Into the Violet Gardens

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Into the Violet Gardens Page 12

by Isaac Nasri


  We can thank the Accord for that.

  “In that case, we’re at—”

  “War.”

  The two look directly at each other, having said the last word at once. The air between them becomes frigid, and Eva’s lips numb.

  “That’s why I came,” she says. The cyborg unzips her bag, setting down the Oni stand on the table’s surface. “I have plenty to settle.”

  She briefly explains what happened at Langley. Ottoman tosses the cigar over the window and brings down the glass, removing whatever air loomed inside the office. A gleeful spark shines in his hawkish eyes.

  “Had my own plans before you arrived,” Ottoman says. Aerial engines roar outside, followed by a twin of war jets racing in the sky.

  “Each state must be targeted.”

  Before the negotiation can even continue, the door opens. To her surprise, Eva turns to see the same agent with the falcon at hand. The bird croaks at her. His gray helm intact over his head and the light leaching from the window reflects on his cobalt circular visor. He stood one foot taller than her. She spots a ball, wrapped in a white towel, resting in his grasp. The cyborg nods.

  “No means to interrupt. You’re…you’re Eva by any chance?” the JOA agent asks politely.

  She signals her head. “Yes. Hello?”

  “I’ve found this. You may have some memories.”

  He hands her the sphere, and once she removes the towel, her mouth drops to the name signaled on the temple.

  Hax? No.

  Eva cradles the head of the Prowler, who guided her to the airport. Its right azure eye is no longer visible, and scratches bored deep in the steely surface. The air escapes from her mouth. Nails pierce inside her heart. Events from months prior begin to speed in her head like a stampede, flooding her with shock.

  “I was waiting to show you,” he says. “After my text. Since your NI isn’t linked with our Virtual Network as of yet.”

  She turns her glance to the Prowler’s preserver and messenger. Eva had much to honor him for, but she couldn’t bring the words from her mouth, as if a gate had dropped down her tongue. Her eyes couldn’t even blink until Ottoman said, “Ah. Found him lying in the ruble at Cancun. After all, my HQ wasn’t the only one on fire then.”

  Eva sets her head down. Soon as she sits, the melancholy shatters, morphing into a blaze kindling in her veins. The image of Soriana strolling with her back turned flashes, perturbing her vision. Her fist clenches.

  “Let’s not waste time,” she says hotly. Her tone becomes imperious. “As I said earlier, we must deploy all troops on the ground! It’s time we let Virtuals fight back.”

  “When do we initiate then?” the operative questions her.

  “By tomorrow, we will strike our enemies without warning…” She sets the Oni’s handle over her palm, stroking it.

  “You’re sure it will work?”

  “They’re too caught up in their antics. The less obvious we are, the lethal the impact.”

  “Clever. My aerial forces have that taken care of,” Ottoman confirms. “I’ve enacted two phases. Starting off, phase one. We hit the capital with a message.” His lips twist to a smile. “After all, we share a common enemy.”

  Then the Final Phase…

  “Leave the last one to me,” Eva says immediately. Her blood boils. “As for Phase One, I know EXACTLY who to eliminate first.”

  The three remain taciturn in their upcoming cabal. She gazes at her reflection at the severed head of Hax, and her eyes ignite with gusto. It was a shame Eva had to descend on this route, but she’s had her limit. The protesters marched visibly, igniting their dynamites and flinging them into the Martial stations. The android models cripple in flames, and fiery sparks consume her view. She’s seen too many Virtuals eliminated around her. Her home government, the regulators who were supposed to look out for them, only left them astray, turning a blind eye to the humans tearing cyborgs limb by limb. They’ve thrown Rip and the rest of his kind into oblivion. They left her with nothing. They made it clear what mattered to them the most, and Eva was bound to change that. What she’s prepared to do will give Virtuals a fire that will never die out. That fire will pervade, incinerating whatever power the regulators had left.

  Meanwhile, for Soriana, Eva didn’t need to cut her down. Not just yet, especially when the human’s far from vulnerable. The sole person who left an imprint on Soriana shines in a heartbeat. Eva looks down at her bionic fingers, folding them and smiling in approbation. The hardware in her brain clicks. She had a rude awakening to stir.

  In fact, Eva discovers it would take more than an overt assault to eradicate the network that held Soriana and the government in place. It had to be something that would break them to the bones.

  Chapter 13

  Troy leans toward one of the station’s column stands, waiting for the Amtrak to arrive. His bag rests in between his legs. The flood of people storming back and forth barricades his view of the sun brightening his temple. The Virtual shifts his foot, enduring a sharp pressure swell from inside as he gazes behind at the waiters basking on the benches and a man snuggling his arm around his fiancé. As much as Troy wanted to sit on one of the benches, the odds were stacked against him.

  “Beware the roads.”

  Those were the three words Paula Krueger said to him on the phone before he arrived here on his way to Manhattan. After all, she was the sister of his former supervisory agent, Sam Krueger, back when Troy was an ex-human for the FBI. Troy had no idea who she was until he opened his eyes. Resting supine on the white bed, he stares confoundedly at her presence on the seat. The aroma of cocoa consumed the pallid room. Recondite detail exposes on the board near her, and the moment she sealed her hands was the same time Troy stared into his prosthetic palm, repeating the step.

  Before he resigned, Sam always encouraged him to keep Paula as a “reference for diagnosis,” despite that moment of time being the only time Troy spotted her. With what’s stirring, what else did he have in his network anymore?

  Troy glances upward, and his eyes begin to obscure. The last conversation between Soriana and him that February surfaces like a merging cloud in the sky. She may have meant something when she attempted to offer a second chance in contact. She may have foreseen this moment. However, Troy knew nothing significant would come crawling to the woman that had him slipping on so many icy slopes. He couldn’t bear reliving the mortifying fantasies he fixated so long in his head. He visualized his heart spinning and member erecting within his pants the afternoon walking past her door creaked halfway open, witnessing her step from the vertical climber. She slings the towel from the chair, wiping the sweat from her head and hair. Her thighs dampened. Soak drenched her dark shorts and sports bra as she sauntered to close the door before she could see Troy.

  “That’s a game over for you, Troy. Don’t give a rat’s ass how fine the woman is. Genuine. Whatever. Your guts are not hers to share.”

  As late Uncle Joey advised him wisely, Troy learned no good would’ve come revealing those feelings to Soriana. No matter how many times his former suitemates bantered. Why stoop to that level? He learned the hard way in high school when he first opened those feelings to his long-time peer, Bri Adams, months before prom and the air between them was eradicated. The leaves gushed over him as he stood by Bri’s door, shivering to the silence outside until the utter of his name, followed by laughter, echoed inside. The petals snap from the rose, swaying to the wind, and he lets loose of his grip on the flowers as they splash on the pond. As deplorable it was then, losing whatever hope of date he had, Troy was grateful for the wake-up call.

  His nostrils flare to coal roaming in the air. The cyborg turns to an engine booming to his right, and twin lights flash his way.

  ***

  The train vibrates as it advances. Chair facing the window, Troy’s eyes lock on the trees, zooming outside. The sky grays as if a storm is imminent. Dubstep from his iPhone rumbles in his ears, sealing him from the chatter arou
nd him while the cup of water and cookies rest on his table. The chatter loudens, and several women next to the cyborg chortle.

  “See? I work at the cafes,” one of the passengers tells aloud. Blue eyeliners glint on her eyelashes. A sticker entitled SHUTDOWN SMART attaches to her pants pocket. “Dump a piece of that cyanide or period fluid into the drink. They got no idea till the next day.”

  They laugh in unison. Troy’s neck churns as he takes a glance at the snack. None of the passengers across from him say a word. The water jiggles. He looks away, pushing it aside. If he could open this whole entire and toss this minuscule meal overboard, Troy would be delighted without a second thought. Imagine having to move somewhere else, possibly the second floor, but even that suggestion was far from practicable.

  I’d rather goddamn starve today.

  A waitress stalks by with a single utility cart containing a tray of water bottles and alcohol without glancing at the three young women next to the cyborg, feigning oblivion to the salacious conversation taking place. Each of the three women, somewhere in their late teens to mid-twenties, dazzled themselves in ripped denim shorts and tank tops.

  Before he can amp up the music, his nerves ring when someone calls superciliously, “Hi. What’s your name?”

  Troy’s glance remains on the window, turning a deaf ear to whatever was spewed. After all, it didn’t do him well to jump to conclusions so soon. He maintains direction outside, where a small number of quad drones glide.

  The voice loudens, piercing his back. “I’m herree!!”

  Bearing a nerve pulse in his temple, Troy turns around slowly. His gaze sours upon looking at a young fair-skinned passenger standing as bold as a badger. Her black hair, laced with a thick purple hue, is knotted in twin braids. A ruby eyeshadow overshadows her slanted eyes. The symbol of a red shield, implanted with the word VERITAS, emblazons on the breast pocket of her gray coat, which she wore over her zipped ruby collared top and denim skirt.

  Troy raises his eyebrows. “Uh…can I help you or something?”

  Folding her arms, the heckler plucks her lips. “What’s got you in here? I mean…no offense, but you’re all dressed in black. Trying to be Black Panther with this?”

  Guffaws echo among many as eyes lock on him. The cyborg’s temperature rises. The three women near him gaze at him, smirking at each other. The waiter looks over his shoulder, facial expression solid as a tomb, before stepping foot inside the other car. Troy’s stomach twists. He sets gaze at his heckler, one hand clutched to the holster.

  Virtuaphobia at its greatest. Well, this trip’s busted.

  “I got an idea,” he says coldly as his heart pounds. Noise echoes behind him, followed by a shadow passing by his heckler. Nonetheless, she takes no notice. “Maybe it’s best we drop the goddamn jokes and enjoy the ride for once.”

  Troy rotates his back toward her, exasperated. Before he can insert the plugs again, a thump hits the rear of his chair, holding it in a tenacious position. The cyborg shoots the heckler a grave look, but she rolls her eyes in return.

  “Ooh mind games. He’s playing mind games!” she lambasts. The heckler glosses at everyone in the car, raising her hands in mock surrender, and she vicariously impersonates a memorably deep accent that was all too rudimentary to be extraordinary. “I AM terminated.”

  Laughter roars once again, piquing the Virtual. The heckler says, “Listen—you can’t uh…play me for stupid. You know that.” Her tone turns ominous, almost falling deep. She stoops herself at his level. “You know what I can do if you…dare put your hands on me. Do you know who we are?”

  Troy’s grip on the holster tightens upon seeing the red creep in the passenger’s face. His glare intensifies upon eyeing everyone. The energy in the train darkens like a mist around the Virtual, trapping him in its barrier of smoke. His heart ceases to beat. He may have made a grievous mistake taking this route, and the odds unite against him once again. No amount of his reasoning would do to kick aside this parasite that was bent to upend his sanity. Worse case, end him.

  “Cyborg,” a man’s smug voice calls out. His stout belly shakes as he rises from his seat. He wags his elbow as if flexing off a crack. Tattoos brand on his rigid biceps, obscuring his skin. Others near him beckon proudly as he snickers. “Let’s be straight. Whatever your name is…we can do whatever we want—”

  He jerks to a swarm of bullets breaching from the glass. The man’s body jiggles to the plethora of bullets inundating his chest until a segment of his ribs shatters. Screams crack. Troy whips out his handgun. The bright beam locks in Troy’s direction, and he dives from the blast.

  Chapter 14

  The tree bark scorches the surface of Soriana’s palm as she leaps to the next tree. Her foot swings till she presses it against the surface. Climbing, she blows away the leaves descending on her face like snowflakes. The bushes above shuffle, and two dark shadows flap from sight. Their croaks reverberate as they glide.

  The officer claws her way upward like a bear reaching for the dangling honey until she finally grabs hold of a thick scion. Her face turns ruby upon pressing her body upward, and she snuggles her leg. Soriana sighs as she straightens herself on top, leaning a foot forward. She stares at the grime and blisters stains on her hands, and the claws on her sheer gloves shrivel back into their position. Her palms ache, though it was nothing but extraneous. She recollects the times she would leap her way over the trees in Rock Creek Park, scraping her thighs as she crept upward. The green leaves above gleamed to the sun’s beam, and the descending nut bounced on her nose. Blood oozed at the tip of her fingers. She relished every moment in reaching the apex to gaze brazenly at the Northwest outskirts of her home in the District of Columbia.

  The clouds conceal the sun gleaming, and the sky dims. Her hair, knotted in a ponytail, motions to the gush. Her lips, usually embellished with a bright ruby, were left in their plain complexion. She clutches a hand to her chest. The flow of water rumbles into her ear, and she glances morosely to her shoulder. A bird glides over the murky river streaming dully, and her vision obscures like a fog. Soriana eyes Eva below, water racing over her ankle as she flipped upward. The water splashed as her palm landed. The former loomed downward, foot soaked in the stream. One step, and Eva swatted. Soriana catches it in a heartbeat and the fist shifts in her grasp.

  She looks away, and in seconds, the river remains naked. It was perplexing to find herself situated in the reserve where Eva harnessed herself for so long. Almost like a noxious satisfaction. Where was Eva? Soriana could only imagine the endless possibilities in reversing time. As much as the CIA’s policy meant to her livelihood, nothing stabbed her heart more than the hour she let the latter slip. If only she had persisted and stopped the elevator from closing. But she was too craven to do so. In Eva’s own eyes, and because of what was mandated nationwide, Soriana was now branded a liar. The agent who committed mendacity against her sister to preserve her integrity, if there was. She would give to restore what was shattered. How could she be so naïve yet so helpless?

  What is my obligation? What is my integrity then?

  Soriana shifts to a growl rumbling in the sky, but it wasn’t any sound she would deem natural. She grimaces to birds gliding in the clouds. The same time, her phone rings.

  “Salazar,” Wayne calls out warily. He pants. “Where ARE you now?”

  Soriana looks over her left, swallowing. “I’m…I’m not far.”

  “I’m getting signals of non-friendly birds approaching. Wherever you are, you must head out—”

  She turns to a flaring ambience coming downward. She leaps from the blast eradicating the top of the tree, and a blazing scion tumbles. A bright pain pierces her ankle as she scurries and rises. The warbirds swarm the sky like a myriad of wraiths, firing. The officer taps at the activation on the pack laced on her hip. Soon an ivory exoskeleton laces over her brown pants. Her cleats radiate on the ground as she blitzes with booming speed. Her ponytail glides, and trees crumble. She leaps from t
he soil erupting and splashing dirt on her face. The ground vibrates and splashes echo from behind.

  Heart pounding, Soriana looks back to a ten-foot goliath charging her way from the river. Dust settles over the pilot.

  Jaguars of Apollo?! Why?

  Soriana staggers to a swarm of fire zapping in a vertical direction. A shadow looms downward, but she manages to slide before it can crush her. She draws out one of her pistols and pulls the trigger. Three rounds ricochet from the Gorillax’s iron plate. The headstrong pilot persists in his or her chase.

  She stumbles halfway to a blaze belching to her side. Tapping her pack rapidly, Soriana’s blood rushes to a heavy dose of air roaring at her face by a swift rush like no other. Her body bolts and the veins on her thighs constrict. She eyes an incoming tree and skids. Her cleats split through the wood, and chunks spit at her. That is, until she flashes forward, halted by her motorcycle in position. The goliath races only for the tree to land, smashing the plate with an immense impact that quivers the forest.

  She bites her lips to the warships inundating from above. Soriana rises, and the pain on her legs roars. Lurching from the smoke storms several more Gorillaxs, shoulder cannons flaring in her direction. Breathing and throwing her arms over her motorcycle, Soriana presses down on the pedal. With little time to process the pressure, the officer bolts with acceleration.

  The officer steers before the massive blast can engulf her. The inferno cracks in her ears and trees whoosh past her view. She whistles upon reaching the road of Georgetown Pike, but her anticipation can only worsen.

  Police officers cower behind their car doors, returning fire as JOA cyborgs fire a barrage of gunfire behind the wall of congested cars. Drivers and officers grunt at the bullets splitting into their skulls. Soriana skids to a shot reflecting on the front wheel before regaining control. She initiates a curve over the crammed vehicles, ramming into the Virtual invaders like a razor wheel. Scrap and bionic limbs glide at her.

 

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