by Lee Bond
"All right, guys, don't let these Arcadians get too close to you." Clint shut his eyes and braced himself for the scathing round of comments his suggestion would inevitably bring.
***
Ragar couldn’t take his eyes off Mirabelle. Even if his ears were bleeding and he was at least partially convinced that another round of shrieks erupting from her mouth would see him bleeding from the eyes.
Mirabelle was something the world had never seen before. Of that, he was certain.
“Did she do this before?” Marshak asked in his quiet-yet-gruff voice, indicating their Lady of the Weeping Eye with a jab from his rifle.
“The crying thing?” Ragar nodded. “The actual crying thing? Yes. But the … this … other thing? The … floating and glowing thing? That’s about as new as my realization that we’re probably all going to die down here.”
Marshak barked out a bit of laughter. “We’re not going to die. That woman is a weapon, a self-directed, self-aware weapon the likes of which I’ve never seen, and I’ve seen some shit, old man. Whatever else Mirabelle the Arcadian, Our Lady of the Weeping Eye might be, she is dangerous.”
“Good thing she’s on our side.” Ragar looked over at Marshak. “Good thing you decided that you were for her instead of against her, Marshak, else you would’ve been on the receiving end of such ill treatment. Consider yourself lucky, and woe betide you if it’s nowt but a deception. She isn’t the kind to deal with that sort of treatment well.”
A sorrowful smirk tugged at the corners of Marshak’s lips. He didn’t blame Ragar –or any of the others who’d been with the Lady since the beginning of her journey in the Stack- for treating them with mistrust and doubt. Not only was it prudent, it was justified. He and his had been –were- bad men, who’d done bad things on many levels of the Stack. It was how things went after life got rough. After cashiering out of the Army, he’d been one of millions with no practicable talents, and when you lived in Zanzibar and you fell on hard times, you literally started falling until you found somewhere to survive.
“And that’s what I did.” Marshak pointed at Mirabelle, still staring at the downed Enforcer, still reluctant to let loose with the full glory of her power. “Until I heard news of Mirabelle sweeping through the levels, a white-shrouded banshee of unlimited power and unstoppable viciousness.”
The Enforcer’s arms were twitching, ever so slightly, but the almost furtive motion had Mirabelle’s eyes held like an owl hunting a mouse in the forest.
“Were you in charge of the men responsible for … for the girl’s death?” Ragar couldn’t bring himself to say the poor girl’s name. At least, not out loud, not with Mirabelle dancing on the edge of madness.
Marshak nodded slowly, regret evident in the gesture. “I was. I am. Mirabelle knows. ‘twas one of the many things we spoke of when we weren’t discussing Enforcers and Trinity. She’s given me leave to work off the debt by protecting you lot.”
More motion from the Enforcer had Mirabelle inching closer and closer. Were it not for the fact that she was a God knew how old monster from inside the Dome of Gears, were it not for the fact that she was currently wearing a visage of damnation, the tentative trepidation would be comical.
Ragar accepted the other man’s words at face value. There was nothing else he could do. Mirabelle knew about Marshak’s involvement, and was allowing him to stay. That was that. He pointed suddenly. “Look you, the Enforcer, he stirs more boldly.”
“Why do you talk like that, Raggy? Marshak stuck the scope of his rifle to an eye and the downed Enforcer’s frame swam into view. “I know for certain you were born in this Stack and were educated by the Trinity Educational System. You’re as NorthAMC as they come.”
“I cannot explain it, Marshak.” Ragar shrugged. Mirabelle was standing over the twitching Enforcer’s metal-clad form now, head tilted to one side, fingers of one hand reaching out to tip-tap-tip on a silvery arm. The brilliant white illumination lighting her up from the inside out cast spidery shadows across bright armor. “Save that it does make me feel better, somehow.”
Marshak whistled low when the light of consciousness –and of a fully operational HUD- speared to life behind the helmet’s visor. “He’s gonna regret waking up.”
***
At first, Abby was only dimly aware that most of Suit’s systems had been shut down; his own organic systems had been tremendously affected by the shocking sonic attack literally scything through the air towards him, each nerve-shattering ululation driving into his brain, accidentally augmented and amplified by the helmet’s recording devices.
Blinking, confused, in utter darkness and far-too-blissful silence, Abercoign lay there, in the relative comfort of his Suit, reflecting on the nature of what he’d just witnessed and the best way to avoid it happening to him a second time.
“These fucking Arcadians are a fucking nightmare.” His voice sounded empty and distant within the confines of the Suit. “Bring me up any data you have on that scream. And for fuck’s sake, the first thing you better be working on is a filter for that noise. Almost pissed myself.”
Suit didn’t respond.
Suit always responded. It wasn’t the first and it damn sure wouldn’t be the last time he –or any Enforcer- had been caught unprepared for some new kind of attack. It happened more than was probably healthy for Enforcers, especially across The Cordon where it seemed every goddamn civilization out there these days was hell bent on burning through all of their resources in a desperate bid to develop worldkillers.
“Suit.” Abby took a shallow breath, keenly aware that the atmosphere inside the Suit was already a little … thin. It’d do him no fucking good to deplete what little oxygen he had. How embarrassing would that be? Abercoign Selantc, dead in his Suit, not from overwhelming damage and at the hands of a deadly enemy, but asphyxiated! Talk about stupid deaths. “Suit. Wake up.”
He didn’t even have fucking video of what was happening outside. He couldn’t tell a good goddamn thing. Mirabelle could be right on top of him that very second, using whatever fucking Arcadian-borne super strength she owned to peel layers of molecularly-bonded metals from Suit’s frame.
Darkness crowded him. Tried to crawl in through his eyes, ears and mouth. Shallow, thin breaths bounced back from the sides of the helmet, which suddenly became much, much closer to the sides of his head. He tried moving his hands, his arms, anything, calmly and methodically reminding himself that giving in to claustrophobic panic right now would be the swiftest way to sign that awkward death certificate.
Nothing. Well. No. Not nothing; his fingertips twitched the tiniest little bit, but there was absolutely no motorized strength behind it, which meant precisely zero strength when weighed against Mirabelle's.
A dot flitted across his line of sight, leaving in it’s wake a phosphor trail that burned painfully against his eyes.
Abby dismissed it. Suit was dead. The sonic barrage had done something critical to one or more syst…
Another dot, this one, a multicolored pulsing pixel, quickly followed by dozens then hundreds more, each one leaving behind a trail that slowly resolved itself into a kind of bootscreen that Abercoign had never seen before.
He shouted. Purely for the joy and exultation of learning Suit wasn’t dead. The HUD blossomed to life with an old-fashioned ASCII logo of a pretty ugly guy wearing a silly hat, with the phrase ‘Kingtech 2.0’ filling the bottom half of the image.
“The fuck is Kingtech?” Abby demanded of himself, ears now pinging with the all-too-familiar blips, beeps and other various sounds that Suit got itself up to when it was in full working order.
“Unimportant.” Suit responded smoothly. “For the time being, at least. If you wish to discuss it when we are done with this Arcadian and I am still capable of recalling the boot sequence, I will be more than willing. For the time being, though, we have this to deal with.”
This turned out to be …
“What in the good goddamn fucking hell is this fuckin
g thing?” Abercoign stared at the video images of what he presumed was Mirabelle, standing right over him, long, thin fingers touching one his armored appendages, with this absolutely curious look across her ravaged face.
Presumed, because unlike his last memory of the weird Arcadian woman, this version of her was … glowing. A numinous white shroud, pulsing gently in the air, swirling around her like some kind of controllable, frosty neon mist, prevented him from seeing anything but the Arcadian. Even her hair. Her hair, floating in the air, as if she were standing upright on the bottom of the ocean, strands drifting this way and that of their own accord.
Then there were her eyes. They’d turned cavernous, sunken, black bags so dark they’d comfortably battle black holes for darkness, backlit with a red so bloody the damned sent to hell would feel right at home.
“Are you!” Abercoign struggled to gain control of the Suit, but the physical devices weren’t online yet. “What the fuck? Jesus! Are you fucking kidding … get this fucking thing off me!”
“Powering repulsor drives.” Suit replied calmly. “Please, Abercoign, remain composed. We are in a compromised position. If she detects your dismay and fear, she may well resume attacking.”
Abby couldn’t take his eyes off the demonic transformation Mirabelle had undergone. “What is she?”
“Repulsor drives at eighty-five percent.” Suit flicked through databases. “According to ancient lore, the most likely designation for her would be ‘banshee’. Here is a précis. Read quickly. Drives are nearly at capacity. Once they are fired, she will be on us again in seconds.”
Abby sped through the bulleted list, heart sinking lower with each passing fact about ancient banshees. “Well, this can’t be true, now can it? I mean, this is the really real world, right?”
“Repulsor drives at max.” Suit announced. “And if you knew how funny that question actually is, Abercoign, you’d be laughing until you shit yourself.”
“What?” Abby looked around for the icon signifying Suit’s intellect and couldn’t find it.
“Authorize the firing, Abercoign. She’s detected you and I are awake.”
“Let’s put a pin in that, Suit, and explain what the fuck you meant by that statement.” Abercoign could tell Mirabelle knew he was awake from the way she was staring most intently into his eyes through the visor and by how one hand trailing delicately across his arm was now stopped, long, sharp-looking nails poised to dig into the bands there at a moment’s provocation.
“There is no time for this discussion right now, Abercoign.” Suit’s voice was determined. “Authorize the burst. And get your game on. This is going to be quick and dirty and we most definitely will not enjoy ourselves. I’ve got some filters running that should cancel out some, if not most, of her sonic attack, but there’s not telling.”
“Yeah but…”
“Abercoign authorize the burst, King damn yer eyes!”
Abby Selantc flicked his eyes over the large, pulsing ‘authorize’ icon, worry settling into his guts. It flashed green and he felt power trembling through the Suit’s systems. Taking a deep and blissfully fresh breath of air, Abercoign prepared himself for the upcoming battle, all too aware that he had more than one thing to worry about.
Mirabelle wasn’t the only one who’d undergone changes in the last few minutes.
Above him, Mirabelle launched into the air, weird glowing mist puffed into almost nothing, the brightness beneath her Arcadian skin fading to a dimly lit aura.
***
“Eh?” Mirabelle craned one ear towards Suit. “Some fitful buzzing? Think you to attack me wi’ mosquitos? Fruit flies? I know you are awoke within your suit of clanking silver wares, you impertinent herald of unthinking machine mind, and I know you think you will find a way to best me, but if you think the sound of gnat…”
A force, not unlike cruel and impervious Iron fist from unruly Big’Un, did just that second contrive to erupt from the immobile Suit and to slam, very uncharitably, into the side of her head that had, until this very moment, been stretched towards it.
Mirabelle, Lady of the Weeping Eye, found herself airborne, tumbling head over heel in ungainly form, up and up and up. Every other rotation or so as she flew through the sky like a shrouded stone, the Golem contrived to train an eye on churlish herald.
As expected, he was up, on the move, one arm pointed in her direction. Experience suggested she were about to be …
A bolt of envious green blatted out from extended Enforcer’s arm.
“This is unacceptable.” Mirabelle tried to gain some semblance of control o’er her flight-plagued form but alas, before she could e’en muster the basics of stability, the emerald bolt of energy slammed directly into her stomach, eliciting an unladylike oof.
She then began plummeting directly towards the earth, which she supposed she were glad for; never one to enjoy flying through the air thanks to someone else’s unkind treatment as some of her colleagues had been in times past, Mirabelle was nevertheless concerned about impact.
‘twere one of those things that could cause a Golem, mayhap e’en one as changed as she, considerable amounts of damage. And whilst Herald’s weapons had yet to find any sort of purchase ‘gainst her eternal flesh, there were nowt to say it would always remain thus.
As Mirabelle fell, eyes fell on concerned Ragar and analytical Marshak, her two advisors, peeking over rubble to watch on.
Determination surged through her. They were her people. ‘ere she failed in dealing with her foe, said foe would turn weapons ‘gainst them, and that were unconscionable.
Mirabelle twisted in mid-air, forcing feet to aim towards ground. The Lady of the Weeping Eye prepared herself.
***
“That can’t be good.” Ragar fretted nervously, indicating the sudden … depletion … of her transformation. “Right? That can’t be good for her.” He licked his lips nervously. “Or us.”
Marshak tugged thoughtfully at a lip. Guts said no, it wasn’t good, not for a single solitary one of them, but experience reminded him that none of them understood one thing about who or what Mirabelle of the Weeping Eye really was. “I wouldn’t cash her check just yet, old man. Don’t forget that before she lost her shit and went all phantom on us, she was who she was. Unstoppable. See? Look. She’s already got her shroud back on.”
Ragar turned from Marshak, a brittle foundation of hope growing in his chest. He hoped for all their sakes that Mirabelle could keep up with the Enforcer.
Once he was certain Ragar was distracted by Mirabelle’s aerial antics, Marshak turned to one of his team just off his left shoulder. He twitched his fingers, then waited for a response. When it came, it was with a very talented hint of dismayed resignation.
They all knew what needed to happen. They’d already discussed it.
Mirabelle needed reasons to burn brightly, and she’d bonded herself to the lot of them. That much was evident in the epic way she’d lost her shit.
She just needed a few more reasons to blossom into darkness.
***
“Did you see that?” Abercoign’s voice cracked with excitement. “Damn near blew the … whatever you’d fucking call that shit around her right out!”
“Detecting movement.” Suit threw a handful of target-boxes onto the HUD, each one bristling with identities of assailants, types of weapons destined to be engaged and a load of data that not even Abercoign found interesting.
“So?” Abby indicated Mirabelle, who was falling to the earth, a faintly glowing meteorite.
“Do I need remind you that whatever deleterious affect her presence is having on my form is still present?” Suit snapped. “And that regardless of the puny nature of the weapons being brought towards us, they might very well cause me damage? And that while we are being shot at from all directions, she will be doing whatever she can to kill us?”
If he could, Abercoign would be rubbing his lips with a free hand, absolutely and –understandably- completely concerned about Suit’s
behavior. The fact that Suit had any kind of behavior was a profound worry all it’s own, especially when that selfsame ‘deleterious effect’ emanating from Mirabelle was taken into account. Compounding this concern was the ancient ASCII logo labeled ‘Kingtech’ and Suit’s panicked demand he authorize the repulsor blast.
Sensing that Suit’s impatience –something else Abby didn’t much care for- over the encroaching regular people with unimpressive weapons was growing, the Enforcer mentally targeted all six of them for disposal. He cycled through the available weapons, growling in exasperation when they quickly started graying out the closer the Arcadian got to the ground.
Without paying attention to the weapon chosen, Abby sent the command for Suit to fire then turned his focus back to Mirabelle; the furious looking Arcadian nightmare was just about to hit the ground, and from the looks of things, whatever strange forces she controlled were back in full swing.
“Oh boy.” Abby prepared himself for the inevitable.
***
The Enforcer was preparing himself for Mirabelle’s return to the earth. Everyone could see it the way the armored man was posturing, but there was something more, something that only a few could see.
“You can tell, can’t you?” Marshak asked Ragar; even though the man’s eyes were trained on Mirabelle as she fell, the older man was clearly paying a good deal of attention to the Enforcer and the six Clan members who were even then professionally approaching the invader’s position.
“Hm?” She was so lovely. Ragar didn’t understand why other people –people who claimed to follow her because they believed in her- shied away from her looks. Yes, the one side of her face was terrible to behold, but the reasons behind the eternal suffering made it all the more wondrous. And as she was right now? Hollow red eyes, pale white, gleaming from the inside out?
Only to be feared if you had darkness in your heart.
“My men.” Marshak grinned toothily. “You can tell he’s already targeted them. I’m wondering how?”
Ragar didn’t take his eyes off Mirabelle. Her descent was somehow slowed by this strange new power she’d revealed. Not much, but more than enough to prepare for the inevitable conflict that waited. The old man knew she’d been hoping to end this encounter without death or bloodshed, and that’d been a noble thing to want, but this was the Outside. The Outside was even worse than Inside. He’d been trying to tell her that for so long.