Paradox: The Last Day - Seymour's Story

by Rachel Charman

  With one last echoing chorus of screams, as the flames withdraw beneath the cobblestone, and the monochrome illumination is restored to its original muggy orange, the entire charred battalion, completely and utterly annihilated, bursts into a miasma of black ashes, and sinks into the cracks of the ground, disappearing from sight, leaving only a fine black fog hanging low in the empty square. Struggling for breath, every muscle in his body screaming in pain and exhaustion, Seymour falls to his side, completely drained, every labored breath burning in his chest. He grasps his brands in pain as tiny remnants of black flame still lick around the edges, gritting his teeth sharply to try and keep himself from blacking out. But just before his consciousness slips into darkness, he vaguely notices the hem of a tattered black robe flutter silently past him through the haze of onyx ashes, and he breathes towards it –

  “P-please… N-never again..”

  Nothing responds to his plea, but he can hear a faint sigh drift upon the ashen air before all is silenced.

  After some time, Seymour manages to open his burning, bloodshot eyes, and finds himself lying face down on the ash-covered cobblestone, still surrounded by the charred remnants of his fiery assault. He rolls gingerly onto his back, the blood from his wounds slowed to a trickle, and hazily stares up at the beautiful fountain before him, which bears the sculpture of a shirtless, muscular man with long, flowing hair holding a young woman down on her back, with a sword point poised just above her heart.

  The statue stands magnificently in the midst of all the cinder-strewn ground and wrecked machinery. Seymour manages to push himself onto his knees, and crawls to the fountain’s basin, cups in his hands some water from the deep, black marble basin, and delicately pours it over his still-burning stigmas, cooling his seared flesh. Unable to stop himself, he vomits into the fountain, and tries desperately to stop himself from shaking. Breathing deeply, he can feel warm liquid leaking down his neck and from the stab wound on his shoulder, and laboriously removes his choker, looking upon the twisted ebony scar underneath. It, too, is burnt and leaking blackened ichor, as though the old wound has reopened, but he simply ignores it, vaguely tasting the sable fluid running down the back of his throat through the lingering flavor of bile, and replaces the choker with his shaky, scarred hand. Unsteady on his feet, it takes him a few tries to stand on his trembling legs, and after straightening himself enough to stand upright, he resumes search for the secret switch, his breathing still shallow and labored, and rounds to the plaque situated on the very front of the basin. The exquisite golden plaque reads –

  This fountain, named “The Unkindness of Ravens”, was erected in 2237 to commemorate the many thousands of eXo PRIME soldiers who were lost to the Aozora Alliance in the Battle for Raea in 2236

  Their sacrifices will be remembered forever

  eXo PRIME – 2237

  Staring at the plaque intently, his vision still blurred, Seymour runs his fingers weakly along the raised aureate letters, and after touching the second eXo PRIME engraving, he pushes in the indented “o”. A loud metallic grinding sound pervades the silent air, and the plaque starts to slowly slide back into the basin, and falls away to reveal a long set of concrete stairs leading into shadows. On the inside of the stairway, an etching of “The Raven’s Nest” is carved into the concrete wall below a nuclear fallout symbol.

  |The Raven’s Nest.. Never thought I’d ever see this place..|

  Instead of descending, Seymour staggers back through the ash-covered square, each footstep causing a small cloud of cinders to rise into the air, and returns to the truck waiting at the perimeter of the square, whereupon opening the doors, he finds Elena sitting next to Data on the floor, which is stained with dark blood. His skin is white as a sheet, and his lips are coated with the same blood as is on the floor. Elena looks at him with tears in her eyes, and shakes her head despondently.

  “… I think it’s too late, Seymour.. He hasn’t moved in ages..”

  “… No. It’s not too late. Come on, Elena. I found the Raven’s Nest..

  We need to hurry..”

  Losing his grip on the wall, Seymour staggers forward, trying hard not to black out again. Elena catches him mid-fall and asks worriedly –

  “Uh, are you okay?”

  “Yeah.. I’ll be okay.. Just… hard fighting..”

  Surreptitiously rolling down his sleeves to hide his still-bleeding brands, Seymour straightens up while Elena watches him apprehensively. He makes to pick up Data, but Elena shakes her head forcefully, and wraps her brother’s unconscious form over her shoulders, staggering slightly from his dead weight.

  “I can handle it, Seymour, trust me.”

  “Uh, alright… By the way, Elena.. Don’t, uh.. don’t be surprised by what you see out there..”

  Seymour and Elena emerge into the decimated graveyard of the main square, and Elena stares in confusion at its emptiness. Aside from the flaming wreckage of helicopters and APCs, it is as if there had been no fight here at all.

  “What the.. What the hell happened here?”

  “.. What do you mean? We won the fight.”

  “But how..? Where are all the bodies? What’s all this ash?”

  “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting down below ground, now come on!”

  Seymour pulls Elena’s arm forcibly, and the pair continue on to the fountain through the ashen haze. Elena pauses to look down the slightly foreboding staircase with anxiety, but Seymour shoves her in the back, and despite her resentment, she and Seymour descend the staircase together. Seymour shuts the plaque door quickly, submerging the cold stairway in a thick mantle of darkness.

  ~Beneath Santuc: The Raven’s Nest~

  Seymour steps down the pitch-black staircase as fast as his exhausted legs will carry him, squinting through the darkness, trying to see how far the stairs go down, until he and Elena eventually reach the last stair, and exit out into a tiny circular niche made of solid lead with a thick lead blast door covering the entire back wall. Seymour grabs the handle, and arduously pulls the wide door open, to reveal a spacious, dimly-lit chamber stocked with everything from food to firearms, with a vast row of small green cots lining the back wall. The room is so large and well-supplied, it could easily accommodate more than fifty people for a lifetime. Anxiously checking the ceiling for any security cameras, and finding the only thing there is a wide, whirring air vent, Seymour pulls the door shut, and brings Elena to the nearest cot at the very back of the chamber. She lays Data down on its green vinyl surface, and he nervously checks Data’s pulse. Elena, too curious to contain herself, strides all about the room, surveying it with awe.

  “Wow.. I had no idea a place like this was under Santuc..”

  “Of course you didn’t. This place is only for PRIME high-rankers. It was built in secret so that, in the event the Aozora decided to go nuclear inside Santuc, the most prominent members of the PRIME could live out the rest of their days in here.”

  “Selfish bastards..”

  Pulling up Data’s blood-soaked shirt carefully to inspect his wound, Seymour unravels his bandage, and scrutinizes the bloody lesion carefully.

  Elena looks on over his shoulder, and recoils at the sight of his disturbingly repulsive injury.

  “Don’t worry. It looks a lot worse than it actually is. It’s more of a shock wound than a lethal one.”

  “So.. Are you saying he won’t die from it?”

  “He will if he doesn’t get it treated.. But this one isn’t nearly as bad as my shot to the stomach.. It looks like the bullet didn’t pierce anything vital.. Guess it’s lucky he’s wearing Kevlar… He’ll get better pretty soon if I just use the Seraph stuff..”

  “Is there anything like that down here?”

  “There should be..”

  Inspecting the tall wooden shelves lining the lead walls, Seymour soon finds a small emerald-colored tub marked: “Seraph Tears – Therapeutic Somatic SC Salve (Medicinal Tissue Restorative: flupirtine~morphine analgesic)”. Wit
h a sigh of relief, he grabs the tub, finds a pack of sterile latex gloves on a lower shelf along with a bottle of antiseptic spray, then quickly returns to Data, while Elena sits down on the cot next to her brother’s, her arms folded and head down in a clear sign for wanting to say something. But Seymour pays no mind to her as he quickly dons the gloves and begins treating the wound, despite the fact that his eyes burn with exhaustion, and every muscle in his body screams at him to stop. As Seymour works diligently, Elena continuously makes annoying throat-clearing noises, trying to get Seymour’s attention, though all she gets is his aggravation as he finishes treating Data’s wound, and delicately applies the Seraph Tears, his patience near the breaking point. Just as, feeling relief, he begins to treat his own wounds, Elena says pointedly –

  “… Seymour?”

  “What?! Do you need something to do? Because you’re really pissing me off! I’m sorry if I can’t pay attention to you for a few seconds, but this is your brother I’m trying to help! So could you shut up? Or must I get you a muzzle?”

  Elena stares at him with shock and anger, and turns away from him irritably.

  “… I was just going to ask if there was anything I could do to help you, because you look exhausted.”

  “… Oh.”

  “Is there something wrong? Why are you so mad?”

  “Look, it’s just been a hell of a day, okay? I had to give a lot to make sure you two were safe, and it’s just taken a shitload out of me..”

  “Right..”

  Glancing over her shoulder, Elena spots, with a pang of shock, the tip of Seymour’s burnt, twisted brand slide out from beneath his coat sleeve when he reaches up to rub his eye.

  “Oh my God.. What happened to your arm?”

  “What? Oh..”

  He makes to cover up his scorched stigma, but Elena grabs his wrist before he can do so, and holds it up to her eyes with mingled apprehension and disgust.

  “Is this from what happened up there?”

  “It’s nothing..”

  Seymour tries to tug his hand free of Elena’s grip, but she merely pulls him closer and shouts concernedly –

  “Come on, Seymour! You’re a terrible liar! Every time you say that, it means whatever it is, it’s way more than nothing!”

  “I-it’s just not your concern-”

  “Does it have something to do with… that place?”

  “N-no.. I-I mean, not really…”

  “Tell me, Seymour! I want to know!”

  Too exhausted to continue arguing, Seymour lies down on the cot next to Elena’s, and stares up at the depressing lead ceiling, his eyes stinging with fatigue.

  “Huhhh.. Look, Elena.. I think I just need some time alone.. to think..”

  “Um, but we’re stuck in this shelter together.. Where can I go?”

  Suddenly, an idea pops into Seymour’s head. He sits up quickly, and dashes over to the desk near the front of the shelter without explanation. Confused, Elena slowly comes up behind him, and finds him scribbling a quick note on a piece of paper. Once he is done, he folds the note over, concealing its words, and hands it to Elena with a small smile.

  “Uh.. Am I supposed to read it?”

  “No. I need you to take that to someone for me.”

  “What? Who?”

  “A friend of mine who owes me a favor. She lives in Mesa.”

  “Mesa?! How am I supposed to get there with the PRIME sniffing around this place 24/7?”

  “I have a feeling they’re not gonna be around this area for a little while. They’ve exhausted all their resources for now, as far as I know. Anyway, near the old Greti transit station, there’s a small building called The Cat’s Eye Cabaret. Ask for a girl named Pierce. She has long red hair. When you find her, give her that note, and don’t leave until she gives me the answers I need.”

  Frowning slightly, Elena disapprovingly mouths the word “cabaret” before asking coolly –

  “Well, what are you gonna do while I’m gone?”

  “I’ll install Data’s MFI.”

  “So, the plan is still on..?”

  “It will be, as soon as I get the answers I need. Might as well get ahead.”

  Seymour stands suddenly and approaches the long row of shelves, silently searching for supplies, having wordlessly dismissed Elena. She taps her heel on the ground a few times before muttering under her breath –

  “Alright.. I’ll be back soon, I guess..”

  “Good. Stick to the alleys, and avoid the main roads as much as you can. Be careful. Oh, and when you find Pierce, tell her I say hi.”

  “Uhm.. Sure..”

  Confused and wary, Elena apprehensively pockets Seymour’s note as he returns to his cot, his arms filled with supplies. She gives him a quick wave of parting that goes completely unnoticed, pulls the shelter door open with difficulty, and ascends the dark, lengthy staircase, back out to the muggy lights of Liberty District. Left alone in the vast shelter, Seymour finishes treating his own wounds, laboriously returns to his cot, and lies back down, exhaustion permeating every inch of his body. He puts his hands behind his head, and resumes staring at the ceiling, thinking deeply as he gratefully closes his eyes.

  |… If she can get me the answers I need, then I might be able to get back on track.. But what if Pierce isn’t even alive anymore? I hadn’t considered that.. What if I’m wrong, and the PRIME is hounding this place even more than usual? … Have I sent her into a deathtrap? Well, it’s not really about ‘what ifs’ anymore.. It’s too late for ‘what ifs’..|

  You just need to have faith in her.

  Seymour opens his eyes furiously, and glances over to his right, to find the hooded man lying upon the cot next to him, his hand behind his head. However, he is no longer wearing his hood; his head is swathed in black fabric that conceals all but his white, pupil-less eyes.

  “… What the hell do you want now?”

  “I just wanted to ask.. if our little ‘test’ up there brought back any memories?”

  “.. Well, yeah.. of course it did. I never wanted to do that again, you know that..”

  “I do. But you seemed to recover quite a bit faster than.. last time.”

  “And what does that have to do with anything?”

  “… Just saying.”

  The man pulls his hood back over his head and rolls over on his cot, falling into silence. Still mired in his despondent musings, and so weary of his uninvited visitor, Seymour eventually silences his mind, and slowly drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

  ~Santuc TerraDome: Mesa District~

  Almost a day later, after cautiously wending her way through the vast network of back alleys connecting Liberty District to Mesa, Elena peeks out into the busy streets, under the shadow of the decommissioned Greti Tramline station and filled with harried, anxious-looking citizens, who glance at passers-by with shifty eyes glinting with suspicion. Feeling that she will be too conspicuous in the streets, she tentatively slips back into the shadow of the alley, tears a sleeve off of her jacket, and wraps it over her mouth and nose. She then notices a blackish liquid leaking out of a battered old air conditioner mounted on the wall next to her; she cups her hands under the murky liquid and rubs it into her hair, effectively hiding her golden tresses. Sufficiently disguised, Elena furtively slips into the dense crowds that pass by the end of the alleyway, keeping her head low, trying to avoid the curious stares of the passersby. She walks a short distance in silence until she spots the bright red lights of The Cat’s Eye Cabaret off in the distance. The welcoming crimson lights pierce through the filthy, depressing green haze hanging low above the people’s heads, and serve as a beacon as Elena wades her way through the crowded sea of citizens. Breaking away from the crowds as she draws close to the building, Elena sees the tall, opulent chestnut door, with long-stemmed roses carved into its frame, standing lavishly and invitingly in the midst of the dreary, smog-covered Mesa environment. Elena tentatively pushes the towering door open, and inside, a short set of red vel
vet stairs extends down to a checkered floor, where eXo PRIME soldiers of all shapes and sizes cheer and whistle at the half-naked female performers on the scarlet-lit stage. The muffled sound of an upbeat dance track blares throughout the dark alcove as she stares at her off-putting surroundings with raised eyebrows, unable to help thinking –

  |Why would Seymour ever come to a place like this?|

  Keeping her head low to avert the soldiers’ attention away from her, Elena descends the luxurious velvet stairs lightly, but is met by a burly, dark-skinned, tight-suited bouncer at the bottom, who stops her with a chunky, outstretched arm, his slightly cross-eyed eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Hmph.. Don’t see many women comin’ into the Cat’s Eye, eh..”

  “Uh, no.. I’m not here for that.. Um.. I need to speak to Pierce. It’s urgent, uh, sir..”

  The bouncer inspects Elena curiously, his fat hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully, taking in her dirtied hair and masked face at length, before saying gruffly –

  “Pierce, huh? She ain’t here right now.”

  Elena digs her heel into the ground impatiently, her eyes constantly darting from the bouncer to the soldiers enjoying the bawdy show, and asks edgily –

  “Well, where can I find her?”

  “She’s down the street, yeah. On her break.”

  “.. Down the street where?”

  “The church, mhm. Check for the wood cross.”

  Sighing, slightly miffed at the bouncer’s unhelpful directions, Elena thanks him nonetheless and ascends the velvet stairs back into the crowded streets of Mesa. She nervously readjusts her mask and squints through the greenish haze, searching fervently for the wood cross above the crowd. She heads west for a couple blocks until she finally is able to make out a plain brown cross mounted just above a concrete staircase that leads down to an immaculate, ornate wooden door with a shiny gold doorknob and the words “Matthew 6:9-13” carved into the gleaming chestnut veneer. She tentatively pushes the door open with a lengthy creak and finds that the stairs continue down into the ground, lit by a long stretch of buzzing florescent lights. Removing her mask slowly, Elena descends down the deserted stairwell, her footsteps echoing off of the concrete steps, and eventually, she emerges into a small, windowless chamber occupied by eight wooden pews that lead up to a slightly raised stage with a somewhat battered altar standing just in front of a huge crucifix. Elena enters the chamber slowly, unnerved by the unnatural silence that pervades the gloominess, and spots a person with a shock of long red hair sitting at the pew nearest the stage, their head bowed in prayer. She approaches the person quietly, and whispers in an anxious voice –