Emilia emerged onto the street and immediately regretted every decision she had ever made. The air burned, and not in the normal it’s really hot out way. No, it burned in the someone let the spice fiend cook and the entire house is toxic with aerosolized spice way. They’d only been stupid enough to let that happen once, during the war. Their entire barracks had needed to be evacuated and fumigated. It had still tasted hot for weeks.
This was worse. There was no escape from this, and even when Emilia turned and bolted back inside the building, the spice followed her. Hopefully, she’d get used to it. Hopefully, her pussy wouldn’t burn when she inevitably had to pee, which, food? Water? She’d had none and felt no need for either since her arrival. Granted, she’d been unconscious a significant portion of that time, and her one of her knots let her ignore hunger until it was quite serious, but still! It was weird!
She sighed, shoulders sagging as she pushed her way back outside. It was worse the second time around. There also, shockingly, was no one in sight.
“Right or left~” she hummed to herself, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her cloak and looking down the street.
It was just as red as it had seemed from inside, the ground a packed, brownish-red dirt. It was an odd contrast to the towering buildings of metal. There were no animals, no plants. Just dirt and huge towers of dull red reaching into the haze of red far above. Light shown down through it, seemingly from multiple directions.
Well, might as well go left. Someone had once told her to always go left, when you had no idea which way to go in a game or maze or life in general. Something about the majority of the population being right-handed, so almost everyone naturally went right. Emilia had always figured that was stupid—it just meant that game designers were liable to put important things to the right as well, or that they’d figure out people were purposefully going left and would still put those things to the right, just to fuck with them.
She didn’t see any reason not to go left, however, so left it was.
Her shoes slapped and sucked against the ground as she walked. Why was everything so damn sticky here?
A door slammed shut and Emilia froze, eyes scanning the direction she thought the sound might have come from. Fuck, it was annoying to have her senses this stifled. Everything felt wrong, as though she were simultaneously experiencing the world with too much force and not nearly enough. Everything was dull, yet it was as if there were pins sticking into her. Spice that burned, eyes that could barely take in the details of the land, noises that crackled through her busted eardrum—because that injury hadn’t healed itself, just like her muscles were still sore and aching and—
Emilia’s eyes caught a shadow, vanishing down one of the narrow alleyways that separated the buildings. She took a step after it, another, and then—
Emilia slammed a hand to her good ear as sirens wailed from far above her.
“BREACH! BREACH!” They were so loud, the voice cracking and echoing. It reminded her of some of the more nostalgic Virtuosi environments. Ancient computers screaming in artificial voices that burbled and broke on the wrong syllables. “BREACH! BREACH!” it continued screaming, presumably at her.
Hopefully, whatever she’d breached, it wouldn’t kill her or any of the locals. Logically, she knew that they were AI constructs, but the most advanced platforms used organic constructs—AIs grown from copies of human minds. How they were forced into specifically designed environments, Emilia didn’t know—didn’t really want to know, to be honest—but they were, in many ways, just as human—just as real—as she was.
They simply didn’t have bodies to return to. There had been some talk, early in the war, of creating vessels for AIs. Send AIs into war, rather than breathing, bleeding, humans. It wouldn’t have worked. Willbrands and weapons that blew toxic holes in the world were the only things that had worked against their enemies. No one was stupid enough to trust AIs with weapons of mass destruction, and willbrands required cores. Cores could be faked, within a virtual platform, but not in the real world.
Emilia would have fought that plan, even if there hadn’t been logistical problems. The idea of sending AIs capable of love, friendship, fear, out to fight a war had never sat well with her. Even this, effectively invading their home for a game—for a couple of tickets?
Somewhere, in her head, more than a few people she knew were yelling at her for being stupid. “They aren’t real humans. Get over it.”
She couldn’t get over it, though, and when men in scary black armour appeared, quickly surrounding her, she didn’t even try to put up a fight. She didn’t think her single blade and nails would have done much against so many people anyways, but she could have tried. She didn’t.
⸄Hands behind your head,⸅ one of the men said, firm but not unkind. She assumed it was a man, anyways, but couldn’t be sure. Not with his face covered by a mask, voice just as modulated as the siren’s, still blaring above them as though she hadn’t already been semi-captured.
She followed their orders, the men exchanging glances behind their masks. The one who had spoken stepped behind her to gently gather her hands. Something clinked around them, burning slightly against her skin.
⸄This way, miss,⸅ the man said, modulated voice soft. He pressed a hand to her back as she was led away.
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They walked, wherever they were going. Probably not the place her captors had come from—unless they possessed super speed—given how long they walked for. That, or they had some sort of fast travel that wouldn’t work on her, she supposed. No one said anything, even to each other, except her escort, who occasionally mumbled apologies to her about this or that.
⸄Sorry, my fault,⸅ after she tripped—it had definitely been her fault.
⸄Sorry, I know the smell is a bit much,⸅ after they went through a particularly spicy spot and her eyes had started to water.
⸄Sorry—about the noise, I mean,⸅ when the siren started going off again.
By the time they reached wherever it was they were going, Emilia was convinced the man only knew how to apologize. The building they entered looked nearly identical to all the others on the outside, save the door. Most of the doors they passed were a dull red or occasionally a cleaner, matte red. This door was a dark, shining red.
Two of the armoured men approached the door, and for a moment, Emilia thought they were simply aggressively staring at it, hoping it would open—or that perhaps someone on the inside would open it for them. Then, she felt the smallest spark across the aether, different from what skills within the real-world felt like. Whether due to her lack of system access, reduced abilities or the otherness of the feeling, she could barely feel it. Even when she focused, the shape of the aether’s movement slipped away from her, like she was trying to catch a fish, darting through a river, with her bare hands.
Suddenly, the door hissed open, and the two men bolted backwards, still staring daggers at the doorway as the rest of the group entered the building.
The inside of the building was identical to the ground floor of her spawn building—empty save a door at the end of a long hallway. A stairwell, most likely. Awesome. More stairs. The men led her to the stairwell—because, of course, she couldn’t have lucked out and found something else behind that door—and began to climb.
⸄Do you need help?⸅ her escort asked, hovering behind her awkwardly as she looked despondently up the stairs.
Emilia glanced back at him, smiling and raising an eyebrow. “You gonna carry me?”
It was too bad he was wearing a mask, she would have liked to have seen his face as he took in her words, gave her a once over, and scooped her up into his arms.
She squeaked, cursing the fact that her arms were locked behind her. Not exactly the most comfortable princess carry, but also, no stairs. Her legs were so fucking tired, so she wasn’t about to complain about a little shoulder pinch and risk being put down.
Up and up they went. To her escort’s credit, he didn’t seem even remotely winded by either the climb or her extra weight. She let her head fall against his chest, black armour cool against her cheek.
Up and up. Who builds buildings this tall without having invented elevators? How did they even get building materials to the top?
Up and up. She was pretty sure they were higher than she’d spawned now, but she’d lost track counting flights a while back. Apparently she should have just gone up, after all.
Up and up. Emilia thought she might have dozed off as they climbed—as she was ferried about like a princess. Olivier had carried her a few times, like this. Called her princess a few too many times for her liking, and ended up with an entitled brat on his hands, refusing to move. He’d gotten her back for that, more than a few times.
⸄We are here,⸅ her escort said softly.
She hummed, blinking sleepily into his mask in question, then around the room they were now in, startling slightly when her eyes met a window. There was the world, the packed dirt ground, just barely below them.
They were only on the second, maybe third floor.
“Did I fall asleep?” she asked, twisting as she looked around. She’d dozed off, sure, but she’d been mostly awake. How had they gone up all those stairs and yet only ended up one, maybe two, floors up?
⸄I… think so?⸅ the man replied. Emilia felt like he was blinking rapidly at her in concern or shock.
“Did we go up the stairs?”
⸄We are on the second floor.⸅ The man’s head tilted slightly, some universally human movement of question. He went to speak—if his odd, modulated voice could even be considered speaking—again, some follow-up question, but he was interrupted by a door across the room hissing open.
Her escort quickly put her down, his gloved hands skimming over her waist before righting her clothes and hair and twisting her towards the door. The other men were ignoring them, their eyes training to the slowly opening door.
A young woman stepped out, everything about her red. Red hair and eyes. Most of her face seemed devoid of makeup, except perhaps her lips. So red. So flat. Unlike her black armoured captors, the woman’s outfit was red, but in the same style and in much better condition. Where the men’s armour was scuffed and layered in dirt and grime, hers was nearly pristine, sparkling as though it were brand new. If not for the slight scuffing around her feet, Emilia might have assumed it was.
The woman barely spared her a glance, before turning to a man who Emilia assumed oversaw the group, given he had led them the majority of the way. He nodded severely to her, a black gloved hand pounding against his chest. She looked bored, almost impatient, as she watched his greeting. The leader’s suit hissed, and he pulled his helmet off, revealing hair just as red as the woman’s.
They stared at each other. The man gesticulated, but said nothing. The woman nodded, glanced towards Emilia once more. The man glanced towards her, too. His eyes weren’t as red as the woman’s, more a pinkish-red than the pure blood of the woman’s, staring through her more than at her.
A hiss sounded behind her—her escort removing his helmet—and then the woman’s eyes were on him, something wild and terrifying filling them. She swept a hand across the room, one of the other men bonked shoulders with another of their teammates. The leader glared at them, and they straightened, pounded fists to their chest and all but bolted from the room.
The woman looked unhappy. The slash of blood across her face pressed harsher, her entire body tensed, and then she was turning away, her long red hair whipping around her. The thick curls, which almost reached her waist, bounced slightly as she walked, her shoes making ridiculous, sticking noises as she moved.
⸄This way,⸅ her escort said, his voice just as modulated without his helmet off as it had been on.
Emilia turned back to him, breath catching in her throat.
He was beautiful. She didn’t often think that about men other than Olivier. Men could be attractive, hot, fuckable. Boys could be cute.
Olivier was beautiful.
This man was beautiful, with his sharp features and deep set eyes. They were almost black, just the slightest hint of red layered through them. His hair was the same. She imagined in the sun he would shine, red catching light enough to break through the clouds. He was tall, his skin holding just the barest reddish-brown tint—a contrast to the darkness of the rest of him. That, and his lips, just this side of pink and—
His eyebrows pulled together, the frown that had already been written across his face deepening. ⸄Are you alright?⸅
It was a different experience, hearing his voice while looking at him, watching those lips stay still as words slipped out of somewhere else—slipped out of the aether itself.