Into the Violet Gardens

by Isaac Nasri

  Water drizzles on what used to be the foyer of the Watergates. Mist surrounds the derelict area defiled by the horde of scrap. Soriana’s ears cry to a grisly flickering of a blaze, but it diminishes in seconds. The eyes of failure glimpsed mockingly at the wizened agent. Eva is gone, forever slipped into the hands of darkness. Soriana failed miserably. After everything she vowed and gave in stopping, it spat at her in return. Failure never seemed so fatal until now. The agent leans her head, closing her eyes and inhaling to the shrilling agony until she shrieks.

  KAK-KAK!

  Dopamine rises to its peak as she shoots a glance at a bird flapping its wings on top of the broken ceiling. Her eyes rise to its astute beak and feathers, which the latter is as almond as her hair.

  That falcon! No way!

  Soriana reaches for a rock to her left. Her sights outwit her as she halts to the gray barren sky motioning above. The bird’s presence was nowhere detected.

  Her heart speeds to the point its pounds echo aloud in her chest. Realizing she couldn’t linger any further, Soriana ascends on her knees and hastens. The fourth step brings her stumbling and a faltering Soriana coughs. Water drips down her chin and eyebrows. Red dots flash around her, and she clutches to the throbbing on her hip.

  She begged to herself not to collapse just yet. Imagine having her prayers be answered right now. An ounce of gusto returns as Soriana rises once again, marching forward and tolerating the pain that stung with each motion she took. Jet engines rumble, followed by a man’s scream that is silenced by two faint shots in the distance. Bolts snap in Soriana’s brain. Her steps carry her far to the entrance, and her mouth drops gradually.

  Her view scans in dismay at the eviscerated wasteland that was once her home city. Smoke spouts from the plethora of smoldered infantry and vehicles. Bodies of civilians lay in waste at the street, releasing a noisome odor that sours her nose. Soriana’s blood rushes at an arm hanging from out of a burnt vehicle, and a Nintendo Switch rests on the ground in pieces. Upon first sight, an evocation of Soriana and her brother together at the table strikes.

  My home. My home…it’s finished.

  She slumps, and water soaks her eyes. Head faced down, Soriana stood mortified as she sobs, unable to tame the tears flowing down her cheeks. This tragedy, it didn’t seem real. Her childhood, the memories she cherished, have been struck down to where she couldn’t locate the ashes. The agony was tantamount to a lost child scanning the ruins of her village after taking shelter in the wilderness for so long. This destruction, done by the untamable demon she once considered a sister. As her loss takes a toll, Soriana was left with one question. Wayne comes to mind, forcing more tears to arise. How could she continue in the CIA? It would be suicide. She’s been so committed to maintaining the integrity that its lead to this catastrophe. Wayne’s looked out and showed her so much over the years, but she knew it would be insanity to pursue that same path. Who was she, Soriana no longer knew.

  “Nothing beats anything in this world like the familia.”

  Moses’ voice calls forth like a spirit looking out for her in the shadows. Soriana wipes away the tears, despite gulping.

  He’s still out there. He has to be.

  The odds were at an all-time high. Communications were dead. Vulnerability swept over her. She’ll have to find a way home, whether the options appalled her or not. That’s all she hoped.

  ***

  Dead air wheezes by the derelict vehicles on the road. A baseball plops from out of a shattered car, rolling its way toward a tilted jeep until its door swings. Wayne lands on the ground, but a sharp pain grips his ankles, and he kneels.

  Stars dance over his head as he glimpses the fog. His chest numbs. Spotting his knife on the floor, Wayne snatches it quickly and rises. Not one eye peeps at him. He looks over his shoulder, grimacing to the defunct tanks residing over the dismantled Pentagon and their damaged tanks aimed at the edifice’s way. Wayne sighs.

  How long it’s been? How I’m even alive?

  Hours passed since the night the hijacked drone landed its thunderous strike on the interstate. Wayne couldn’t remember anything else once the storm swatted the front of his car, and he hurtled. Waking up never felt so harrowing.

  Wayne trails his way at the 14th Street Bridge, perturbed by the aerial wing debris floating at the Potomac. A bearded victim’s face hovers before succumbing into the deep. He picks up only to be hindered by the number of cadavers in his way. Wayne shakes his head, dismayed at the bodies of what appeared to be fellow officers. A large basin carved at the anterior of a uniformed victim’s face, and matter drizzles. Cybernetic limbs and heads inundate the area, and kerosene lingers. Nothing good can arise, he told himself.

  Suddenly a familiar presence piques the former Director’s attention. His bones freeze. Wayne’s foot crunches on a torn bionic palm as he bolts to a crippled and pallid haired official hunched to the bridge’s railing. The elder officer’s gaze faces downward, and his battered head rocks weakly. Three spikes plant deep into his torso. Wayne’s face reddens.

  Craig. Craig.

  “SecDef!” he cries. Wayne looks at both his shoulders, reluctant to catch any cyborg on his tail.

  Craig opens his right eye. The moment he manages to raise his head, blood floats from the back of his neck, staining his yellow collar. Wayne approaches, shoving the knife inside his pocket, and places a hand on the Secretary’s shoulder. Craig swallows in return.

  “Stick with me now,” Wayne advises in a hushed tone. His hand lands on the first spike to the left until Craig sets a hand on Wayne’s elbow.

  “No need, Wayne,” Craig says with enervation.

  Wayne looks pensively at the Secretary, struggling to process his words as his hands still locked on the spike. His skin glistens to the sweat building.

  Wayne shakes his head. “You can’t—can’t stay here like this, sir—”

  “I understand,” Craig conveys. He coughs. “But I’ll already be a burden long before you even make it.”

  A chill settles uncomfortably inside of Wayne, and his grasp on the spike falters.

  “Listen close, Wayne.” Craig’s face pales like a vampire as he speaks gingerly. “The system’s fallen. Our members are gone. The President and his family…they’re dead. It won’t take much until she finds you.”

  Moreci.

  The thought of Moreci’s name permeates a numbing in his veins. Wayne reminisces to the Virtuals marching mindlessly and the walls of his headquarters tumbling. So much damage done in one night it was sickening. Soriana’s face flashes like a fresh plant that’s arisen from the earth’s soil, and his anxieties accumulate. He was still far from her. The same could not be said for the myriad of cyborgs sunken into Moreci’s control.

  “It’s all on you, Wayne,” the Secretary of Defense continues. “You may have done much to move on from that past, but today is something different.”

  “I can’t remedy this alone.”

  “You may not have much in your favor, but it isn’t doable.” Craig points to where the knife resided in Wayne’s pocket. His finger shakes. “Use it. He’s your only friend here. I have faith.”

  The minute Wayne looks down at the knife, Craig tilts, still as a hardened rock. The stains pervade on his dressing shirt and his hair blows. A stygian blanket lingers around Wayne, and he shivers. He gazes at Craig’s corpse, struggling to figure a way to placate the empty soul that stood. Sighing, Wayne reaches a hand over Craig’s eyes, pressing and sealing his eyelids before rising.

  Wayne turns to a stentorian boom from afar. He steps back hesitantly, witnessing the last of the Monument crumbling to smithereens till a tangerine smoke was all that belched into the achromatic sky. The fabric of his shirt flaps to the dull breeze, and an omen sings its way like a lullaby. Craig was right. Wayne was truly isolated. The consideration of himself going at toes with an enhanced legion didn’t suit him. This means that Soriana was in imminent danger. She needed him. There was no way they could prevail i
n living and ending this onslaught if they didn't find each other soon.

  If I’m lucky to just connect a line with her?

  Putting aside his doubts, Wayne draws the knife. With his first step on the concrete, his path was clear.

  Chapter 31

  Residents, kneeling handcuffed on the ground, cry out to the Virtual captors. Their empty pleas fall deaf to Eva’s ears as she trails them. There were over twenty of the hostages behind the gates guarding the scorched Embassy of Cuba, but they stood checked by the PMCs on the other end. A chubby young man with spectacles and a fade on his natural hair mumbles gibberish toward a stern Hai in his tears. But the cyborg gestures his arm defensively.

  Fog disseminates on what was supposed to be a sunny day in Columbia Heights, delivering a tinge of coldness that had no bearing to Eva. Her head bobs to their cries like an archaic tune drawing her to its rhythm, and her drive fuels. She spots one of her two hosts drag a woman by one of her twin blue ponytails. Her eyeliners soak. An agent seals the cuffs on her wrist.

  “This mini activist—lawyer’s been a hassle,” the agent remarks. The woman cries as he raises and knocks the butt of his rifle at her head. “I bet she’s got much to say about her campus speeches.”

  The fair-skinned activist whispers a “no” under her breath, face flushed like an apple. She looks up at Eva, shaking her head, but the Virtual scolds at her with peevishness. The temerity of these humans to entreat her after the dirt they piled on her. They could not be this pathetic.

  “Leave her alone,” one of the victims begs next to her. Eva rests a hand on the rear of her blade inserted inside the sheath that is attached to the side of her belt. “She’s…”

  Eva draws her Neo-Oni, initiating silence with the sword’s glow. Meanwhile, the two dogs with leashes tied to the small tie bark anxiously. The cyborg lowers her katana.

  “Unbind them,” she orders. An agent storms to where the dogs locked and the animals scurry from the contractor’s presence. Snubbing their fear, the agent undoes the lock, and the dogs refuse to look back as they scram, leaving two of the hostages sobbing in silence.

  “No law or enforcement will AID you this time around,” Eva rebukes. She directs the edge at several humans near her, and their noses twitch to the blade’s sting. “You wanted to keep pushing us to the edge, and now you see it! Now start confessing.”

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” an elder victim supplicates. His breath croaks to the inhaler bound around his head. “I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry.”

  Eva swings her sword downward. She approaches the disabled hostage, respiring, and kneels to his level. Her armor’s drape whips to the soft wind. The senior, shaking, glosses downward, struggling to make eye contact with his main captor. That changes when she glimpses at a small puddle of blood and dabs it. Eva paints a kanji with precision at his temple, and his body shivers. Hostages swallow.

  戕

  “Know the meaning of free will?” she questions aloud.

  The senior raises his head reluctantly, blinking upon meeting her gaze. The kanji drizzles down his flurry eyebrows. Silence ensues among the others.

  Raising her voice, Eva asks, “Anyone knows?”

  Answers were met with muffled sniffs. The truth was waiting to show its head, but the denial was far too great. Eva knew much from looking into each hostage’s eyes. They wanted to be oblivious to the notion. She can only be transparent for so long.

  Eva sets a hand underneath the elder’s chin, saying, “Here’s a demonstration.”

  Without a glance, she yanks the inhaler from the hostage’s face. His expression twists as Eva throws the tool on the ground and impales the inhaler with her blade before he can get it. Humans cry out once again. The victim’s effort goes in vain, and he wiggles in a prone position, gasping while his wrists remain locked.

  “Oh no,” Eva taunts. She stabs the inhaler a second time. “How does it feel, old man?”

  “I can’t…” The hostage heaves, staring at her with bulging eyes. “I can’t breathe!”

  Ignoring his desperation, Eva rises and says, “See, the thing is…free will’s lavishing. It’s a privilege.” She glosses down at the elder gagging and lays her sword at his hip. “But like all else, it has its limits.”

  “You can’t keep doing this!” someone begs before a PMC swats him.

  “And it can be used at any time as a WEAPON of destruction.” Eva’s tone darkens. “History never taught you humans much, hasn’t it? Societies RISE AND BURN, because of one typical bastard’s insane ego. It’s a cursed cycle. Aristotle and the innovators you model so much…they’re just as deluded.” Eva sheathes her Neo-Oni, trailing her glance at almost everyone. “As death hits all over the world, know that every turf and conflict has a reason. The same reason, I’ve started this uprising.” She stops short at her gaze and looks down at the disabled victim panting. Snot flows from his nostrils, and Eva grins. “Least you’ve learned something new today.”

  The elder opens his mouth, and a deep cough belches. Eva signals to a host passing behind the hostages. Hostages protest as the cyborg grabs the elder by the collar and seals his hands on top of the human’s head. The hostage mutters something that she couldn’t decipher before a bone crushes with a twist of his head.

  Gasps settle among the victims until Hai gestures, encouraging the agents to lock their weapons their way. Silence falls in Eva’s favor again.

  “Ugh! THAT’S ENOUGH!” she snaps. Eva rests her bionic foot on the dead elder’s head. “Enough! Too late now! I bet each of you were the same trash rallying behind the system who took our lives for granted. Now it’s gone. Can’t you believe in karma?” The pressure on her heel augments, and she hears cranium splatter. The hostage with the fade shuts his eyes to the matter splashing on his face. Eva glances to see one of her hosts drag away the headless carcass like a rabid dog satiating for meat.

  “So tell me this!” The cyborg’s face flushes. “What good has politics and education done for us? What good have modern humans done for this society?”

  “Why would you do this?” the lawyer queries. Her lavender eyeliners dampen.

  The human’s baseless question strikes a nerve in Eva’s temple. The Virtual rotates, leaving a bloody print on the concrete as she approaches the lawyer.

  “You volunteer…what have you—today’s women, done besides being fed by the system?” The agent behind her nudges the human close to Eva. The lawyer looks away until the ninja kneels, startling the lawyer with the protrusion of her spikes. “What’s the matter now? You’ve boosted your miserable lives on weak ideologies and trends, but you can’t stop self-destructing.” Eva’s blade rumbles as her glare at the hostage lasts. Her palm vibrates and she lunges her fingers toward the human’s cheeks, holding them in place and leaving stains. “Heh. Those EXACT things you’ve used to keep people like me defenseless and isolated…they come with a price. Understand?”

  The lawyer heaves, shaking her head. Rising, Eva glances and beckons at one of her agents equipped with a shotgun, where the operative plants the weapon into Hai’s hands. Her ally steps foot, and Eva moves away as he activates the ammunition.

  With Eva raising a hand, the lawyer begs aloud as the shotgun levels at her face and commotion barks among the hostages. However, the supplications were futile, and Eva snaps her fingers. The lawyer’s misery ends with a sonic wave eviscerating the flesh out of her face. Her faceless body wiggles in a bent state until motion ceases.

  After ushering a host to drag the carcass away, Eva glimpses coldly at the victim’s on the ground. Moans wail among them. She thrashes the activist’s corpse with the sweep of her foot and claps her hands.

  “See the pain you’ve all put yourselves into, no?” she lashes out.

  Her victims refuse to speak and snot drips from the human’s nose.

  “Still can’t find an answer?” The cyborg’s greeted to a series of murmurs that made no sense. None of the hostages look her way until she turns
toward her PMCs, gesturing a slit on her throat.

  Okay. That’s the end.

  “Solid copy,” a JOA contractor approves.

  She’s wasted enough lessons with them. With that said, she signals to Hai, and the cyborg follows next to her as they leave the howling hostages in the hands of the PMCs. Eva’s lips break into a nervous smile as her nerves hold her from laughing to the screams. Simultaneous zaps beat behind her as she walks, stopping at the intersection. Two hover-bikes park near a derelict space. Eva and Hai exchange glances.

  Her eyes beam to the nooses bound to the necks of executed humans dangling on two of the street poles standing. PMCs ram their foot into a gated entrance of an apartment and rush in with guns clicking into the lobby. Hosts scram after a fleeing resident, tackling him into the bushes. His screams echo as they strip his sneakers. Two Gorillax pilots blockade a street area, showering a beam of fire that radiates over the three victims cornered. That is, until her agents toss a shrieking young girl and others from the building’s balconies.

  The executions call out to her like wolves howling in the night, bringing her back to the darkness surrounding her as rioters jeered into the streets with batons. Cyborgs and Martials shook in the saliva and scars thrown their way, until today. Today is a golden achievement. It flattered Eva how circumstances can reverse so easily. With the march initiating within a couple of minutes, these residents had no hope in ensuring survival. They chose this path.

  Hai’s gaze at the twisted scenery breaks as he looks up, sighing. Eva grimaces.

  “Any global updates?” she questions.

  “Units hit China and India’s nuclear reactors…” Hai’s azure eye gleams when he gazes at Eva. He nods. “Fatal meltdowns annihilated a great chunk of the population in Asia but infantry and drones’ still ongoing against the islands.”

  Eva hums interestingly. “Africa?”

  “Hosts from the Middle East have already breached north of the continent before advancing to the other regions.” He’s distracted by a cry in the bushes. Jersey shorts scatter. Cyborgs can be seen stripping the shirt out of their victim until one plunges the knife deeply. Hai coughs. “Word from an agent abroad. Resistance is unlikely.”