by Ethan Cooper
I nod.
Every step away from the Serpentblood stage brings with it a small measure of relief. JACK is right—there’s something buried in their music, something that gets a hook in you and reels you in. They figured how to make a drug that you can hear.
If they’re popular, I now know why.
When we’re far enough away that we can’t hear the music anymore, JACK says, “All those things he said. What did he mean?”
No need for her to explain which he she’s talking about. “I don’t know. I can barely think about that right now.”
(no angel you just don’t)
(want to)
I pretty much shut everything out past that point. I follow JACK to the edge of the circus, and we exit, dodging vendors and attractions and crowds with renewed determination.
Calamity Carl. My thoughts keeping reversing course back to him and what he told me. I may not know how he found us or why he said anything, but I’m convinced our encounter was anything but a coincidence. He knows who I am, and he was following us. We didn’t just randomly find him at the circus—he chose to reveal himself there.
That fact alone is probably something that should have me on my knees, weeping in fear.
Just what the hell type of person am I that I have somebody like Calamity Carl following me around and telling me what to do with my life? Who was I, and what did I do to deserve him? Also, that he’s in the employ of somebody named Devilgod doesn’t make me feel all warm and safe inside. I want to know who I was, and who I’m supposed to be, but meeting Calamity Carl made me realize something. Sometimes you go looking for answers. Sometimes you find them. But there are other times—the dark, frightening times—that the answers come looking for you. And sometimes those answers are covered in body armor, spikes, and blades.
I told JACK I could barely think about this, but it’s all I can think about. It’s so overwhelmingly distracting.
Which is probably why when JACK grabs my arm and shoves me behind her, I’m entirely clueless as to why.
“What the fu—” I begin, but then oh, I see the three figures in front of us, blocking our exit out onto the street beyond. It takes me a couple seconds to realize that the narrow street we’re on is deserted except for one blue-haired girl, a youngling wirewitch, and our three new friends.
“Dokks,” JACK whispers, a brief thrill running through me that I know what she’s talking about.
That thrill is quickly replaced by a healthy dose of fear when my mind starts sending me lots of detailed data on what Dokks are and why it would be cosmically terrible for two young females to meet them on a dim, deserted street.
Something behind the trio flashes, and for a brief moment, their silhouettes are burned into my vision. Long trench coats. Thick-soled boots. Yellow wraparound visors and smooth bald heads.
Flesh farmers. Just out working the fields. Harvesting human organs.
This street is like all the others—bland, decaying walls built for a different time, buildings tall enough to fade into the cloud cover blanketing the city. There aren’t any windows low enough for us to reach, and every single door is protected by thick metal bars. The street is narrow enough that there’s no room to move past them with them walking side by side like that. Maybe JACK’s wrong. Maybe they’re not Dokks. Maybe they don’t want to chop us up into little sellable pieces. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that we’re walking toward each other, with no one else to witness whatever’s about to happen between us.
Yeah okay, not fucking likely.
“We’re running, right?” I ask, already stepping backward, moving toward the main street behind us, where hopefully there are people, lots more people.
“Sorry about this, Syl. I made a mistake,” JACK says, backing up with me. “And yes, we’re running.”
I’m already behind her, getting up to speed, moving back the way we came. She’s right with me. Not surprised she can keep up with me, but I am surprised that I can run as fast as I am.
Bursts of static go off in my mind, each explosion accompanied by a dull throb and then a sharp spike of pain. Can’t help it—my knees go weak and my stride wavers, I veer into JACK. She steadies me with one hand, making sure I don’t go down.
The air in front of us shimmers violently. There’s a series of clicks, and the three Dokks appear abruptly in front of us, blocking our exit.
JACK grabs my arm hard enough it feels like my arm’s going to break loose. I spin, not sure what to do, but now my arm hurts. “Ow! Fuck! Can everybody teleport now?”
“They didn’t teleport! Look!”
She’s pointing back behind us, to where we originally saw the Dokks. What before was an open passage to the next street over is now a ten-meter wall of trash blocking our path.
Fucking holograms.
When we turned onto this street thinking we could cut over to the next one the Dokks moved in behind us.
“I didn’t see it,” JACK says. “I’m sorry.”
“Keetchas!” the Dokk in the center of the trio calls. “No need to run!”
“And keetcha is bad, right?” I ask, my voice oddly calm.
JACK steps in front of me. “Stay back behind me. Don’t fight them. I’ll kill them quick—”
A high-pitched, stuttering whine cuts her off, followed by a flash of light. She’s unable to dodge the blob of green that streaks at her, throwing her backward, her body twirling as it goes, bathed in luminescent tendrils of energy. When she lands, she’s just a convulsing ball of arms and legs and hairstalks.
My reactions are nowhere near as quick as hers, so it’s no real surprise when I get hit with the second blob. It’s like getting punched in the entire body all at one time. I’m sent against the wall to my right. I feel the pressure of the impact, but there’s no pain, as if that critical part of me has been temporarily disconnected. I’m blind as well, my vision filled with an impenetrable green haze. Think I’m on the ground now, but it’s hard to tell because even behind closed eyes, it feels like I’m tumbling in freefall. My stomach is in my throat, on the verge of expelling everything I’ve eaten today.
Somebody’s moaning, the sound muffled, like I’m hearing it through a liquid.
I don’t know how long I drift like that, trying to hold the contents of my stomach in while the world behind my eyelids dips and spins.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
A brief burst of static is the key that unlocks my vision. I open my eyes, the green haze gone, everything crisp and clear.
One of the Dokks is leaning in close, the faint light from some unknown source filters through his visor, casting his face in a sickly pall, even though I know that the flesh beneath is engineered perfection, smooth and unblemished. The shoulder of his trench coat glistens as if wet. Below, his muscular chest is bare. I can see crude stitching in the surface of his skin, each seam the telltale sign of an implant. The largest seam is in the middle of his chest, extending vertically down his belly, disappearing beneath his belt. Whatever he upgraded himself with, it was installed recently; it’s still oozing.
My mind finally registers that I’m not lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. No, I’m quite vertical, pushed up against the wall. He’s got his hands underneath my armpits, holding me up high enough that I’m on my tiptoes.
Just off to the side, one of the other Dokks has JACK in a similar position, but since she’s shorter, her feet dangle. A brief glimpse of her face tells me she’s unconscious. I can’t tell if she’s breathing or not.
Everything tingles, from my toes to my forehead. Can’t make any part of my body move just yet. Brain is issuing the commands, but they’re being lost in transit. Ok, I can move my eyeballs, and I’m still breathing, so not everything’s shutdown. Not good, but it could be worse.
“Let us go.” Useless words but I have to say them. I guess my tongue and lips are working.
When the Dokk holding me smiles, it’s through teeth so white they appear to glow in the dark. “Hello there, my sw
eet little keetcha. You can call me One.”
“Don’t hurt her.”
“Don’t talk. Just listen.” One shakes his head, tilting his forehead forward so it’s almost touching mine. “We find it very interesting that you and the wirewitch are together. We were unaware they would make friends outside their covens. Has she not tried to infect you? Clearly, she has not since you are not a wirewitch. So then, what else is there that would stay her hand from your destruction? If you haven’t shared a wirewitch’s fatal kiss between you, then perhaps something more passionate? The kiss between two friends, or between lovers?”
“Let us go.” There’s something more than a tingle now. It’s still lurking, as if waiting for a signal to rise. Is that the static? Now would not be a good time to have an attack. Got to remain conscious.
“Not likely, keetcha. Not likely.”
“What the fuck do you want from us?”
One laughs, and the sound is a deep warbling atrocity that crawls in through my ears and keeps burrowing, tearing through flesh and bone until it’s lodged deep in my gut. It takes conscious thought not to pee myself.
“Do you not know already? Do you not know who we are? We want to sell you. One piece at a time.” When he says that last part, his eyes jump from body part to body part. My eyes. My arms. My breasts. My legs. My feet. Like he’s taking inventory and calculating my net worth, already planning what he’s going to buy with my profits.
One lowers me, and there’s just enough strength in my legs now to keep myself upright as long as I’m leaning against the wall. He strips my cloak from me, and I’m powerless to do anything about it.
“Oh my,” he says breathlessly. “Her…pieces really are in excellent condition. Yes, they are. Just how pure is she? Very pure I’m sure, but we’ll have to check. She might be one of them.”
Is he talking to himself or someone else? And I might be one of who?
He places one hand on my neck, his touch gentle but strong. Images of him crushing my windpipe before I can take my next breath flash through my mind. His other hand is in my face, index finger extended toward me. He talks to himself as he traces a circle around each of my eyes, never actually touching me. He draws a triangle around my nose and an oval around my mouth. From there, he slices down toward my shoulder, outlining my muscles and bones all along one arm and then the other. When he’s done there, that finger tracks across my clavicle, then down my chest, inscribing two larger loops around my breasts, then lower to my stomach. Even though he’s still not touching me with that finger, I can feel his finger as it were bare against my skin when he draws a triangle between my legs. When he draws single quotation marks over my ovaries, I shiver uncontrollably. He lets go of my neck to continue with my legs and feet. I’d fall down if I could, but I’m stuck letting him outline my choicest cuts of meat. On the other side of the alley, JACK is getting the same treatment.
One turns me around and does the same thing to my back side, only now I can’t see what he’s doing, which makes it a hundred times worse.
Something wet on my cheek. Fuck it, I’m crying.
One turns me back around. The third Dokk is standing next to him now. He’s holding a tiny white device that rests entirely in the palm of his hand. He puts the device in front of my forehead, then slowly lowers it in front of my body. It beeps several times. When he’s done with me, he does the same to JACK.
One isn’t holding me anymore, but I’m not going anywhere. He glances over his shoulder. “Give me your report, Three. Is she one of them? Is she pure?”
“Oh my,” the third Dokk says, studying the device in his palm. “We can barely believe this.”
“What is it?” One asks.
“Yes, she’s pure. Inside and out. Plus, she’s a maiden.”
One jerks his head back to me. I don’t like the tilt of his head as he stares. I feel like my clothes are suddenly transparent. “Curious. What about the wirewitch?”
“Since she’s a youngling, we are not surprised, but yes, she’s intact. They both are.”
“This is unexpected,” One says to me. “You’re the purest scan we’ve ever seen. Two and Three are surprised as well, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” says Two, who is turning JACK so her back is to the wall again.
“Yes,” says Three.
There’s a brief burst of noise somewhere deep in my skull, but it’s muted, as if it’s locked behind a closed door. The tingling in my body fades a bit when I feel the static try to rise, but it’s not enough for me to regain control of my motor functions. Something needs to happen, and fast, or I’m going to be forced to watch, helpless and passive as I become another victim.
Just write my name on the list, right below all the other women throughout time whose names are already there.
One rubs his thumbs and forefingers together, leaning his head close to mine. “Your hair is actually blue. That’s rare. You’re pure—you don’t have mods, or deformities, or cancer, or technoplague. That’s unheard of. But a virgin? I thought those were extinct! But the super cosmic thing about you is that you’re all those things and you’ve somehow ended up with a wirewitch as your companion. Combine everything together, and you’re just a little blue-haired anomaly, aren’t you? Who are you, and what factory made you? We need to find where you came from. We’d love to get our hands on a few of your sisters. We’d finally be able to afford to get off this island.”
The waver in his voice gives him away. Right now, he doesn’t care about how much money all my pretty little parts are worth. None of them do.
The static is back, still muted, but a constant buzz.
When One pulls his head back, he’s not smiling. “You’re absolutely perfect. Pure. Blue-haired. Virgin. Well, we think you’ll still be worth a fortune even with only two out of the three.”
Not good.
The static breaks free of its prison, rising till it’s bold and clear, filling my ears. It hurts, but right now, feeling anything is a welcome change.
“No. Don’t.” I thought I’d only be able to whisper, but it comes out loud and strong, not as a plea, but as a command. Not sure where I summoned that from.
One wags a finger in my face. “Talking. No thank you. Screaming. Yes, please.”
Two crouches down, his tongue extending toward JACK’s mouth. Three’s head swivels back and forth between the two of us, as if he can’t decide which dessert he’s going to have first.
The static ramps up, not so much a buzz now, but more like a continuous sequence of explosions. It’s drowning everything out.
“If you touch her…” I say, unable to hear my own words. “If you touch me…”
One’s hands are up in front of my face. My eyes track his hands as they lower, hovering just a few centimeters above my skinsuit.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
“I will kill you all.”
The words came from my mouth; I know they did. I just don’t think they came from me, or at least the me I know.
bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!
The tingling numbness surrenders to the onslaught of the static. Pain-tainted relief floods my body. There are a thousand needles penetrating my skin, but my muscles are mine to control once again, and that is a good feeling. I should be crumpled over in agony. Yet I’m euphoric. My face should be flush with outrage. Yet I’m smiling.
And growling, or maybe that’s just the static coursing through me and out my mouth. Regardless, it does nothing to stop the Dokk—who goes by the name of One—when he brings his hands to tenderly cup my breasts.
22/Descending (i)
2195.12.11/Night
BLINK.
Static grinding. Like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Metal crushing metal. Electronic interference infused with the sound of a nuclear explosion. The vision of the Dokk in front of me, of his hands on me, goes all fuzzy, as if the static is bleeding into my eyeballs. It’s inside me, injected into every molecule of my body, modifying me on an atomic level. There may not be any mo
re of me left. I am static.
And then it stops.
There’s a hint of drool at the corner of his mouth as One scans my face for my reaction to his touch.
“I warned you,” I say into the quiet.
The static detonates so violently it’s like the island is experiencing an earthquake.
One’s whole body jerks. Something hit him. His expression goes blank, as if he’s been suddenly cut off from the ability to smile. I look down to find my right fist buried in his stomach. I didn’t just punch him. I punched into him, right through that big implant wound in the middle of his belly. Only it couldn’t be me, because the me I know can’t do that. It’s some other me—one born of necessity and static. Or perhaps just reawakened.
It’s an automatic me, and she’s in charge right now.
My hand is inside One’s gut. That’s his stomach against my palm. That’s a length of intestine sliding against my pinky and ring finger. And oh, I bet that’s his new implant there poking into the back of my hand. Blood begins to seep out from the fist-sized wound. He’s oh so warm and wet in there. My forearm muscles flex as my fingers explore him. Fingernails lacerate his stomach lining, and when I clench my fist and twist my hand, there’s a cascade of popping sounds followed by gushing liquid. One’s mouth is open in a silent scream. He coughs, and blood sprays my face, some of it right into my eyes. But the automatic me has pushed the override button on my involuntary reactions, so my eyelids stay open. Certain sections of my vision are filtered through a screen of blood. One convulses, my fingers kneading his internals like I’m molding clay. Bracing his shoulder with my left hand, I clench the right, my fist filled to overflowing with his innards. Then I pull back hard. My fist comes free with a squelch that I can’t hear as much as feel. He goes backward, collapsing at my feet. We’re connected, One and I, a lumpy length of his intestine swinging between us.
Static fills my vision.
BLINK.
I can see again.
Two has JACK by the throat. Her skinsuit is partially unzipped down one side, her shoulder bare. Two’s mouth is moving, his lips peeled back, issuing commands to Three, but I only have ears for the static.