by Kell Inkston
Carrie walks up to the wall beside her and draws its finger across; the crumbling sound from around them picks up slightly in decibel.
"...It is human blood," it answers dryly.
Clare pushes a closed fist to her chest. "D-do you know whose?"
"...I do not understa—"
"Follow me," she interrupts sharply, no longer holding enough patience to listen to it repeat the same phrase over and over. The mark of blood could be anyone’s, after all, she reasons; she can’t panic over the smallest things.
The two push on through the darkening way; more and more trails of blood are present— intermittent with huge, person-sized splattering. If the venture weren't already scary enough, this is finally the fulfillment of Clare's darkest fears. The rumors, the whispered tales of loss— they were all true. People died down here— and one of them may have been her mom.
This is as bad as she can imagine it— however, the reality will stretch far, far deeper than she is presently capable of grasping. She will indeed find what lies in Substation Seven— but not all of her will finish the trip.
In the darkest part of the sector, Clare finally shines her light onto the enlarged text print of "Substation 7".
She doesn't say anything this time, just starts forth with a sobered determination. As she advances however, her pace slows down to a weary, mouse-like gait. The dried blood is practically painted throughout the tight hallway at this point. A surprising amount of people have attempted to exit through here—or enter, perhaps; it could go either way, in her mind.
"Oh god," she whimpers, her pace suddenly slowing even further as she makes her way down the hall, her footsteps now sticking to the carpet of rotten blood. Not just blood, her sense of smell corrects her; anything a human might contain has been strewn along this hallway, carelessly splattered by the hands of a machine no doubt.
Finally, her imagination overtakes her. Like a clock ticking steadily in reverse back to its first midnight, she feels a primal urge overcome her— a heightened sense of constant, expectant dread. She just knows there is a terrible something nearby, waiting to shatter her view of the world forever and cast her into an abyss. She knows it is the truth; deep in her subconscious, she begins to believe in gods other than the immortal King Victor— and they are all wicked, surely. Going through the hall of blood leading down into Substation Seven, Clare cannot help but deteriorate into a sickened crawl in the middle of the tunnel. Carrie slows abruptly behind her. Despite its obvious strength, the automaton will not be able to protect her from what she's about to find.
"Please be okay, momma," Clare whispers under her breath, finally stopping cold in the disease-filled tunnel.
"...We should increase our pace," Carrie suggests, apparently quite aware of some horrible threat that she isn't.
She takes a deep breath, reeled into herself with a pathetic shiver. "Why?"
"...Our objective, once acknowledged by 'Clare', must be attained as quickly as possible."
"Okay, great— but why?!" She whimpers, the rumbling sound now growing steadily louder.
"...because 'Clare' may soon be neutralized, thus rendering objective null."
"Wh-" Clare understands instantly what Carrie is saying, but she refuses to believe it.
"Are you... do you think I'm about to be… killed?"
"...I do not understand-" Carrie hesitates, stopping mid-error message by its own volition. "We have run out of time," it corrects simply, the rumbling noise from behind them finally gaining enough definition to be identified.
Clare straightens herself as she looks around Carrie's shoulder. From the shadows behind them, a dozen managraphic sight plates emerge visible within the dark— each owned by a soulless, single-minded automaton. They're all moving straight for her.
"Wait— n- no!" Clare objects, tumbling backwards onto the ground and covering her backside with the petrified blood and other various fluids of at least ten different corpses. She struggles to get to her feet, slipping through the muck before regaining a wavering balance. "Come on!" She screams in adamant command, running with an unstable stride forward.
Carrie continues right behind her through the dark— the mad approach of the machines completely overtaking her hearing like a tidal wave of walking metal.
Sliding and stumbling forward, she soon outruns the group with Carrie— but only for a fleeting moment before the automatons begin picking up pace, their sickly green visors reappearing from the ominous gloom once more.
"No— oh god, please no!" She trembles briefly on the brink of tears—and then, as if by a miracle, a light emerges at the end of the tunnel. It's bright— so wonderfully bright, Clare can scarcely believe it. "Ohh— it’s the way out down there! Carrie, hurry!" She exclaims with a victorious cheer, resorting to a near glide across the slippery bricks while maintaining a steady pace.
Carrie says nothing, until the very end— when it enters its actual vision. "...'Clare' user should get behind 'Carrie' system." the automaton advises, suddenly bracing itself.
"What? No way!" Clare scoffs; the feint glow of their pursuers is still just barely visible behind them.
"...This is an emergency." Carrie persists.
"Yeah, big surprise," she snarks back, just as she reaches the edge of the tunnel and starts to round the corner. "Do you have any more ingenious deducti-" Clare stops short, swallows her breath and whirls desperately around in a tripping spin, her momentum still propelling her ever further— ever closer as she realizes too late.
In front of her in the substation room is an automaton, untellably-old and clicking back and forth in what seems to be a glitched state. It stands resolute in its purpose, whatever that is, with its managraphed faceplate shining out like a bluish floodlight.
The blue light of its managraph illuminates its hands, stained over with layers of human blood.
She only has seconds to decide, and decides to do exactly what her mother did.
Clare turns back and springs forward with a deep, held breath. She knows a glitched auto shouldn't act upon her presence— but this entire day has been all too weird.
Carrie is moving forward as well now, but at a sprint to close the distance between the two of them.
The second she passes through the tight spot next to the auto, it reaches for her with a speed only a machine could produce. In a barely perceived, confused second, Clare very clearly feels a forceful grip being placed on the skin of her neck— only to stop the instant Carrie tackles the auto and crushes its solid skull.
It was a mere touch by an auto’s standards— but for Clare, as it was for another just a decade before her, the contact draws a rush of blood. She slaps her hand to her neck in immediate pain before crumpling against the wall in a sudden moment of confusion.
"C-oh, oh…" she mutters senselessly between gasps. "That's bad, that's really bad."
Carrie rises swiftly up from the wreckage of the erroneous auto. "Target neutralized. Inquiry: Status Report for 'Clare' User."
"I..." She winces, arching her neck over to try to cover more of the wound. "I don't know. Am I going to die?"
The automaton looks over to the hallway; the pursuing group has almost arrived, visors blaring like murderous cindering coals as they approach the bulkhead entrance. "...'Clare' user is not in danger of expiration,” it responds blankly.
Clare's not sure what to say as her vision starts graying out into those blotting, disoriented impressions of the world around her. The noise starts to muffle, and she feels too weak to stand up. All she remembers is her vision tunneling onto the door.
"Close the door," she says simply, "cl- close the door."
There's a pause. She cannot even hear what Carrie is saying— but from the shadows of the hallway, lit demoniacally by the gazes of the automaton mob, resounds a great thud— followed by a cacophony of smaller, dense beats.
A few misty seconds pass, and she feels an automaton grab her once more. Her subconscious tells her this is the end, that she's
about to be torn to shreds and found weeks later in some designated refuse pile… but the grasp is so unbelievably gentle, it's almost like a person. Far from the separation of nerves she was expecting, she suddenly feels light. She screams anyway, certain that this is the only proper response to anything that could be happening right now, and curls into herself as best she can.
- Chapter 10 -
"...It is apparent that 'Clare' user chassis has sustained damage." Carrie’s voice drifts into her conscience, clicking away in thought as it looks over the retrieved student. "Chassis is biological in nature... estimation of injury is... very minor," it reports, this time with a very, very slight tone of what sounds like disappointment to her.
Still curled up and with her faculties quickly returning, Clare stirs and feels over the wound. She finds no exposed arteries, no gaping flesh; it would appear that the auto did nothing more than pinch its hands ever so slightly into her neck— squishing the skin together for an uncomfortable but altogether-nonthreatening internal injury.
"I'm..." she messes with it a little, wincing the second she actually applies pressure to it. "Wow, that was close,” she mutters. She's not sure exactly what happened— but she did hear once from one of the medical engineers that a person can "think" themselves into an injured state if it psyches them out enough. She takes a few long, recuperative breaths, and then unfurls in Carrie's arms. "Put me down, please," she requests.
"...I-"
"Release 'Carrie' user chassis, please." she corrects herself curtly.
It drops her abruptly onto the floor with a decisive plop. "Gah! No, you idiot! You stupid—"
"...I do not—"
“Hush,” Clare interjects huffily. She directs her focus to the door, taking back to her feet with sudden readiness. "How long will the door hold?" she directs.
Carrie looks to where she's looking, and pulls the context of the action it had previously executed from its registry. "...I do not know."
She groans briefly. Of course it would be too much to expect it to take measurements any more accurately than a person could. "What’s all that managraphing actually good for, then?"
"...I do not-" it begins.
But she cuts it off with another pointed groan. "Never mind it,” she hastens in exasperation, “Come on and let's find something to reinforce it with before they manage to break thr-" She stops herself short, having finally turned away from the door long enough to notice the rest of her surroundings.
There it waits— a small, unassuming hallway curving sharply to the right. There's no substation here, not even the signs of what once may have been a substation— just a turn to the right, a crushed auto, and the two of them.
Just as when she thought she was about to die, she finds herself at a loss for words. For the better part of a minute, she just stares down. The answers to all her questions looms around that corner— and she's afraid she's not ready.
"This is the way out," she states in awe.
"...This is surely a path to the waypoint,” Carrie confirms. “I am under the impression that our next plan of action is to continue on down that hall."
Clare scoffs at its obvious observation. Though it worries her that it clearly knows more than it's letting on, and the manner in which to access that information is too complex for her to retrieve it. She looks back to the path again. Her injury doesn't feel quite so bad anymore, especially knowing that the unknown is waiting for her. She returns her attention briefly to the bulkhead door. She's not sure why a substation would need one, but she's certain whoever designed the city had a reason— whatever it was. Now, however, she's forced to go forward. Still hearing the slow, steady beating from the other side, no doubt the automatons attempting to break through, she realizes that they will probably remain there indefinitely unless someone comes to get them.
"With no stimuli or pro-noted route, they'll be there forever— won't they?" she observes with a cold tone.
"...I do not understand your terminology. Please rephrase inquiry," Carrie answers simply.
Clare just nods her head. "Right… so I Guess this is it, then."
"...Inquiry: Definition of 'this'."
She sighs and looks over to the machine with a serious gaze. "The part where I find out what happened to my mom. Come on."
"...Noted."
Taking a determined step, she heads down the hall and turns the corner, with Carrie close behind and no worse for wear.
Her blue light, eerie in combination with her surroundings, shines on the tunnel— illuminating it for the scant ten meters before another turn. She notices a few more separated splotches of blood going down— quite unlike those large, dragging lines she encountered on the way into the Substation. These look much more like the trail of someone wandering about with an open wound, rather than a deconstructed corpse being dragged off.
Mulling on it, the small spark of hope in Clare's eye re-alights into a glimmer. It looks like someone’s gotten out before.
"I'm coming," she murmurs firmly, rounding the corner once more with vigor.
Instantly, Clare halts. So terrible are the implications of what suddenly lies before her, that she temporarily loses all faculties. They are supposed to be at the very lowest level of Everhold— and yet, there it is.
In front of her, mocking her every understanding of where she lives, is a rusted spiral staircase— leading down into the cold, silent black.
"W-wait a second— this can't be right," she mutters to herself. In a moment of complete disbelief, she actually pulls out the map to double check the very same diagram she's looked at over and over and over for the past hour. The substation system is supposed to be the very lowest level of the city— and yet, here's something else going even lower. After her harrowing ordeal, Clare expected to be traveling through the tunnels for no more than an extra minute or so before finally reaching the outside world. She takes in a deep, calming breath as she struggles to hold onto her thoughts in the face of this new revelation. "N-no," she starts reassuringly. "It's just a dip; we’re up on a cliffside— that would make perfect sense, of course! That would explain how we were able to withstand the flood waters on such short notice! There’s no need to worry. Everything is cool." She speaks aloud, almost expecting a validation from Carrie to alleviate her doubts– but the automaton is making no movement, and the firmness of her voice is wavering.
"Alright,” she stiffens with renewed resolve, “let’s go, then!" She shouts gaily as she starts straight down the crusty stairs— each step making a satisfyingly industrial ring on its way to what she is certain is freedom.
The two descend deeper into the darkness— but it's not nearly as deep as Clare first expected; it couldn't be more than a couple of stories now, she estimates cheerily.
She scoffs. She's really doing it, she thinks. She’s going to make it outside the walls of Everhold, find her mother— and that will finally be the end of that! Perhaps, she thought, the people of Everhold wouldn't want to leave— and Clare is starting to feel like that's okay. "To each their own," she hums with a tone of slight pretension, as if only now she's truly joined the very exclusive club of free-thinking individuals among humanity: those that have escaped.
Finishing the descent down the steps, she begins musing on what society outside the walls must look like. Perhaps there are great cities there as well, even greater than Everhold. How silly she feels now— how very pathetic she was— not even having the courage to scale the walls before this all began. She was so distracted by the bread and the circus in her youth, the work and the prestige— that she too never asked herself if it was all a false pretense. Of course, she was never lied to, she’s certain— just fooled, like all the rest. It was an innocent set of truths upheld from one generation to the next— and then, one day, those truths were no longer factual. The waters must have receded, and it was safe to come out from the walls. She feels sorry for them now, but knows she couldn't change their minds— not unless she could somehow hop up the other
side and tell them all to destroy their houses for material, and build a ladder to meet her. If she finds her mom, maybe then she'll ask her about it.
Clare shakes her head with a mild smirk. She's sure of it now. Everything's going to be okay; she just worked herself up a bit. There's nothing all that unusual about this after all, she feels— just well-intentioned humans tricking themselves, and then failing to learn from the older generation’s mistakes. Perhaps Victor is just jealous and wants to feel needed by continuing the charade— how quaint of him.
As she reaches the bottom of the stairwell, she is greeted by another tight passage— of the same recycled sand-brick but with a bit of water at their feet. At the end of that passage is another bulkhead— and this one is closed.
She finally hesitates here, only briefly enough to wonder why.
"Carrie," she asks as she steps up to the door, her feet pattering in through the water with already tired, clumsy steps.
"...System recognizes address." It drones back.
"Any idea what's behind that door?"
It clicks for a moment. "... It is 'Carrie' System's understanding that this route leads to-" it clicks again. "The part where I find out what happened to my mom. Come on," it finishes anticlimactically, providing a surprisingly good tonal repeat of her words given just a couple moments prior.
Clare looks at Carrie with solid disappointment. "I'm serious."
"...This system is also serious," it says, emphasizing the word ‘serious’ with a slightly deeper mechanical tone.
And that settles it. She'll just have to take the dive— hopefully not literally.
Clare clears her throat and turns back in the direction of the bulkhead door. The kingdom has such little metal, it's surprising to see so much of it used just to close up an entryway; whatever purpose it serves, it must be a very important one. With a grim anticipation, Clare finishes her walk through the water, arriving at its framework and placing her gloved hands upon its surface. She feels... confident. However, it would be wrong to miss the thought that if there is water on the other end, the pressure is probably going to kill her instantly— blasted back into the spiral staircase and divided into a crimson spray.
