her heart still pumping from the adrenaline of killing a man, wasn’t afraid. She did stop, however, and open her eyes just slightly in wonderment.
The Phoenix lowered its head. “You hold not my gift?”
“I still have it. It’s waiting for me near the mountain,” she pointed, though The Phoenix did not bother to look. “I figured since it could only shoot once before a long reload time I would swap it out for one better fitting for the situation.”
“Intuitive. To think before you were chirping on about self-defense and your refusal to kill. It seems a person can change in a day. Or, perhaps it is simply that the phony side of you has withered. You are, after all, only human.”
Jackie felt anger well up inside her. Whatever this creature was, she didn’t sign up for its help. Still, she decided it best not to anger it. “It’s as you say. Now I have another prey to kill, if you would excuse me…”
“I’m afraid my time is limited so you’ll have to postpone your plans,” it stomped forward. Jackie, in turn, stumbled backwards. She felt the urge to aim the sub-machine gun at the monster, to fill it full of holes. Terror began to flood through her veins—inexplicable and irrational. The Phoenix continued to speak through its mind, “take me to your latest victim.”
“What?” Jackie said.
Its red eye flared and grew brighter. “The one you murdered, I wish to see him.”
Jackie turned, trying to hider her shivering, and ran the six meters back near the train tracks. It was there Revol laid, sprawled out in a puddle of blood not yet congealed. Once at the body Jackie kept her distance, watching The Phoenix storm towards the corpse. It dropped to its knees, lowered, lowered some more and then…
Jackie turned her gaze away and grimaced. Chomp, crack, slurp. Other than cannibalism, she didn’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t like that thing was human, right? Nonetheless she couldn’t take another moment of it. With a firm step forward she started making her distance, figuring that the best chance to get away was while it wasn’t looking at her. Her brain scream to her legs to workuntil a deafening, skull-shattering bellow pounded behind her. Shoving a shoulder against a tree to prevent falling she stared back at The Phoenix. Its onyx wings jetted out, its body surrounded by a dome of crimson light. Turning it stomped for Jackie with a blooded smile, its fists clenched.
“N—no! Stay away!” Jackie heard herself say, falling back onto her ass.
“You have done me a service,” The Phoenix said.
“Get away,” Jackie focused the monster’s head in her gun’s iron sights.
It stopped with a barely perceptible smile forming over its lips. The red aura intensified and forced Jackie to squint. “It’s not as if I particularly enjoy that part either. I have some of my former power back—“
“If you don’t leave now I’ll kill you, I swear,” Jackie’s teeth clattered.
“I’m not leaving yet,” The Phoenix’s smile grew, “If you were wielding my gift I might have been afraid. That toy is not worthy of my notice.”
“You mean this gift?”
Both Jackie and The Phoenix looked up. There, in the shadows, was the barrel of the rail gun held in the shaking palms of Alex Denman.
[Continued Below]
Alex Denman [Railroad Tracks]
[Continued Above]
Alex knew how he must have looked, assuming they could see him through the veil of night. His eye had since sealed itself shut with a pitch-black bruise covering the side of his face. It had taken all his effort to speak coherently, although his mouth ached as if it held a thousand needles. Earlier he examined his checks through the reflection of a puddle to find two grizzly, bloody gashes that were bound for infection. That aside once he heard the yell and Jackie’s frightened voice there was no choice but to act. He was, after all, covered neck to toe with battle armor. “Don’t make any,” he swallowed spit and blood, “movement.” Alex caught sight of the mutilated corpse by the railroad track. Who’s doing was that? Alex thought, just what is that thing?
“This really is turning into an amusing spectacle,” said the demon, “I have gained back much of my old self through feasting on death. I doubt even that rail gun can kill me now.”
“Look at her,” Alex pointed toward Jackie, “She obviously doesn’t sheel comf’table wif oou,” he swallowed, “around so can’t you just get the hell out of here? Do you really want to find out if this can kill you now?”
The Phoenix glared from Alex to Jackie and gave a little nod, “It is almost daybreak anyway. I will return next time the darkness falls.” Its wings snapped and its massive body rose into the air. Then, like a bat, it darted off into the night sky. Alex lowered the gun and ran over to Jackie, whom was still sitting on her bottom. Offering a hand she hesitantly accepted. Alex couldn’t feel her, though he imagined she was both burning up and covered with goose bumps. Once the red glow vanished from the sky he bided Jackie to walk with him. Together they returned past the sparse trees to the mountainside they had started at.
“Thanks, Alex,” Jackie let go of his forearm and stumbled back to a large boulder. She sat.
“What was that ‘hing?” Alex said after a moment. Then, as if intending to cut himself off, he spat, “shit!”
“What?” Jackie stood.
Alex groped at the grass and dirt through the blinding pain in his head. Somehow he had enough wits to notice his bag of belongings were no longer there. What was more, in its place a magazine rested waiting to be read. More accurately, it waited to be looked at, given that it was a very recent issue of Playboy. Alex’s ears twitched, hearing leaves rustle. There, in the distance, he saw the shadow of a person running off. “He stole!” Alex pointed, “t—that bastard!”
By the time Alex convinced Jackie to go after the perpetrator it was long too late.
Lyinda [Near Volcano]
[Continued Above]
There was always a great satisfaction in learning a skill. Some enjoyed mastering sports, others martial arts, Lyinda must have been some sort of covert ops specialist or a part-time thief. Having come out of pure curiosity, she had snagged the bag and retreated even as the owners were returning. Better to get away with something to show than stay and get gunned down. Just through feeling the bag’s contents Lyinda figured there were no useful weapons. Just give me a damn gun already, she said to whatever was listening, or at least a place to take a bath.
The rocky road lowered the rocky hill in a back and forth fashion. Squinting past the dark she made out her footprints from her original trip to the bag. Now all she had to do was return to the giant volcano she had ‘appeared’ in front of and count her gains. The outline of some stone ruins waited at the bottom of the hill, and beyond, like a giant upside-down “V”, the volcano welcomed her to come closer. She ran over the grass that crunched under her feet, leapt over a collection of stumps and zoomed over the rocky terrain, until coming to the lighted up computer terminal that was so articulately attached to the side of the massive rock formation, not to mention the jeep tire tracks leading westward, the very same that had brought her to that dead man’s body.
Sitting she scraped out the contents of the bag and used the computer’s light to see what she was dealing with. First to come out was a long green key, then a bottle, a cheap cigarette lighter and a cellular telephone (which appeared to be out of batteries). Staring Lyinda gave a slight yell. “I went through all the trouble for this utter crap?”
“Ha ha,” the computer said, taunting her, “You are funny.”
Staring, Lyinda slobbered at the mouth, “does everything in this screwed up world talk?”
Yet the computer refused to say anything else. Lyinda felt like crying. She plopped down and watched the lonely black sky. What ever is a woman to do…
Nathan Aki [Phi us Leampu’n Ap Te]
One of the few decent dreams Nathan ever had the privilege of having evaporated from two distinct voices—that of the deep, masculine machine and a definitively feminine peer. His mind did a double take, his ears perceiving the minor nuances of a gun clattering in shaking hands. There was no doubt that meant trouble. Nathan secured his bag and scurried away from the woman in the direction he had seen the ladder; the pungent smell of blood complimenting the obnoxious screeches. Slipping the bag straps over a shoulder his hands slapped the ladder as he slid down. His feet met rough resistance and ahead a hint of light beaconed him to approach….
* * *
The computer had lied. More specifically, its exaggeration had legitimately frightened him. What a fool to let his guard down out of fear. The island was blanked by brilliant sunlight, the breeze warm and carrying the smell of sand and palm trees. Grass went as far as the eye could see and flowers of vivid color—crimson, plum, indigo, yellow—released their pedals in the wind. On top of a small incline a wood house, painted purple, appeared inviting. It was a two-story structure with large porch and many windows. Surrounding it were patches of cabbage and, to Nathan’s left, a field of wheat. Interestingly enough the sky had no sun, nor did it hold its regular blue tint. It was a deeper blue somehow, artificial.
Then ‘that woman’ came to mind. Slapping the bag down by a black cat (whom came by to sniff Nathan’s feet), the youth snapped out his shotgun and turned around. Sure enough the adolescent girl ascended out of the cave’s mouth, her pistol barrel meeting Nathan’s gaze. He froze, his eyes widening and mouth twitching, and for a moment gave into the idea of his immanent death. Snap out of it, his thoughts admonished him. I have the upper hand here. Nathan ran directly for her, knowing the unexpected move is always most proficient in combat. Avoiding being in the direct line of fire Nathan jabbed the front of his shotgun into her stomach. Almost at once the woman winced back and weaved around his shotgun, a furious fire in her eyes. Taking the initiative from Nathan’s shock, she pressed her desert eagle into his eye socket. Checkmate.
“It’s not nice to attack a girl, you bastard. Aren’t you supposed to be all chivalrous or something?”
“Wait,” Nathan inched his shotgun barrel closer to her. He had thought he hit her pretty hard, but whatever the case he was in some deep shit. “You came at me with that thing pointed at me, what was I supposed to do, give you a hug?”
Her smile faded, “put the gun down.” Gnashing his teeth, Nathan tossed the weapon aside, half of it landing within the cave the other half on the grass. “Now turn around.” Following instructions he faced the field and purple house.
“Look,” Nathan said, feeling the gun barrel on the back of his skull, “do you even know why I came here? I can’t imagine you happening to know too. You must have been following me this whole time.”
“Shut up—“
“This is the least beneficial time to fight, or did you not hear the warning? Three days without playing along and its goodbye to our heads. Even if you kill me, do you think you can get back and kill someone else in that amount of time? No. Back at the staging area I had a prevailing thought enter my head: go, go to the southernmost island and seek out the demolitions expert. Someone here can get these neck collars off. If that happens we don’t have to kill anyone.”
“This is a trick. You want to let my guard down.”
“I’m unarmed. Take what you will, but look, time is of the essence for the both of us.”
The gun barrel receded from his head. The woman rushed past him and snatched the shotgun, then stumbled over to take the bag. She was quite the funny sight trying to carry all of it. Then she, facing Nathan, backpedaled to get as much distance as possible. “Take me to this expert person or I’ll use all of this on you.”
Nathan cracked his neck and scoped the purple house. Pointing he nodded. “That looks like a good place to start looking.”
[Continued Below]
Charlotte Briggs [Southernmost Island]
[Continued Above]
So, his name was Nathan Aki. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, though his mostly blank expression annoyed her. In her left hand she wielded the silver pistol, in the right the shotgun. The bag bounced against her back hanging over her right shoulder—and it was really damn heavy.
The pair stopped before the porch of the house. Nathan began to head around to look for a front door when a voice took them both off guard. It belonged to a woman, young, spunky with an air of sarcasm. “This is no place for a young couple to go on a date, oh no, what a silly decision this was.” Charlotte and Nathan stepped back (still a good distance away from each other) and up where they heard footsteps. The slender figure came into view. From her gentle eyes she removed a pair of oil-splotched goggles and slipped them into a pocket of her white miner’s work-coat. On her arms were peculiar steel gauntlets and around her thin neck hung a pale necklace. Her hair, dark blue like the artificial sky, covered one eye. Contrary to her tone a smile did not appear on her face.
“You were the one speaking to us this whole time,” Nathan said. Charlotte shot a glance over to him. Is he serious? She isn’t anything like I pictured—no, it’s not true.
“I apologize for the trouble,” she said, resting her elbows on the porches railing, “but there has been a mistake. You weren’t supposed to get here at all. Someone must be tinkering in my affairs.”
“Wait, so this is the demolition expert?” Charlotte said, making a face from the pain in her shoulder. “You’re my age.”
“I’m no expert, I just happen to have made your collars,” her expression grew more angry. “Now shut up and hand me the letter.”
Charlotte caught Nathan stare at her from the corner of her eyes. Then he said: “collars off, then you get your letter.”
She laughed, stepping back from the porch beam and turning her back to them. “You’re in no position to be bargaining. Well, it has been quite a few years…”
“Since?”
“Since I tested anyone. Please wait there,” she walked off out of sight. By the time the woman came around the wood house her goggles had returned to her face and black gloves covered her hands. Charlotte shrieked and moved away from her and closer to Nathan. “You may use anything at your disposal. Your job is to defeat me in combat. If you succeed the collar key is in safe six,” she smiled, “I do not intend to show you mercy so I expect the same in return.”
“What? You have no gun or anything,” Charlotte said and took another step back, now at Nathan’s flank. “And there’s so much I want to ask—”
“I agree,” Nathan said bluntly. “Answers are preferable, though I don’t intend to leave here without getting this off. If fighting you is the only way to do this, than so be it. Also, a name is polite. Mine is Nathan.”
“Mine?” her smile turned sad. “That’s all in the past now. I would so like to read that letter before dying, but this score needs to be settled now. As for your questions young lady, I’m sorry but I have nothing to say.” Her arms rose in front of her face, her hands forming fists, “prepare yourselves and kill me.”
Charlotte froze, unsure of what to do.
Peter [Preparation Area]
There were no words to describe the confusion and the fear. To live once in a land of positive energy (the memory of which was blocked by an amnesiac barrier) compared to the dark, humid outdoors of this land. Peter’s thumb brushed the rough material of the bag and tensed his shoulders. Ten minutes had passed in this featureless field without any sign of life. There was no moon to guide the way and the stars were unlike those of ‘that planet’. Whatever the case running was the best plan of action, and so that was what Peter did. The grass crunched under heavy footsteps as he took in steady breaths. There, to the right and up that hill, a silhouette of a building next to what appeared to be a windmill. Forging up the incline the silhouette became more clear, that of a wall, an old farmhouse. Yes, it was the perfect place for cover where he could formulate a plan.
The door was already cracked so getting inside wasn’t a problem. What was a problem was the light; Peter squinted and felt around, touching the hard texture of an oaken table and the smooth feel of wallpaper. To the right he felt a wood door and he wasted no time in opening it up and slipping deeper into the house. There was an old cabbage smell and he gave a few coughs from sudden inhalation of dust. To Peter’s great relief he came upon the cool dial of an oil lamp. The blue flame within the globe sent shadows dancing along the walls. The room had white carpet, yellow painted walls, three leather couches, a brick fireplace and another door leading off into a dark haze. Sitting on the couch beside the nightstand that he had found the lamp on, Peter fished through the bag he had acquired from the voice. The first thing that came out was a silver spoon. Peter almost laughed, discovering also a magnifying glass, a pack of cards, a bag of cookies and padded gloves. Returning them to the sack he sighed. I was expecting something better than that.
His hands froze from a sudden sound outside, like someone had hit the side of the house. Forgetting the bag Peter rose and kept a calculating gaze in the direction he had come in from, sliding his boots along the frilly carpet. Reaching the fireplace he searched around and found in a basket a poker: a fine long metal rod with a pointed end. Cautiously moving back to the couch he had been sitting at, he knelt by its side and peeked out just barely. He would be ready for any enemy that decided to barge in on him.
The front door of the house creaked open…
[Continued Below]
Daniel Seyton [En Route to Farmhouse]
[Continued From Above]
It took five whole minutes to climb to his feet. The wet bark itched against his neck and forearms and the darkness brought no hope. Sounds were distorted, even the crickets seemed more melancholy than usual, and Daniel couldn’t place the smell. Was it his blood? Just thinking about it caused the man to clinch his fists, breath deeply and gnash his teeth. Betrayal, it wasn’t as trivial as the storybooks made it out to be, a few apologetic words or treaties couldn’t right the wrongs or take away the wounds. His mind flashed with pictures of the redheaded devil, those cold eyes, that lulling voice! Hate never held such a precise definition as it did then.
“I hate you, hate, hate you!” Daniel’s voice grew sore, his eyes moist and his jaw aching. Taking his first attempt at walking Daniel collapsed back to his knees, his palms landing on sharp rocks that added two more wounds to his body. His stomach churned and then a spray of chunky vomit spewed from his mouth. He figured there went the last of his nutrients, given that he hadn’t eaten since he had arrived. Staring up he cursed louder, wanting to pull some great deity from the sky and force him to make it right. Just get up, Daniel, he thought to himself. This is it, you only have a little bit of energy left. You have to get somewhere to mend yourself and fast! I refuse to die because of that bastard Revol! Climbing up once more, Daniel bellowed a yell from his chest and charged forward, legs churning. At once he regretted his decision as things around became blurry and his head faint.
Daniel broke into a clearing and passed over a railroad track, and then beyond he saw the silhouette of a house he had seen once before—the farmhouse. Reaching a steep hill leading up to the house Daniel collapsed once more and had to proceed by crawling, using embedded rocks and sticks to scale up. Each new rock he grasped sent pain shooting to his cranium, his gunshot wounds (at least more than one, Daniel decided) stinging like a constant barrage of bees. Once at the top he used the frame of the windmill to stand and lurched for the house wall. Using the support he walked around the side, catching wind of the door and a faint candlelight from inside. “s’one there,” he whispered, a stream of tears flowing down his checks.
I’m going to die.
Pushing the door open Daniel stumbled in, coking his head rightward towards the firelight. He wasn’t fooled for a moment. He saw the dark mop-like hair sticking above the arm of a leather couch. Daniel gave a wry grin. Ironic to come all this way only to find another ‘player’, but what did it really matter? Falling to the carpeted floor Daniel’s senses dulled. “H—help,” he whimpered.
Daniel knew the bitter truth. If this unknown player didn’t help him soon, he would most assuredly leave the mortal realm and answer that all-important question. Still, he didn’t want to know. Not yet. At least let me see the sunrise one more time…
…
|
|
Bookmarks