by Ain Soph
“Great. Let’s move then.” I can’t keep the slight irritation out of my voice, and I feel a twinge of sympathy when Isoline slumps her shoulders. When we first started the mission, I didn’t care much for Isoline or the locket, but I really do like her and I want the best for her. I peak into each doorway as we make our way to the room holding the jewelry box. In one of the rooms we pass, I spot close to a dozen slumbering Artifs lying on worn, dusty mattresses scattered around the floor. They’re resting their clocks, something that was mainly created for the consumers, but that ended up helping Artifs also. If they didn’t sleep at all, they’d have much shorter lifespans. Sleep is a way of prolonging their machinery so that they can survive for longer. The beds were necessary because of the Artif’s nerve endings connecting back to its chip. The nerves allow them to feel discomfort and pain, but even those too were just created to please the consumer. You couldn’t have an Artif burning itself to death while cooking because it didn’t realize its hand was touching the stove.
I motion toward the room with the Artifs for Isoline’s sake, hoping she’ll have even more of clue about what we’d be up against if we let ourselves become careless. There’s a quiet, synchronized ticking traveling through the upstairs due to the large amount of Artifs gathered in one place. I’m surprised that so many Artifs are staying in this house. That doesn’t matter though; what does matter is me keeping us safe.
I pull Isoline into a room a couple doors down from the Artifs and push the door halfway closed. I wasn’t expecting this many Artifs to be in the manor, and I need a minute to get my bearings before we continue to look for the locket. “Luxem,” Isoline says in a breathy whisper. I can tell she’s trying to keep her voice quiet, but she’s too excited to stay as quiet as we need to be. I clamp my hand over her mouth and we stay perfectly still, not moving a single muscle. I strain my ears to hear any noise from the rest of the house, but all I can make out is the ticking of a clocks. When it seems as if we’re in the clear, I release Isoline with a glare, but she’s not paying attention to me. Instead her eyes are trained on an old, wooden box with intricate carvings of orchids and a brass clasp holding it shut sitting on an end table in the far corner of the room.
“Is that it?” I ask, drawing my eyebrows together in confusion. The room I pulled us into was just a random one out of the many that dotted the hallway. “I thought you said it was in the last door on the left?”
“I must have either been mistaken or someone moved it into here.” Isoline moves toward the jewelry box and this time, it’s me who’s following behind her. Now more than ever I’m doubting that the locket will be there. If the jewelry box was moved at some point, it’s contents could be dumped out, strewn through the house. I pull aside a thick velvet curtain draped across a dirty window to shed some ghostly light into the room. The box is a little clearer now, and I take note of Isoline’s excited face. It’s the most expression she’s shown since I met her. She runs her hand over the top of the mahogany wood and blows the dust off so she can see the inscription carved into the top. I try to read the words, but they’ve been too worn away with time. Isoline frowns but continues to inspect the box, pulling open a small drawer near the top and removing its false bottom. Another compartment underneath opens and Isoline breathes in a sharp gasp, her eyes glowing with happiness as the corner of her mouth turns up. Her face breaks out into a full blown smile as she pulls out a dingy copper necklace, its chain completely rusted and unusable. It’s so covered in grime, the sun doesn’t even gleam off of it. Instead, I squint my eyes to see what value the piece of junk she’s excitedly holding in her hand could have.
“It’s here! To be honest, I did have a few doubts along the way, but in the end, we actually ended up finding it! Here, check it out. We risked our lives for this- you may as well get a good look at it.” Isoline shoves the locket into my hands while I lift a brow and remind her to stay quiet. I’m glad we found the necklace she was looking for, but a part of me is slightly disappointed. I thought it would be a lot prettier, maybe even have some gems and gold on it. Instead, the locket basically looks like the rest of the junk that was stuffed into the house. If my disappointment shows on my face though, Isoline doesn’t notice. It looks as though nothing could wipe away the large grin she wears across her face.
Isoline softly giggles and bounces over to look out the dirty window, giving me a moment to give the locket a once over. It’s dingy and dull even after wiping some of the grime off onto my pants. I pull the goggles I have resting on the top of my head down over my eyes so I can get a closer look at it. My eyes always seem to have trouble focusing on things in front of me, but the goggles have a special lens inserted into them that my father picked up on one of his missions years ago. Whatever material the lenses were made of, it allowed me to clearly see things up close. Even without cleaning all of the dirt off of the locket, I can make out an embossment of flower petals on the front. It has a gear mechanism on the side for me to twist in order to snap open the locket and see what’s inside. The locket is surprisingly big for just a necklace- almost the size of a pocket watch, but after inspecting it, I still feel like it looks similar to the rest of the clutter around us.
I wonder if I should ask Isoline’s permission to open the locket, as she hadn’t even seen the picture of her brother yet. Before I’m able to ask her, Isoline lets out a high pitched shriek that leaves my hairs standing on edge. I drop the locket in my pocket and snap my head toward Isoline in panic. She’s looking down toward a pile of old paper trash with a look of pure terror. A gargled roar of a broken Artif rings out above the sound of her voice as she releases another startled yelp. I curse when I see Isoline’s ankle trapped in the vice grip of a broken arm belonging to an outdated Artif. She pulls her ankle away as hard as she can and falls over, pulling the Artif across the floor with her. The papers covering its body fall off and I grimace as I see holes through its stretched, rubbery skin going straight down to the intricate, interlocked gear system below the surface. A black ooze is forming a puddle around its body, and as my eyes run the length of its torso in horror, I realize that Artif is completely missing its lower half. Thick, snapped wires and piping just out of it torso like torn intestines, all of them leaving a trail of black sludge that stuck the papers around it together in a thick, pulpy mess.
“He was sleeping in the newspaper! I didn’t know,” Isoline reaches out her hands for me to grab her but I ignore them and grab a curtain rod leaning against the wall beside me and snap it in half. It’s thin and flimsy and probably unable to even hold a curtain, but it’ll do the job. Wielding the curtain rods like katanas, I stab the Artif straight through its back until I hear the crunch of its clock, effectively killing it. There’s the possibility the Artif could be repaired later, but I doubt anybody would since it’s only half a body to begin with. Isoline winces but I don’t have time to coddle her. We have to escape.
I grab Isoline’s hand and we sprint down the hall. I’m hoping to take the stairs by storm, but out of my peripheral I can see the Artifs slowly waking up. I know that I can’t fight all of them, but I’m hoping that we’ll be able to make it out of the house before they realize what’s happening. As I hear the shouts and aggression from the Artifs around us, I ready the curtain rods for battle, wishing I had a better weapon. Usually for missions, I’d get weapons from the Remnant, but since this mission was rogue, they refused to release anything to me. The Artifs are starting to close in on us too fast though, choking the hallway with bodies, and while the rods are able to stab the Artifs closest to us, we’re still dangerously close to being overwhelmed. I can’t aim the rods for the Artifs’ hearts that well because of the speed that they’re rushing us with, so when I stab them, instead of killing them, the wound merely makes them stumble around for a moment until they get their bearings.
The only thing I’m able to see through the throng of machinery in front of us is a window like the one I saw earlier at the opposite end of the hallway. It’s righ
t beside the stairs though, and I find myself trying to decide between the two options in front of me. If we jump out the window, we’d avoid the Artifs we saw downstairs (that are no doubt mobilizing as we run), but there’s a chance that we’d break bones while jumping from that high of a distance. The Artifs would probably follow us outside and if broke either of our legs, running away would become impossible. The stairs on the other hand could prove to be maybe even more of a challenge. At any point before we made it out the door, the Artifs could overwhelm us and we would lose whatever chance we have at escaping. Either option is a gamble and I have no idea which is the right choice. If I was on my own, I’d probably choose the window, but I have no idea how Isoline will land. She probably has little to no experience jumping from that height.
I decide to try our luck with the stairs. I’m no longer worried about the two of us making noise. At this point we could probably be as loud as we want, so if I have to knock down the columns of junk piled through the house then so be it. Maybe an Artif or two will trip over the clutter. I pull Isoline around the corner of the steps and take them three at a time. If I was alone, my adrenaline would have spiked along with my endorphins and I’d feel like I was flying down the steps. Instead, while holding Isoline's small, clammy hand in mine, I’m unable to let myself go and be free. I’m weighed down with worry and nerves. It’s not just me on this mission, and I promised this girl I’d take care of and protect her with my life. I need to deliver on that promise. I can hear Isoline gasping for air behind me but she isn’t loosening her grip on my hand. She’s struggling to keep up, but at least she’s staying with me. I’d allow her to rest when I knew we’d be safe. Unfortunately for Isoline, I’m not sure when that’s going to be. I grip her hand even tighter in mine and squeeze it for reassurance.
As we round the corner of the steps, I grimace at the four clown Artifs we had seen in the den earlier, now waiting for us. I expected them to be on guard, but a small, naive part of me still hoped I wouldn’t have to fight them. I let go of Isoline’s hand and yell at her to run. Bounding down the steps, I use whatever momentum I have to kick off one of the ones closest to the bottom. I put my might into launching the weight of my body into the four Artifs in our path. It’s risky to use myself as a human bowling ball, but I need to give Isoline time to run ahead.
Quickly, I pull myself up from the ground. I know I’ll be sore later when the adrenaline wears off, but for now all that I can focus on are the four Artifs readying themselves for combat. I still have my curtain rods, which have served me well up to this point despite them being a completely pathetic choice of weapon. While dropping one of the rods to the ground, I quickly snap the other in half, breaking it into two dagger-sized rods better suited for close combat. As a clown tries running toward me, swinging its own deadly knife toward my ribs, I side step it with a grunt and stab the rod through its head. I’m lucky enough to actually hit its chip, killing it in the process. Even though the Artifs deactivated their chips to release themselves from human control, they still effectively acted as a brain.
I still have the other three clowns to fight, though, and the scene in front of me is terrifying. Each clown’s eyes are rolling around in its skull manically, while their grins are lopsided and loopy. I smack the clown closest to me and carnival music erupts from its body as the Artif giggles, its rolling eyes finally focusing on me. The music is adding an eerie ambiance to the fight, making me shiver in discomfort and fear. I’ve only heard of clown Artifs before today, and the stories hardly prepared me for the horror that they inflicted on their targets. I jump as their eyes light up with a spectral glow. How were these Artifs used at children's’ birthday parties? They’re horrifying.
I lock eyes with Isoline, still standing in the middle of the steps. She hadn’t moved since I told her to run, but somehow the Artifs that were flooding the upstairs had disappeared. Something isn’t right. It doesn’t make sense for the Artifs to have been so keen on attacking us, only to abandon the fight halfway through. And for what? To go back to sleep? I yell once again for Isoline to run, my voice hoarse from the panic shredding my vocal cords.
“I can’t go without you!” Isoline screams, finally running toward me. She kicks one of the three Artifs away from us and grabs my hand. I stab another Artif through the chest, aiming for its clock, and without waiting to see if my attempt is successful, I yank Isoline away from the steps, farther into the living room.
“What is wrong with you?” I snap, irritation and fear seeping into my voice. I can see the front door only a few meters away, but I thankfully remember in time that it’s locked. Attempting to unlock it will take precious seconds away from us that we need to get away from the remaining Artifs. I instead train my eyes on the window beside the door. There are some small glass shards sticking out around the frame, but getting a little cut up was much better than risking capture or death by Artifs.
“I’m the one that got you into this mess, and it’s my fault the Artifs found out we were here,” I can hear Isoline’s voice trembling with fear, but underneath it is a sharp tone of guilt. I allow myself a split second to turn my head and look at her. How can she possibly blame herself for this? I want to comfort her or provide her any sort of encouraging words. I want to tell her that none of this is her fault. I’m more experienced; I should have known better. But my words catch in my throat. We don’t have the time, and I put so much mental strength into figure out our escape, my words probably won’t come out the way I want them to anyway. Comforting now doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll have plenty of time to talk when we’re both safe. I sprint faster toward the window, Isoline’s panting growing heavier with each choking inhale. She’s holding back tears now, and it’s making our sprinting much harder for her. I ready my body to jump, calculating the amount of force I’ll need to launch both of us off the ground and through the glass. I’m lucky Isoline is such a tiny girl. Even with her jumping at the same time, I was going to have to yank her along with me- hard.
“Get ready to jump!” I shout. Isoline nods her head and I can feel her body tensing in preparation, the grip on my hand becoming tighter.
I count us down, using the few seconds we have left before we jump to synchronize our steps and fall into a rhythm. The window is going to be a high hurdle to jump over though, and I wish we had more time to prepare. Yelling jump as loud as I can, I jerk Isoline’s hand and we both leap together. Our timing is flawless; we’re in perfect synchronization with each other just as I wanted, and I allow myself a small sigh of relief as I realize ahead of time that we’ll easily clear the window. Isoline is good at jumping and possibly got even more air than I did. All of these thoughts run through my mind within a second, and I’m already onto the next step in our escape-making it to the gap. I’m so deep in thought, that when I feel the sharp tug on my wrist, painfully pulling it farther away from the arm than it’s meant to go, I’m too surprised to immediately react.
“Luxem!” Isoline bellows my name in a terrified scream as I soar through the window, a leftover shard slicing through my pants into the flesh of my thigh. I hardly notice the pain though; my mind is much more preoccupied by the emptiness in my hand. Isoline is gone.
I land heavily on my stomach on the front porch and without missing a beat, I lift myself up and bound over the railing, grunting as the wind is knocked out of me with my landing. For a moment, my vision fades to black and I don’t move. Consciousness is returning to me slowly- too slowly for the current peril I’m facing, and so instead of letting the inky blackness overtake me, I force myself to move. My wrist is throbbing all the way up to my shoulder because of the sharp yank, and as I struggle to my feet, I’m struck by a sudden loss for what to do next. Dusk has descended on the neighborhood and I allow only a moment for my eyes to adjust to the surroundings. I know I can’t leave Isoline, but I can’t fight all of them either. Even thought the ones upstairs seemed like they chose to stop chasing us, they’re still in that house. There are just too many Art
ifs for one mercenary to handle, and I dropped the curtain rods back in the house, so I don’t even have a weapon. Even if there were more mercenaries with me though, it would still be too risky to go back in. If I return to the manor now, Isoline and I are both as good as dead.
I hear shouts as more Artifs step out of the homes surrounding me, shining flashlights up and down the street. I curse and dive into shadow. How did I not know there were more here? And how did they not notice Isoline and I this whole time? Less and less about this neighborhood and the Artifs living in it is making sense. For all my training as a mercenary and all the knowledge I’ve gathered as part of the Remnants, I’ve failed miserably- at detecting Artifs, at understanding them, and most importantly at protecting Isoline.
The blood in my veins turns icy cold and a solid ball of dread settles in my stomach as I come to the stark realization that running is my only option. There’s no chance to save Isoline (most likely she’s already dead), no chance to fight the Artifs, no chance to reenter the house. I’ve failed. She trusted me to keep her safe and I failed. I know that I’ going to be haunted by my decision later. I know that I’ll question whether I tried hard enough to save her. I’d wonder whether or not I gave up on Isoline too early. But in the moment that the Artifs left their homes, the very second they began scouring the neighborhood, my survival instincts took over, and without much deliberation, I run.
I sprint around the house and along the backyards until I reach the fence gap. Crawling through it with startling speed, I stand and run faster toward the hills I scoped out before we entered the house. The dense forest on the other side of them with provide me with the cover I so desperately need, and so I draw in another deep breath, my lungs burning with the effort, and push myself harder. Wind’s whipping at my eyes, causing them to tear up and my vision to turn blurry, but I still push for more speed. I’m desperate for safety, and I tune everything around me out except for the forest in front of me. When I finally hit the treeline, branches snap across my face, drawing thin lines of blood that drip down to my chin, but I don’t slow until I’m out of sight. I’m not as deep in the forest as I should be, but it’s dark out and I don’t want to get lost. I try to carefully look for potential hiding places, but the shouts of Artifs breaks my concentration. Some sound like they’re coming from the top of the hill, making me pick up my speed in scouring the trees for a safe spot I can use. By now they’ve definitely found the gap in the fence if they didn’t already know about it before, and the forest was the only place beyond that to hide. It’s obvious which direction I ran toward. I find a tree that has a dark hole at the bottom and realize that for some purpose or other, it had been manually hollowed out at one point. The tree is a lucky find; I feel about ready to collapse. It will be a tight, uncomfortable fit but I don’t have much of a choice. I crawl into the trunk and try to breathe as deeply as I can to keep claustrophobia from creeping up on me. I’m unable to move my arms or straighten my legs, and already I can feel them cramping. Cramping is better than being found by Artifs, though. I smell rain in the air and swallow, attempting to relax my parched throat. I groan to myself, keeping my voice as quiet as I can. Of course, it’s going to rain. Just what I need.