by Ethan Cooper
Releasing One’s guts, I’m in motion toward Two, dodging Three easily. Two shoves JACK to one side, where she teeters momentarily before going down like a discarded doll. His hand goes into his trench coat and comes out with a gun—probably the one that shot me and JACK. I’m not close enough to stop him from firing, so I cut right. Two tracks me. Green light fills the alley, but I’m already rolling on the ground. When my view stabilizes, I’m on my back, still sliding, watching as Three takes two green blobs—one to the chest and one to the face. He drops, his visor shattering when his full deadweight slams it into the ground.
Static fills my vision.
BLINK.
I can see again.
I’m running at Two. Left eye is completely blocked with blood, but the automatic me isn’t letting that slow me down. Eye is completely teared up. Blinking isn’t helping much. That half of my vision is blurry and red. I’m sure it would sting if I could feel anything other than the static. Not sure if I’m fast or if taking out his buddy caused him to go into shock, but Two isn’t even close to bringing his weapon to bear on me when I dip and take him low at the waist. Should a person my size and weight be able to take somebody like him from his feet? Because that’s exactly what happens. He goes backward, falling flat on his back.
Directly on top of JACK.
I move toward them, but pull up short when Two’s body spasms. Spots of blood erupt all over his torso, followed by countless metaskin spikes. There’s so many, but the large one through his neck and the three smaller ones through the upper left area of his chest are the only ones that matter. His groin area is in ruins.
Static fills my vision.
BLINK.
I can see again.
JACK’s metaskin spikes retract as I take Two’s hand and pull him off her. I shouldn’t be strong enough to do it, but I am. It’s amazing what you can do when you’re amped on adrenaline.
(and static)
JACK attempts to sit up as I retrieve Two’s discarded weapon. Picking it up, I raise it to my eye. It’s a pretty little thing, all curvy and compact. Despite having been on the receiving end of its sting, I like having it in my hand. Finally, I have a weapon.
Stepping over to where Three lies unconscious, I can see that he’s still breathing. I kneel next to him, amazed at how easy it is to point my new weapon at him, to rest the barrel on his chin.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
Open Three’s mouth and push the barrel of my weapon in.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
Hear JACK yelling something, but that’s not right, since I can’t hear anything except the damned static.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
Squeeze the trigger.
Three’s mouth and eyes flash with bright green light, then his head is obliterated in the explosion that follows. Red and green snakes of energy and fluids race outward, bathing me in warm blood and cold light.
I stand up.
Where’s Three’s head should be, there is only a stain.
The weapon falls from my hand. I don’t hear its impact.
Static fills my vision.
BLINK.
I can see again.
When I turn around, JACK’s in front of me. Her skinsuit is sporting a scandalous arrangement of holes, each of them dripping with Two’s blood. Her hairstalks droop and her shoulders are rounded forward.
The static’s gone suddenly, only I think it might have done some deeper damage to me because now I can’t hear anything.
JACK’s lips are moving rapidly, but I’m not getting any of it.
Looking down, my skinsuit puts JACK’s to shame. If hers looks like it got carpet bombed, then mine went through Armageddon, rivers of blood flow down my body, weaving through unidentifiable bits of flesh. Except that. That I can identify.
That’s part of an ear.
I move to brush the viscera away, but my hands are just as contaminated.
Nothing left for me to do but fall to my knees, put my head in my hands, and close my eyes so I don’t have to see any more.
I can feel it. Something inside me just dimmed.
What have I done?
BLUE ANGEL DESCENDING: DEATH HAUNT DAYDREAMS
23/An Interlude
2195.12.12/Morning
Oh fuck I think I’m going to puke I feel so sick I just want to find a dark corner somewhere where nobody can see me or look at the blood on my skin and on my skinsuit I want to tuck my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs I want to close my eyes and cry until I can’t cry anymore I want to sleep because then I won’t have to think about what just happened I know it won’t solve any problems it’s what I want to do but I don’t think I can do that right now I don’t know how I’m going to get through this because I’ve done something that I can’t undo there’s no way to go back and give it another go to see if things turn out differently I’m just standing here trembling because I don’t know what else to do except close my eyes and shut the world out I guess I’ll think about it all in a second but for now I need this interlude I think I’ll just drift here for a few thousand years with the image of three corpses dead by my hands my bloody hands popping up in time with every breath I take on this forsaken planet oh I know I’ve done something wrong I’ve killed and that is wrong it wasn’t me it couldn’t have been it was the other me the bad me the automatic me it’s her fault I don’t know who I was before I’m scared of finding out who I was I’m not who I thought I was I’m something worse than I could’ve imagined it all comes down to one simple fact I liked it I killed and I liked it I just want somebody to tell me what that means because angels don’t kill and even if they do they don’t like it so what does that make me?
24/The Guardian
2195.12.12/Morning
The next thing I know, JACK is down on her knees beside me, forcing her way into my arms. She’s sobbing quietly, head on my shoulder, body convulsing in sizable sobs. She’s holding tight enough to make my spine creak. It’s hard enough to breathe when I’m crying like this, and her strong grip is just making it worse. But I know what her hold on me means, so I’m not going to bring it to an end any earlier than I have to. Her skinsuit slick under my hands, I hold her to me.
(a girl she’s just a little girl how?)
(can this be happening?)
(to her?)
The static is gone.
So is the automatic me. Her absence is an empty ache—sort of like how it’s difficult to truly remember pain afterwards. It’s close to what happens after the static recedes.
Keeping my eyes closed because only two out of the five people in this alley are still breathing, and that’s not something I want to look at right now.
I did that.
(no)
(she did)
I can’t stop the encounter from replaying behind my eyelids. I can see my movements, so fluid and practiced. So efficient and cruel. As if it was the most natural thing in the world to defend myself with violence. I wasn’t like this when the eoas attacked. Something changed.
It’s clear that’s the reason I’m still alive right now.
“Syl?” JACK says, her wavering voice in my ear. “Thank you. I was…”
“Me too.”
JACK starts to pull back, but I don’t let her go. I need her close right now. I feel like a child that doesn’t want to let go of its mother, and that’s cosmically backward, but I don’t care.
She’s my only friend.
We survived.
I want her arms around me, dammit.
Claw
and cling
for salvation.
“They were going to—” JACK says, relaxing into my arms when she realizes that I’m not going to let her pull away just yet. She nuzzles under my chin, her breath a rhythmic tickle. Her metaskin is rough against the sensitive skin of my neck, but in this moment, even that contact is comforting.
“Shhh,” I say. It’s the most natural thing in the world to bring my hand up and stroke her hairstalks
. I’m amazed at how tight the wires are to each other, almost like they’ve been welded together—though I don’t think it’s anything like that. I’m pretty sure her body actively maintains the stalk. The question of what happens to a wirewitch’s hairstalk when they die briefly flickers through my mind, but I manage to banish that line of thinking before it goes any further.
My fingers encounter rivulets of blood in the grooves of her hairstalks. I flick the liquid away as best as I can. The thought of what almost happened to her brings fresh tears to my eyes. The sense of loss—even though we managed to avoid losing anything—is so powerful it’s difficult to find oxygen. I let the tears come, let my grief and release run its course.
Keep breathing. Inhale. Exhale.
In.
Out.
In. In.
Out.
JACK gives me exactly what I need: she lets me hold her.
We stay like that for a good while.
“What are we going to do now?” JACK asks when we’ve pulled back, still on our knees, still facing each other.
All I can think is that this is gonna get complicated if she keeps asking me the questions I was about to ask her.
“We need to talk about…all this—what happened here, but first we’re going to find that Haven. We’re going to rest safe tonight. I promise.”
Don’t know why I said that last part.
JACK nods. In that moment, she looks even younger than she is. Her eyes don’t have pupils, don’t have irises, but somehow I can see in them a need so deep that it’s like a singularity drawing me in. There’s a dormant part of me—didn’t know it even existed—that stirs as she stares up at me. It’s the part of me that wants to hold a baby in my arms or kiss a child’s cheek as I lay them into their bed. Want to crush her to me, draw her against my breast and protect her. As if she were mine.
I turn my head away.
Together we find the strength to stand. It’s not pretty, and it’s not elegant, but we make it all the way up.
JACK is steadier than I am as she moves to pick up her cloak. Since it had been on the ground close to where she’d fallen, it’s splattered with Dokk blood as much as she is, but at least it’ll keep her covered. She turns it inside-out, donning it without flinching, her wirewitch form hidden beneath a thin, blood-stained shell.
My cloak didn’t take as much damage as I thought it would have considering it was at my feet when I killed One. I hesitate to put it on given the amount of blood I have on me, but the alternative is walking around looking like a blatant murderer. When my backpack is on my shoulders where it belongs, and my face is once again hidden under my hood, I do feel better. Unclean and safer and better all the same time.
Nothing would shock me less than if I took one more step and collapsed.
(not yet that)
(comes later)
Is this what survivors do? Realize, at the end of the abuse, that yes, they’re still breathing, so they pick themselves up, put one foot in front of the other and just keep walking?
Survivors survive.
The only way out is the way we came in. I take JACK’s hand, pulling her with me, leaving the crooked corpses and stilled pools of drying blood behind us.
(hear something)
Somebody is waiting for us at the end of the alley.
Can’t help it, I clamp down hard on JACK’s hand. Her head is pressed against my arm. She’s a little girl and a killing machine all in one, but right now she’s just a child trembling next to me, seeking something from me I’m not sure I know how to provide.
Flashes of light in the street give me a sense of the person’s silhouette—one head, two legs, two arms—but not enough that I can identify if it’s a man or woman or…something else masquerading as humanoid. Whoever they are, whatever they are, they have a clear view of us and the desecrated visage of the alley behind us.
That’s it. Look at us, look at what we’ve done, then turn around and move along. Either assume that we’re victims that barely survived or that we’re too dangerous to confront, I don’t care which. Just move out of our way.
JACK slides behind me, her body vibrating. What’s she doing? With her there, it really calls into question who’s protecting whom right now.
(i’ll keep you company and you’ll protect me)
(you saved her)
(never forget that)
“Syl, don’t fight,” JACK says, her voice barely audible.
Her hand is tight in mine, but since she’s behind me, my arm is twisted around, most likely preventing me from using it quickly in an emergency.
Please don’t let this be an emergency.
“I made a promise,” I say, inclining my head to her and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
When the newcomer steps forward into the alley, I know immediately that he’s male—something in the way he moves, the way he carries himself. When I back up, moving JACK with me, he stops, holding up his hands, palms toward us.
“Hello there, don’t be afraid,” he says, his voice calm and deep but muffled, as if it’s being processed. “I don’t want anything from either of you.”
His voice gives away his age. He can’t be much older than me. It looks like his head is shaved. Is he a—
“He doesn’t look like a Dokk,” JACK whispers. “Let’s just leave. We can make it if we’re fast enough.”
“What do you want?” I ask, and my voice cracks when I do, making it sound like I’m begging for my life.
“I saw what you did,” the newcomer says gently.
“How the—” JACK begins.
“Do you have a problem with us?” I ask.
He steps forward. Can almost make out some more features—almost. “I’m sure you did what you had to. Dokks are a disease. A few less isn’t a cure, but the city is a better place, if only by a little.” Another step forward. His dark hair is cut close. His nose and mouth are concealed behind a respirator mask. Tubes run from the mask down to clips on his jacket, and then to a device attached to his belt. As he moves closer, I can hear the device humming.
“Who are you and what do you want?” JACK asks.
“My name is Tam. I’m a friend.”
“What do you want?” JACK asks again, her voice a chilling buzz.
“Like I said, I saw what you did, and I think you need some help.” More steps. He’s encased in black clothes from his high-necked shirt to his thick-soled boots.
I tilt my head to one side, toward the nearest dead Dokk. “You think we need help?”
Tam ignores me. “I can show you to the Haven. It’s close.”
“And what makes you think we want to find a Haven?”
Some unknown light source catches his eyes, causing them to gleam momentarily. I can feel it; he’s smiling beneath that mask. “I guess I assumed you two wouldn’t want to walk around the city in those clothes for much longer. Murder is illegal and walking around covered in blood attracts a dangerous sort of attention. Is that what you want?”
“We don’t need him,” JACK whispers. “We can find it on our own.”
“You know where the Haven is?” I ask.
“I do.”
“You’ll take us there?”
“I will.”
“And we should trust you?”
“I meant it when I said I don’t want anything from you. You can trust me, but I can’t tell you whether you should. I will lead you to the Haven if you wish. If not, I will leave and find somebody else who needs help.”
Silence between the three of us.
“Why would you want to help us?” I ask finally.
“I don’t like seeing people being taken advantage of. I saw what those Dokks were about to do to you, and I was coming to your aid, but…” He turns his head to the corpses. “Anyway, no matter what you experience in this world, don’t let yourself believe that everybody is out to take advantage of you. It’s not true. You’re not alone. Some of us are here to help.”
you’re not
I’m weary. JACK squeezes my hand. I take it to mean that she’s changed her mind about accepting help.
“Thank you,” I say, “we’d appreciate your help.”
Tam nods. “It will take us awhile to get there. Follow me.”
Tam turns his back on us, and there’s a brief moment there when the automatic me suggests that if we are going to change our minds about his trustworthiness, then we need to do it now—use his momentary vulnerability in order to escape. I can’t fathom making the first move in a fight, so I push that part of me back down.
“How do you know where the Haven is?” JACK asks.
Tam pauses, looks over his shoulder, and says, “Because it’s my Haven. I’m the Guardian.”
25/Calamity (ii)
2195.12.13/Morning
Three figures surround me.
All of them male.
One is entirely in shadow.
One is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
One is Tam.
Their faces cycle in front of me, faster and faster until they blur together, becoming an unsettling combination of the three—a mishmash of clashing colors and indistinct lines, producing a countenance so deformed that it’s uncomfortable to look at. My fleeting, panicky thought is: they’re all the same person.
I jerk awake, the dream spiraling away like a cobweb taken by the wind. Letting out a long exhale, I try to hold onto their faces, but they’re gone. As it is with many dreams—the mind chooses to deny you access to them while you’re awake. The brain only deals with certain issues at certain times.
Guess I’ll deal with…whatever that was about…later.
The mattress I’m on is thin, barely muting the chill of the floor beneath, but I’m not gonna complain. Since I woke up in that alley, I have never felt safer. Which is incredible considering there are at least thirty other people sleeping on the floor in this room, and the one right beside me is a wirewitch. I take a second to look over my shoulder at her. JACK’s breathing is low and deep, her body curled to itself, knees to elbows. Despite the fact that her body clearly needed to repair after our encounter with the Dokks, she didn’t sleep yesterday because of me. Even if Havens are supposed to be safe, she wasn’t going to let the two of us be unconscious at the same time. So, I guess she just watched me most of yesterday. I’m sure that was exciting. A waste of time, but I wasn’t in any shape to argue for long. When we arrived, Tam directed us quickly to his personal room. Floor space is a valuable resource in a Haven, and Tam’s room was no exception, with barely enough space for the three of us to stand at the same time. A neatly made cot and a modest neoplastic dresser against one wall were the only furniture. The walls were clean, coated in a gleaming white that stood in contrast to the dark grays and blacks that adorned the rest of the Haven. Through a narrow doorway opposite the cot, I could see a couple of luxuries that Tam allowed himself: a mirror over a modest sink, a personal toilet and a sonic shower. Just about drooled on myself when I saw them. Tam sat me down on the cot even though I was smearing blood and God knows what else on his blankets. He left, returned with new clothes, then left again. Sitting on that cot felt so good, I didn’t stop myself from leaning my back against the wall and drifting, watching idly as JACK let her cloak slide to the floor. She wriggled out of her skinsuit like a snake shedding its skin, leaving bloody footprints as she walked to the other room. I closed my eyes, noting her audible sigh pierce through the low hum of the sonic shower. When she returned, she didn’t bother to dress before holding her hand out to me. Not sure how long I stared at it, wondering what she wanted. She shook her fingers at me, and my brain finally caught up. I let her pull me to my feet. She slid the backpack from my shoulders, taking my cloak with it. I managed to get my boots off and the skinsuit peeled down my body without her help. I’ll be honest, it wasn’t pretty. Apparently when you combine sweat and blood and let them ferment close to your skin for a couple hours, it smells like something crawled under your clothes and died. The skinsuit did its best to wick away the sweat, but it also absorbed the blood. By the time we stepped into the Haven, it had congealed into a goopy sort of crust that sometimes flaked off when I moved. Being clean is truly a wondrous thing. Being cleaned by a sonic shower is anything but. It worked, no question about that—the caked blood, atomized into dust, fell from my skin in a cloud—but at times it felt like somebody was beating me against the side of a building, as if I were a dirty carpet. Couldn’t hear the soundwaves, just felt them move over me, invisible fingers scraping across my skin with insistent pulses. Through some scientific miracle, it doesn’t remove hair, which is good, because I don’t think I’m into being bald.
