Into the Violet Gardens

by Isaac Nasri

  Soriana yelps as she whirls clockwise. Upward and her spine screams upon crashing onto the ceiling. She lands with a groan until Soriana spots life returning in her bracelet. Shivering to a dark arm rushing downward, Soriana reaches a finger toward the crescent, and gravity slows. Time beats her once a shining hand squeezes onto her wrist, and Soriana stares at Eva with a mounting shock. With one simple twist, the material shatters. The color surrounding Soriana’s view plummets to a dense gray as the pieces glide. Visual images shower of her parents rushing forward with the sealed white box in their hands as she prepared to move into McLean. The bracelet gleamed within the cotton bed.

  No!!

  Her dismay overcomes her as a whiplash bolts her off the railing. Soriana pitches until the floor greets her body with an impact. She struggles to raise her chin as her ribs roar to a sizzling pain. The plates in her armor absorb the blow’s effects, and her mouth hangs to her now broken bracelet, landing next to her. Her worries aggravate as she glimpses above at a blast piercing the cord holding the lamp.

  Soriana, shoving the bracelet into her pocket, ascends and scrams before the giant lamp tumbles. The ground bounces, and she steps back to the soot fogging her landscape. Her cough transitions to a cry as a scorching edge rushes from the blaze and sweep onto her abdomen. The battery eradicates, followed by a piercing yowl surging inside her muscles. Clot rains downward, soaking the lateral shell of her boot and sparks hiss. She lands on her knees, quivering to an arcane entity floating downward and sucking away the energy in her system.

  The flaming Oni latches onto Eva’s hands like a pet reuniting with a lost owner. Soriana watches like a helpless pig as the cyborg initiates a solid wield of her sword. A blazing gush storms at her like a raging dragon and swats her torso. The residuum of her breastplate crumbles, incinerating to the aura. She rolls, pressing her fingers onto the ground as the unbearable pain suffocates her. Ruby specks float from the tip of her blood-stained skin.

  Soriana sighs weakly, gazing at Eva one last time, showering a flare above. Unfortunately a shadow overrides the former’s visioning. Her ears fall in tune to a loud boom rippling from above. The wind settles in like a hurricane as the debris buries the human, obscuring the hotel’s climate in a tangerine vapor.

  Chapter 29

  Troy flinches to a hot glow penetrating his view inside the jeep. An unmanned aircraft plummets, crashing like a meteorite on the road and trapping whatever driver that stood in its path. Vehicles screech on the interstate, skidding to the fulmination’s bang. Screams flood outside as drivers lose grip on their wheels and their cars tumble over the upper-level bridge.

  The breeze bolts its way toward Alana, and she swears upon dross spinning forward. Troy yelps to the sudden motion kicking him forward as Alana spirals to her right. In defiance of the bullets bouncing above the top, Alana persists. Troy catches her jeep butting with a gun truck, and their doors sizzle upon contact. She jams her foot onto the acceleration pedal and she reaches forward. Once the truck sinks to a random blast is the moment three rockets from the right dive onto the bridge’s surface.

  Troy swallows to the crevice consuming the Alexander Bridge and the giants dangling on top of the gliding jets, firing in a scatter. Once Alana manages to speed through the crumbling pavement, Troy stares down and seals a hand over his right ear. The fog distorts his sightings, and the booms transmute to obstreperous growls. His nerves constrict, and he forces his head upward, despite the strain.

  It’s happening again. What’s going on?

  Catching speed waning, Troy witnesses a red scan highlight from within the vehicle. He snaps away from the illusion with a thrust of his elbow against the seat.

  “Shit! Don’t stop the goddamn car!” Troy blurts out.

  Alana jerks to the boom in his voice and glances at him. Tentative, she twists her lip, nonplussed to this anomalous reaction. Troy darts his gaze at the window where a glowing smoke consumes the sky. Not a blast touches base, exception of the sirens trailing past his side. A cold weight rests on top of his chest as he strokes his lip, abashed.

  “Aye…” Alana calls out. She juggles with her gaze on the road. “You going okay?”

  They reach inside a tunnel, and the bridge above them pounds. Alana rushes past the dust settling in, and Troy coughs to the steam.

  “Uh…it’s complicated to explain.” Troy states reluctantly. He shakes his head. “Something—getting weird glitches tapping into my mind.” He looks downward to where his phone laid on the ground and picks it up. Coolness sinks into his vessels. He had no concept of this error. Ever since fighting his way out of Pelham Gardens, his neural interface has been knotted in a struggle to keep afloat. He was dubious of the fate between him and Alana as they fled. Nonetheless, Troy could only pray his ephemeral clarity could carry him long enough to reach that haven if there was one. How far didn’t matter.

  “I’ll be fine at least.”

  “Naw Troy.” Shaking her head, Alana reaches and sets a hand to his shoulder. An urgent expression carries forth on her face. “Please, boo. Don’t FUCK with this. Don’t. From how it sounds, this something that can worsen. The last I want a see is you—”

  Alana is halted by a block, and she swallows. She knew saying it aloud would break her, and Troy knew it. He knew her enough. Troy looks at her pensively, taking her hand off his shoulder and squeezing it. Even as she races into another crumbling tunnel, his girlfriend consolidates his grasp, and the tension wears away from her. He lets go, assuring her alleviation. Mutual consensus passes among themselves.

  Troy glimpses at a notification on his phone screen. He frowns at Missed Call. 9:47 pm.

  Soriana. Did she call?

  Not one ring he heard, a notion that unsettled him. How? Connections have been fluctuating over the following hours, leaving everyone wallowing in their predicament. Anything could’ve gone wrong with her, and Troy was several hours away from Soriana. He couldn’t be any more powerless.

  The Virtual raises his eyes and recoils to an illuminating combustion. He looks over to the back, catching a gargantuan radius giving way to a basin that cripples the road. Police cars and escapees slide downward, and collision ensues among drivers as they knock each other into collapse. VTOLs override the sky, and a shot makes its land. Alana turns quickly, but the aerial fire tracks her without hassle. Troy ascends from his seat to a jarring slash underneath, and his brain spins. The two grunt to a spiral that skids them forward until it halts.

  Alana shoots glances with Troy until she bolts to a bionic foot bursting its way out the ceiling. Troy’s nerves alarm and he unbuckles his seat belt. He draws his pistol. Before he can load a magazine, Troy leaps to a swift noise barraging the door. He struggles to react on time as a bionic hand seizes his collar and drags him.

  “Holy shit Troy!” Alana cries out. Shards rain over her, and she swears. She grabs onto an intruder’s arm, and they engage in a tug.

  Rolling onto the pavement, Troy looks up in horror, mouth hanging to a broad, fellow Virtual in sunglasses trudging his way. Recollections strike upon spotting the radiation in the cyborg’s arms.

  They’re trying to neutralize me!

  Troy crawls away hurriedly, panting until he retrieves the handgun. He aims, and a crackling flash freezes all action. The sound catches the cyborg off guard, and the intruder turns his head at all directions until the lenses break out of his glasses to a bullet piercing his nose.

  Troy rises on his knees and heaves to another fellow cyborg charging behind him like a feral beast. Alana hops in the way, and her arms bounce to the recoil of the round. The magnum travels its way like a worm inside her temple, and matter splatters on the human.

  Goddamn.

  Alana steps back, eyes bulging to the vapor coughing out of her revolver. Red and blue lights flare on her skin. Breathing quickly, she steps toward Troy, but he has already risen. Troy and Alana share unnerved glances, shaken by a massive tentacle trampling on the road, and the ground quivers. Trudging,
a steaming spider-tank ignites its railgun, and its coral gale zaps toward a throng of ghostly entities behind the smoke. The steam dissipates, revealing the shadows of enthralled Virtual pedestrians marching their way in numbers blockading the bridge.

  Troy’s eyes blink rapidly, inundated by the shadows magnifying in his view. Aiding the frenzy, Prowlers skid downward on the steel arch, firing freely at the recalcitrant tank and officers that took cover behind the scattered cars. The blast makes contact with one of the trucks, and its impact throws an armored federal soldier aside.

  “Cyborgs still blockading the bridge!” an officer barks. He spins his cannon on top of the gun truck. Pellets boom upward on the hovering ships but not one scratch touches the surface. “They’re dropping in infantry! Tank’s not going to last long!”

  “Well, someone gets their tails on it, will you all!” a strange voice declares. “Before these scrapdogs tear the place!”

  Troy grits his teeth till he wobbles to the quake on the road. His hair arches to a sharp wave landing against the tank’s tentacle, but it continues to fire relentlessly, inflicting a gust that thrashes several cyborgs upward. Troy rips a door out of Alana’s dead jeep, raising it as a shield with one hand and gesturing to Alana behind him. His sights lock at a vacant and heavily dense truck five feet away, tilted on the edge of the bridge. A turret embeds on the top, wheeling dully. Bullets sparkle and deflect on the plates.

  Oh shit. This has to be my only bet now.

  Troy advances, trailing behind the spider tank as it storms. Panting, the cyborg raises his shield, jerking to the bullets ricocheting on the surface. He hears Alana curse aloud as he recoils to a shot averting on his barren bionic shin. She clutches him by the armpits, and a Virtual pedestrian crawls on top of a burning car. His heart stops as he leaps, but a magnum to the chest stomps whatever fervor boils in the victim. Smoke amplifies as they march forward, clouding his vision until red clicks. Reloading his last magazine, Troy exchanges rounds with a mercenary aiming his or her laser from behind an open car window. Blocking away from the rounds, the Virtual steps a foot close behind one of the tentacles. He presses the trigger simultaneously, but his shots miss. Alana assists, firing her two magnums sporadically until all ammunition ceases.

  The strife is interrupted as the enemies exacerbate their blow, greeting the humans with a storm of missiles. The gunner grunts to a crater splitting in his chest, and his rib cages blotch. Troy seizes and brings Alana downward, mustering his strength in obstructing the strikes, and his eyes burn to the impact. Troy observes giant figures storming in the mist. A woman rushes recklessly for her bag but a projectile lands on her left thigh, and her torso glides over the bridge. Lumber careens, and firing from both sides clash, unraveling the cyborg’s head.

  Kneeling, Alana grabs onto Troy’s hips from behind. That can simply last as a thick thunderous gale zaps toward the tank’s tentacle. The ignition’s impact roars like a seismic wave on the ground, and he and Alana flop back.

  We’ve goddamn lost it.

  “Officer’s down!” a cop cries out faintly. His voice screeches in the mic. “Emergency needed! Multiple officers down!”

  The policeman’s warnings wane in Troy’s ears. The Virtual coughs aloud and lowers his arm. He shakes his head at the inferno circling underneath the bent tank. Bodies of pedestrians and officers litter the road. He catches Alana lifting her spine from the ground slowly. Her hand seals to her mouth to what was lost. Witnessing a flaming dot land on his finger, Troy glances at the derelict gun truck still angled in a gauche position. His gaze shifts, grimacing to a tinge of light flickering inside the tank, then the giant arachnoid strolling in the blaze. His lightbulb glows.

  Troy turns and seizes Alana, catching her attention. He gestures to her to the seemingly malfunctioned tank, but she grunts questionably. Those doubts crumble as Troy squeezes her hand, and his gaze consolidates. The fog clears as Alana nods urgently, and Troy turns his back, kneeling.

  Once Alana leaps on top of him, Troy rushes and lunges on one of the fighting vehicle’s tentacles. Brushing off the censoring outcries, he climbs upward and spots the shattered pentagonal hatch, raising the glassy platform and hurling away the dead gunner’s corpse. Troy glosses upward at the bolting rockets before sealing the hatch immediately; meanwhile, Alana hunches close.

  “Got this?” Alana asks with a hint of concern.

  “I’ll do my all,” he assures quickly.

  The seat moistens as Troy straightens himself and examines the keys on the vehicle’s stands, starting with the pilot’s stick. The warzone in his view draws his focus, and a sour taste oozes in his tongue as Troy confronts the swarm. Their manned spider-tank continues to march behind the enemies, drawing its cannon in a clockwise position.

  If I can get a hold of this thing long enough?

  Soon when he attempts to draw his hands toward the stick Troy’s head yanks to an invisible click. Light reignites inside the platform, and Alana grimaces. His eyes bulge to the computers arranging on top of the stand, and keys synchronize within his neural interface. The last component synergizes to his nerve, and the tank’s engine roars like a proud lion reclaiming his stagnating territory. The bridge shatters.

  “Pilot detected,” the automated male voice declares. “Virtual in sync.”

  I’m in.

  The cords in his brain dilate, and Troy’s concentration sharpens. The twin computers scan landscapes surrounding the anterior and posterior of the bridge. The railgun swirls gradually. The rivaling tank, taking notice of what’s been restored, hones its own cannon at the Virtual and Alana. Its circular mouth glows.

  Troy sets a hand to his pounding chest as he levels the activating railgun at his massive target. He shares an acute glance with Alana before directing his eyes at the foes. With one faint whistle, Troy releases the grip.

  The cyborg thrusts backward on his seat. The blast bypasses its way through the horde’s incoming rockets, countering the spider-tank’s nascent strike with a blow to the ankle. Troy heaves hastily. A sapphire storm obscures the swarm in its shadow until a demon eye protrudes from the mist. Alana gasps. Arch careens.

  “She coming up!” she cries and points. “There!”

  Troy clenches his teeth to the seconds counting down to the railgun’s regeneration. Sparkles kindle around the vehicle’s cannon, and it fires. Nonetheless, Troy retaliates, and the two beams rush to a clash. Sweat accumulates in him as he flinches to a bright dazzle that aggravates his view. Dust settles in the window, and a truck careens in mid-air. Its weight crashes like a meteor onto the enemy tank’s hatch.

  Airstrikes topple downward at the bandits and goliaths, scattering the road into a plethora of blazing bubbles. Screams howl. The inadvertent assistance cuts once Troy alerts to a rumpling in the engine. He witnesses a fighter jet spiral downward, coming in contact with the bridge’s arch until he sinks into the Hudson River.

  Fire sullies at all sides, but the heat numbs gently like an icicle to Troy’s skin. His troubles ascend as plasma fire jets its way. His tank wobbles to the consecutive strikes. He dives to a vertical beam, and the air escapes him. Troy shoots a glance at Alana, the latter pinned and gulping to the melting puncture scarred on the wall. The tip of her shoes is two inches far from the line.

  Their horror escalates as the automated intelligence announces, “Aerial contact ahead.”

  Troy rises, perturbed by a large, V-shaped black ship nearing its way into the bridge. He observes closely, stunned by the lack of a pilot operating inside the aircraft. White fuel crackles underneath its belly. Head ringing, he rushes into the seat, tracing the railgun to the drone’s every motion above until Troy’s stomach rots to a secondary ally storming in the sky.

  The tank’s interior jams to a wave of spherical bolts gushing out of the secondary drone’s wings. The two quiver. Shards rain downward, piercing at the back of Troy’s neck. The cyborg, steadying his confusion, keeps his eyes on the sky, all while his cooling railgun rises steadi
ly. The crosshair fluctuates to each UAV that swoops, and the interior tilts to each strike that lands.

  His apprehension escalates as he locates a marking on the crosshair, and the cyborg unleashes the bang. A deadly zap recklessly cripples the arch, and its steely lumber severs. The drones attempt to hover away but are immediately caught in its plummet. Troy swears to a seismic wave dropping its foot on the surface, forcing him to ascend.

  “Come on!” he cries.

  Troy leaps out of the tank in a blitz. Hopping, he frowns at debris piling near the abandoned truck. He looks around and musters the quivering underneath as he bolts. That moment changes when his head pounds to an abrupt whack.

  The cyborg gasps to a fairly aging man wielding a book at hand. Troy’s mind scrambles to the red glinting at the tip of the individual’s nose, dark curly hair laced with gray, and creases surrounding the politician’s face. The libel echoes forth like a rippling shock wave, and the shock transmutes into a contemptuous glower. Troy’s fist solidifies.

  Fuck! Governor Jeremy Milano?!

  Milano steps back hesitantly as Troy stalks angrily despite the shake. His grip on the gun hardens. Yelping, the governor raises his book but misses recklessly past Troy’s chest. Milano grunts to a slap connecting to his jaw. Alana pounces like a puma, grappling the staggering governor by his violet necktie as she throws a number of jabs at his face.

  A shot travels, deflecting against Troy’s shoulder. Furious, Troy turns to a cop raising a gun his way. The cyborg aims his pistol, but his thoughts vacillate in an instant as he seizes and kicks the broken door forward like a disk. The piece knocks him to the helm, and the human drops, unconscious.

  Milano yanks, but an incensed Alana persists in swinging her hands consecutively. The struggle subsides once Troy lunges for the politician’s neck. Raising him, the Virtual slams the governor’s spine into the ground.