by Amanda Churi
But Sage would have plenty of time to explain that; they had eternity left to catch up on the time they missed together.
Sage’s legs lifted up and over the edge of the vault on their own, laying Sage gently beside Kevin. The temperature of the metal shot through their body, but the warmth fluttering in Sage’s limbs overtook it. They took care in wrapping their arms over and around their father’s chest, aware of just how fragile he was, but Sage couldn’t help but give the slightest squeeze, rubbing their sewn-on nose against Kevin’s bruised neck.
Sage reached for the metal ceiling above them—held it tightly and pulled, rolling them back into the wall until there was a click, a settling of the container with the last touch of light vanishing.
Sage lowered their arm and resumed their hug, at peace in the darkness—a calm, settling one that they never wanted to leave. It was just the two of them. And Sage knew that it wasn’t Daddy’s fault for leaving them, but finally… Sage felt like they had a father too.
“Daddy… I finally found you…”
Thirty-seven
Revered
September 17th, 2147
Hiya, book! And everyone else who reads this. Ha… This is strange to write, but if you’re seeing this, that most likely means that the mission is complete! That we won! And that I’m gone. Sorry! I can’t tell you how it happened since I haven’t actually died yet, but I at least hope it was epic! Something worthy of the name “Flye.” Don’t worry, I’m not gonna try and die, but I do have a bone to pick with a specific father fucker.
Speaking of which, I guess if I do die, then our family mission is over too… But that’s ok because then there is no need to secretly preserve the truth! History will be twisted no more! This book can only give you a glimpse of what the past was like, but know that it is true. Know that every page of this is real, that the things I have written on the previous page are real, that a sun is real—that Heaven is real. And if you’re now free, remember what’s written here, remember it all: rewriting history is damaging, but losing history is catastrophic.
Ah… Sybil and Vasili are telling me to hurry up. Remember those names, too; they’re great demons.
And if you ever find a boy named Derek Woodard, if I failed to find him, please tell him this: that I never stopped trying to find you; that I never stopped loving you; and that whatever happened, I’m proud of you.
Love God, love life, and never stop fighting for what you want. Be the rebel in your own world if that’s what it takes to be happy.
~ Flye Woodard
A tear hit the page—Seek screamed and wiped it with her elbow, trying to wick it away before it stained the ancient paper. It left a smudge, but nothing that morphed her ally’s last words.
A relieved sigh cleaned out her lungs. Seek slumped with the book on her legs, heftily closing the cover and staring off into nothingness. The fact that Flye delayed the reinforcement wave by several minutes just to make an entry… It annoyed Seek at first, thinking of all the lives that could have been saved, but now, in the aftermath, she was happy Flye did that—happier that Sybil lived to show them where such an invaluable artifact was hidden.
For the first time in years, Seek had peace. A form of ruffled, twisted peace, but it was the closest she had gotten in a long, long time… The only time that she could possibly compare it to was those days when she was spoiled and chunky. The lessons with her then masked father—the better one—and the nights her mother tucked her in.
She chuckled, glancing around the concrete cube she sat in, one built with war scars, but still standing. And it had a view—a safe one: one of a clear sky and a reaching sun.
But even that sight could not compare to the beauty of Gannon’s strung corpse.
“Yo, Seek-sama, you ready?”
The jokingly-used honorific made her heavy heart bounce. The metal door creaked open, and Virgil’s head peeked in, his burned, fleshy lips curling in the same, throbbing way that Seek’s were. He did not wait for an answer, closing the door and appearing behind her in the mirror. His massive, chiseled body served as a backdrop for her huddled, seated figure. She looked away from his searching red eyes bouncing at her from the slick surface, instead toying with the crown atop her head. “Merritt wouldn’t be too happy to hear you using her signature tag, you know.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m doing it.”
She scoffed. “Still trouble…”
He shrugged. “Hey, can you blame me? Still second in command. Doesn’t seem fair that you bypassed me because you’ve got some glitter in the blood.”
His reply troubled her, and she looked back at his eyes, surprised to find the lightness in them. “Hey, hey, I’m only joking.”
“…Hm…” Half-convinced, she looked back at herself, trying to attach the golden crown that was far too large for her petite head by tying strands of her brittle black hair around the branches. “I still can’t get used to this,” she complained quietly. “It makes me look too much like Calla…”
“Of all things to complain about…” He put a ribboned hand on her shoulder, squeezing with caution so as to not snap her brittle bones. “There’s much worse that could have happened to you.”
“I know…” She sighed, leaning her neck back and staring out the shabby window at the sight she could not get enough of these past few weeks. The burden of a queen was a role she resented, but those left needed someone to lead them… “Do you think that deep down, Pinion would have been happy to see this day?”
Silence followed. She looked over her shoulder at Virgil’s lowered face, unsure whether or not she wanted his answer. “I don’t know anymore…” His leather black skin and crisscrossing scars pressed into a tight smile. “But I know Mabel and Eero would have… Flye too.”
Her heart ached with the flood of grief that left her chest as air. Virgil grunted once and took the book from her lap, placing it on the stone dresser next to Seek’s shackle—a clamp that hadn’t been worn since Gannon was announced dead. “Come on. We’ve endured enough pain for lifetimes; now’s the time to enjoy what bit we have left.”
He took her away from the mirror before she could manage a pitiful reply—rolled her away in her wheelchair and down the rickety ramp of crushed concrete—and no doubt lives.
Her legs were too weak to move; every breath hurt, every thump of the heart, turn of the eyes… Even the instinctive cringes in response to her pain only amplified it. Many times, Seek was called a ghostly child, but never had the name fit better. Giving up her remaining souls should have killed her; it was the fate she accepted when she ran to Eero, but waking up to the terrified hands of her allies proved that at least one angel had lingered behind, and so, Seek had survived. Just not some of her basic functions, walking included.
She didn’t enjoy staying holed up so much. In the end, twenty-six Encryptors made it out alive, and at least two guarded her all hours of the day, always on the lookout for a straying Bot or escaped Haxor trying to take her life. Aphrite was the worst hit of all the districts—it made perfect sense given that was where they infiltrated the empire from, but the others hardly looked better… The only difference was the larger number of surviving Players since all enemy forces had to be drawn away after a point to defend against the rebel invasion.
Happy to see that it didn’t work.
Velhm was the most salvaged district, being on the opposite side of Aphrite, so it was where they had decided to lie low for the time being. Patrolling the castle was still incomprehensibly risky… It was too soon, and they were too few. Who knew the traps that were left behind? Until every corner had been cleared, she wouldn’t even glance at such a terrible place from afar.
Sybil, Vasili, and the lerial clan had been one of the largest blessings to their nearly obsolete force. They were the scouts of the palace, investigating the damage left behind. Sybil dedicated herself to being the main eyes; with a camera around her neck, she scoured every inch she could, relaying the feed back to the cube-sha
ped projector Seek had wedged in between her stick thighs.
She stared down at the box as Virgil finished rolling her down the winding ramp and onto the side street. The sentry stationed at their temporary base nodded as the two left, but they did not follow. “Snipe isn’t coming?”
Virgil shook his head. “Wind’s infection is worsening. He refuses to let her out of sight. Don’t worry, we aren’t going far—but for the love of God, you need to get outside.”
She couldn’t argue with that, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to.
They soon came to the main plaza—and the overturned statue of her too-many-greats-grandfather, Desmond, in the center. Players continued to haul away hunks of the precious marble for personal use; goods once sold at both high and low values towered in the square and on the surrounding streets, a true free-for-all that Seek refused to enforce. Currency was of no value right now—and how would they regulate it anyway? Besides, after all they had endured, she thought they all enjoyed a little spoiling.
Her included. “Virgil, can you grab me a piece of jerky? Preferably a big one.”
“Sure.” He kicked the brake down under her wheel. “Don’t roll off on me now.” He walked off and immersed himself within the scuffling scavengers.
Seek looked down at the silent projector. She hadn’t caught up on the recordings for days now. Eero, Mabel, and Pinion had been discovered while she was still unconscious. Pinion’s ballooned buoy of a body with the peeling strands of paper-white skin was hard to stomach, but Seek physically hurled seeing what had become of her friends. Gannon’s body was found not far off, which was the only thing that gave her back a sliver of her sanity, knowing that they had succeeded in taking him down.
But that was three days after they officially claimed victory—an event over two weeks old. It was four days ago that Sybil found Flye’s body. For some reason, that was what did it for Seek… And she didn’t know why. She was never particularly close with Flye, but hearing Sybil’s cries… It was horrifying… So was seeing the camera lens nuzzling Flye’s charred skin, trying to bring her back to life. It happened again: Sybil was alone.
But they all were. Those left could hardly attribute their survival to skill; it was just a matter of luck.
“Q-Queen Seek?”
“Huh?” She raised her head to a group of three who came to stand in front of her: one man and two women, each as broken and pathetic-looking as the last. Not that anyone looked like anything but nowadays.
The smaller framed of the two women dropped to her knees, cupping her hands and shaking them urgently in front of Seek. “P-please! We have a favor to ask!”
“HEY!” Virgil bellowed from atop the mound.
Seek threw up a hand before he charged. “Of course. What is it?”
“Umm…” Her head turned away in embarrassment. She suddenly couldn’t finish her request.
Seek forced a fake chuckle. “There’s no harm in asking. Please, I don’t mind at all.”
Even her answer could not resummon the woman’s courage.
“Can you look in the database for us…?” the woman behind her asked. Seek found her black eyes that too had trouble establishing contact. “We want to know… What happened to our sister…”
Seek couldn’t keep up the act with that request. It was a duty performed too often every time Seek ventured out; it was part of the reason she hated leaving her room, but she knew how essential closure was. It was something that Seek couldn’t get for herself, not even with all of the search reports that Sybil and the others brought back.
“Of course,” Seek finally replied. She pushed down on the cube as the plates sprung apart, a blue screen beaming into the air. Seek tried to ignore the blinking square in the corner. Nineteen surveillance clips to catch up on… Urg… Later… “Say her full name.”
“H-Hiladia Joan Tupone.”
The machine converted the sound waves into letters, filling in the search bar. The last letter filed in and zipped away into the database—a whiny, red, blinking exclamation mark came back. “Is the name spelled different than normal?” Seek prompted.
“Um…” The standing sister scratched her head, her skin popping with red. “I-I don’t know…”
“Her registry code then?”
She thought on it for a moment. “3144…F…11…L…45N…C?”
The code burst into the registry; data began filling the screen, a picture among it. “T-THAT’S HER!” The sister on her knees jumped to her feet, leaning over Seek expectantly. “Please! What does it say?!”
The answer wasn’t what Seek wanted, definitely not what they did. The words felt grainy and cold coming up her throat. “Birthgiver… Deceased…”
The three sighed in unison. “How long?” the brother asked.
“Seven months ago…”
The sister closest to Seek pulled back with a whimper. “I see… Thank you. We’re sorry for being a bother…”
“N-no!” Seek exclaimed. “Knowing is important.”
“Yeah…” The woman turned away, heading off with her brother.
One lingered behind, bowing slightly. “Thank you, Queen.” With that, she hustled off in rising sniffles after her siblings, trying to hold it together until she was out of the royal’s eye.
Seek sighed, looking back at the screen. The box continued to blink. The search was already open. Maybe this time…? “Justus Revere.”
The name was correctly entered, but a large white question mark with the glaring word GLITCH answered. Of course, it wouldn’t update… But she couldn’t help but try.
Giving in, she moved her eyes to the blinking inbox, opening it. Nineteen files were still marked as new. The thumbnail of the last one viewed—the one with Flye’s burned, deceased face—slammed a nail through her skin. She thought back to the book, to the final entry she had read an unhealthy amount of times. Knowing is important…
She moved her eyes back to the registry box. “Derek Woodard.”
The spelling was accepted. The face that popped up, although young, was astoundingly similar to Flye’s. The status of DECEASED was bittersweet to read… Something she expected but surely hoped was untrue. If only he could have been alive for Seek to find… She couldn’t think of a better way to honor her lunatic of a friend.
Out of curiosity, she looked at the date that the file was last updated. Nearly five years ago. A short report was attached, which she quickly opened. It was brief. Elite eligibility: denied. Haxor eligibility: denied. Conversion to Bot attempted—subject terminated after repeated acts of resistance.
“Just like his sister,” she mused quietly. “What rebels…” Yet that word pinched her lips into a grin, just like Flye wanted it to. If Derek had to die, she had no doubt that Flye would have been happy knowing he did so fighting.
“Here you go.” Virgil was back at her side, holding a prime piece of jerky at her shriveled face. She took it graciously, munching down with ravenous bites as Virgil turned her around and began rolling her back to the base. “The rations are running low,” he told her bluntly.
She tore off another chunk and woofed it down. “We’ve got plenty of prisoners… And even more carnage.”
He raised a hairless brow to her. “Is that the real you or your highness speaking?”
“Does it matter?” she retorted darkly. “Right now, we just have to survive, right?”
He grunted an indiscernible answer, pushing her down the rickety street. Seek continued eating, using the food to drown the sickening semblance she felt to Pinion—to Virgil, even—with such a gruesome reply. No, she wouldn’t end up like Pinion, but hundreds of years of barbarity could not be undone in a few weeks, even years. Perhaps she could graze the surface on her deathbed, but even then, it would be a far from perfect world, certainly far from fair…
The notification box in the upper-right blinked with a chime. Nineteen turned to twenty. When I get back, she told herself. I need time and quiet to—
Twenty-one.
>
“Huh?” she wondered aloud.
“What?” Virgil asked.
Twenty-two, twenty-three.
“Sybil just sent me—” She paused to correct herself. “Five files. Six.”
“Why?”
“I-I don’t know.” She moved her sight to open the first of the barrage, but by then, the clips totaled thirty. What did you find…?
***
He never saw the sun for himself; he saw it only through the screens. A part of him burned with jealousy, another fear. Popping up and seeing it for himself was a swift death wish.
So, Justus stayed seated, far below the surface, safe from them but not himself. Monitors the sizes of chips and ones that took up entire walls wrapped around him. The screens that flickered almost seemed broken because of how many black blocks appeared while cycling through the camera feed. So many were taken down with the invasions—more so by the hour as Players shattered any hidden lenses found. Every day, more and more files read GLITCH, trackers removed and barcodes dismantled. The invasive and extensive surveillance system was being overturned at a rapid rate.
But he just watched through his broken glasses, obsessively reading files and familiarizing himself with what he had made his refuge over the past few weeks. But to describe it like that made it seem like a life’s dream.
No. It was his own Hell, one that was not below the Earth but flashing around him as pixels; such torture even existed in his skin, his morals, thoughts, eyes—everything that kept him linked to mortality. The storage of food that he had rationed harshly had run out days ago; the air vent on the ceiling that he had wiggled through to get here was pumping in more soot that it was air. That was the only way out… Climbing up would be much harder than down, especially in his current state, but the surface meant food— and a sun that didn’t warm the skin but did the soul.
But surfacing also meant facing those who obviously didn’t give a damn about him—facing his sister, the new queen, of all things.
