The ice and slush underfoot provides an unsteady path for our heroine (or at least, our protagonist) to follow. Footsteps and imprints of hot blue fluid within the dingy snowfall act as the breadcrumbs to lead one woman to another's final hour, heavy gunmetal the second most pressing weight upon her. The streetlamps provide little solace, only enough luminance to track her prey, the low wind beginning to intensify as she stalks the city streets.
Esper James Price-Wynnfield is, for the millionth time in her life at least, scared.
Not for herself, per se; she doesn't expect Esthrielle to put up a fight. She doesn't think that she could even if she wanted to, but of course she'd been wrong before. No, she's scared of the whole situation - of completing her task, and what it would mean for herself, for Judas, and for the assassin she sought to slay.
For herself, it is a moral choice. One being taking the life of another begins as mere absent action, such as when one kills a buzzing fly or humming gnat; it intensifies in importance as the life takes on more facets. Killing a pest is different than killing wild game; killing wild game is different than killing a housepet; killing a housepet is different than killing a person. A human being, even one who seeks to destroy you and your kind, is still a life that has lived through countless experiences. It is irreplaceable.
And to say, what does the word 'human' even mean in this modern era? In the South, they digitize and hide within their endless worlds of fabricated fantasy, nothing more than data once they reach a certain age. In the East their bodies are more machine than man, pale facsimiles of the human form, perfected through plastic and silicone and steel. In the Far North a single life is meaningless; thousands more are produced in the blink of an eye, born from apparatuses which would fit a Lovecraftian nightmare. And in the West?
In the West, in Vitus, life is transitional. Death is a door, and while that which is dead can yet die again, a thousand such deaths may occur before a true release is found. Her mind is jarred back to what she had seen within the estate, grey matter waking up further and further with every step as the realization set in. It pushed bile up into her throat to recall.
Judas had been monstrous. The woman she had made love to, the one she had worked for for all these years, the immovable object of beauty and intensity and sinister, calculating intelligence which had been such a bittersweet focal point in her life was a creature beyond definition. Her flesh had been contorted and warped; her bones had been stretched and fragmented and reformed into something awful, something hideous that only bore comic resemblance to the default setting that was Judas Alighieri. It had been surreal in a way which only elicited terror and revulsion.
Was that humanity? To be a being of beauty and grace in the waking world, and revert to monstrosity when necessary - Hell, when advantageous? And if that was what it was to be human, could Esper James bring herself to follow suit when the chips were down and the deadline was drawing near?
She opened her mouth and spit into the greyish slush, wiping at her nose with the furry sleeve of her coat. Her flesh ached less and less by ticks and tacks as seconds wound away, but that only made her uneasy. Was she still human? She was dead, sure, but this body of hers was still flesh and blood; it was cool save for her innards, yes, but it lived and could breathe if she chose. She had no pulse, but she had a brain that fired neurons and which could learn and adapt and experience things both new and exciting.
But was she even still a person? Or was she a monster, too? A beast lurking within the frail, timid form of a woman who had been cut down in her prime? A ghostly memory of a young adult with bright eyes and a tragic optimism for life? Would she one day become like Judas, and see her own muscles twist and flex with horrific power, see her bones snap and sinews stretch, watch her features deform into a primal, unnatural reflection of what it meant to be alive?
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she checked her hands - just to be sure, of course. Humanity was a thing to ponder for another day. For now, she had other things to consider - things that made her a step less existentially compromised.
Judas had been cruel with her in the manse. The exec hadn't even tried to reassure her, or calm her down, or tell her the situation; instead, she had ordered EJ to pick up a gun and kill someone. While Esper James was used to her superior's abuse of authority, this was different: her tone had been disdainful, almost contemptible, as if directing a child how to perform a simple, mindless task. Without hesitation she had demanded EJ do as she was told, and threatened her - with physical violence, no less - if she did not comply immediately.
Was that what awaited the secretary? To, even in a relationship as physical and intimate as to share a bed and be wooed by love, be abused? To be made a slave even moreso than she already was, and to acquiesce or suffer the severity of Judas's whims?
That wasn't a love she wanted to find herself within. Partners must have equal footing, or at least as close as is possible, otherwise there is no option other than for one to use the other. Even inadvertently it can arise, the subtle implication of obligation for the less-powerful lover to dote upon and adhere to the more-powerful one. EJ had no intention of making herself a plaything twice over.
Soft footfalls turned to muffled crunching as she snapped from her daydream trance, looking around to remember where she was: one of the many industrial parks in the city, dotted haphazardly over the landscape as to avoid interacting with the other subordinates of Tsang. Each one was owned by it's own company, but they were still droplets in the rainstorm of Vitus's dead-run economic machine.
Broken glass from beer bottles and varied refuse covered by snow made the trek somewhat louder than it had been initially, and for a second the blonde ghoulette was afraid someone would hear her. That would be a laugh; the only person who would even be around this place at this time of night was the very one she was headed here to finish off. Est wouldn't be in good enough shape to ambush her.
The trail of faux-blood led down a side alley and in through a busted door, the latter of which was slightly ajar as if someone tried to close it in haste. One hand went to the gun and drew it while the other slowly pushed the door wide, ghoulish eyes searching in the darkness for prey. What she found was a collection of rusted-out machinery and dilapidated supports and decor: what once had been a thriving factory perhaps only a few years ago was now a skeletal remains of steel and dust. The blood led further in, what had begun as a flow now dwindling down to a trickle. Even if EJ didn't have such excellent night vision, the foul, rotten scent of nutrio-fluid would have led her like a bloodhound.
Past crumbling support beams and faded signage she went, anxiety starting to mount. Thoughts poured in once more, the silence and still of the factory only fostering her worries. What if Est DID attack her? What if EJ, god forbid, got killed - permanently? Would Judas ever know? Would Judas even care? Or was she just another pawn to be toyed with?
The sound of light, rasping breaths up ahead snapped her out of it. With a trembling hand she readied the gun, biting her lower lip so the pain might steel her mind. Just behind a thin wooden door that read 'SITE MANAGER' in faded text sat her target, or so she presumed. It was now or never.
She took a deep, silent breath and shoulder-checked the door, raising her weapon shakily.
"S-STOP WHERE YOU ARE!"
-
Across town, Judas had finally regained her natural appearance: the sleek black locks like ebon curtains, the lightly browned skin that spoke of Mediterranean or South Asian climes, and the perfect smile which was perpetually frowning. The police had been prompt and had already left - she reported a break-in and notified them to be on the lookout for any wayward vagrants dressed in black with white hair. She hadn't mentioned The New Way, or any particular details of her attacker; this brush with the PD was more a formality than a necessity. They knew which way the wind blew in Vitus, and they also knew that Tsang's higher-ups didn't need public assistance to solve their problems.
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A handful of maids had been dispatched to clean the mess, five in total: one on each floor, sweeping and mopping and throwing out destroyed furnishings, while the fifth and final one prepared a lavish midnight snack for the corporate overlord. Being one of the most important women in the city had its perks, and having your every need catered to using company money was only one of them.
She sat in her en suite bathroom with a cigar and a glass of wine, letting her blood seep into the water of a scalding-hot jacuzzi. The damn thing hurt like hell, and she knew her knee was fucked - it would be a delicate operation to fix, and it would be days before it would heal. She may even need to start using a cane if the bullet had left enough shrapnel behind; that would be a nuisance, but canes were always a bit fashionable for those of power and status. It could be worse: she could have been killed, or EJ could have been killed, or any number of other things. But with one shot to take and all the openings in the world to take it, why had her assailant chosen to merely cripple her?
To send a message? No, that would be stupid; Judas knew damn well she was a wanted woman and that there were hundreds if not thousands or more who would kill her if they could, if only to steal her position at Tsang. There was no need to remind her that she could bleed.
To prevent her from pursuing? If that was the case, why not just kill her outright? You can't pursue anyone when you're bloody well dead, truly dead in her case, and the opportunity had certainly been presented. So what use was there in deterring her from following if an even better option had been presented? No, that wasn't it...
And then a thought struck her. What was the variable tonight? What had been different this evening over all other evenings where she had been attacked? What was the cog in the machine, the twist in the fable, the surprise inside the chocolate egg?
Esper James. Her secretary. She had shown up right as the two women had battled, spoiling the brawl and providing the very opportunity which Judas's assailant had used to cripple her.
Why would EJ throw the assassin off? EJ was cute, sure, but a trained killer didn't give a shit about who they murdered, or why, or in front off whom. Writing it off as stage fright was similarly preposterous, if only for the sole reason that one additional witness should have simply meant one additional bullet to leave the chamber of her handgun. If anything, both of them should have died. Which left one more option, an option that lingered like a burning coal within Judas's furnace of a brain, still smouldering even as it lay.
That bitch knew EJ. She recognized the secretary, at the very least, and didn't want to kill someone who was close to her. There had been a moment of recognition within the hired gun's eyes when Judas's little lost puppy entered the room initially, and while the executive had played it off at the time as the look of a woman who had been caught in the act, she was now doubtful.
Rage boiled within Judas's chest with all the fury of a Hell-bound sinner, her teeth grit from pain and wounded pride. There was a crash as her right hand crushed the wine glass it had once held, glass shards digging deep into her flesh, more blood dribbling down into the jacuzzi to truly taint it red. Her maid gasped, taking a step to rush away, but Judas raised her left palm to bid her heel. Slowly but steadily the glass shards were rejected, flesh re-knitting before the pair's very eyes, dropping out and onto the floor which the vampiress held her hand above. Soon the injury was naught but a memory.
"Bring me more wine, please; I need to... relax after a long and harrowing night. And make it snappy, or I'll have a word with your supervisor about your performance. Got it?"
The fifth maid nodded shakily, rushing away and leaving the snack - steak tartare, garnished with crushed garlic cloves and a sprinkle of white pepper and salt - on the side of the jacuzzi. Judas sighed as some of her rage left her, her momentary lapse of control over in an instant. It felt good to order someone around; felt natural. And more than that? It felt good to be in charge.
-
EJ bashed the door open, making her wince hard from the impact of shoulder-on-wood, her eyes instantly locking upon the figure which was curled up across from her. Esthrielle sat huddled in the only chair in the office, a dusty and moth-bitten easy chair behind a splintery and well-used desk. She leaked blue fluid from her mangled body, but only in small quantities now - most of it was scabbed up, though there was a paleness to the cyborg's body that couldn't be denied.
One robotic eye opened, staring at Esper James in the stillness that ensued, the weight of every action as palpable as a heartbeat. Slowly, slowly, Est's lips split into a Cheshire grin. She was missing a few of those solid-steel fangs, likely ripped free during her clash.
"Heyyyyyy, blondie... Been a bit, hasn't it? I-Isn't it weird that we meet up again, like this of all things?"
Esthrielle tried to laugh, but it was hoarse and digitized; blue fluid seeped out from between her teeth. EJ took a step forwards, aiming her gun emphatically, trying to make her opposite realize the gravity of the situation. It didn't seem to work.
"Sh-Shut... Shut the fuck up, Est! Shut up! What the fuck is wrong with you?! You... You broke into Judas's house, you break all her shit, you nearly kill her, you... You shoot her...You nearly fucking shoot me too, what the fuck?! Are you insane? No, of course you're insane, you're a fucking robot, after all, I..."
EJ's rambling trailed off after a few seconds as Esthrielle simply stared and smiled, the light in her eye flickering badly. Esper James swallowed hard, cutting herself off and shaking her head. The gun was leveled towards Est's forehead, right towards where the blonde assumed her 'brain' equivalent would be.
"...look, EJ... What can I f-fuckin' say? I was told to kill her, by my boss, just like... Heh. Just like you were told by your boss to kill me, right?" Est works her spit up into a coagulated loogie, spitting it onto the floor. It was mostly nutrio-fluid.
"But I... I didn't. I did the next best thing. I've... I've never killed anyone before, you know - not anyone that mattered, I guess. I'm... not a good person, I suppose. I-I just follow orders, and those orders are to do bad stuff, and I do it because it makes me feel like I-" She stopped to hock up another wad of phlegm and faux-blood, her eye LED flickering more intensely for a moment.
"-makes me feel like I belong. Like someone cares about me. If I do what I'm told then I get praised; if the bad guy is defeated, I'm a hero. Back home, back in Italy, they... Fuck. They gave me the only thing I never really had. They made me feel like I had someone looking out for me... like I mattered. And now look at me."
Esthrielle broke into more coarse, mechanical laughter, the sound somewhere between a bark and a scream. EJ bit her lower lip again, brow furrowing; she re-adjusted her grip on the pistol, eyes darting to the name along the barrel for a moment. Judas.
"I'm a fuckin' wreck. I should get scrapped and recycled. So much for my time in the sun, r-right? Haha... ha... shit... Th-This really hurts, actually. I guess I'm... dying, huh? I can feel my vital systems starting to fail... Not enough goo still in my body to make me run. But I guess I went out like a hero... I went out doing what they told me to. Making them proud. Following order-"
EJ pulled the trigger - a shot whizzed past Est's head and thudded into the drywall behind her, leaving a half-dollar sized hole. Est stopped talking, but EJ quickly filled the void, tears of frustration and confused anger welling at her ducts.
"Shut the fuck up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! S-Stop talking about... About 'just following orders', about 'doing what they told you', about all that shit! Don't you f-fucking see what's become of you?! You're not even a p-person anymore! You're a god damn toaster playing dress-up and killing people by the dozens because some f-fucking BUREAUCRAT across the ocean thinks you should! You're m-making people scared and miserable and sad and all because it makes you feel good? To do what some sadist tells you to?!"
Silence permeates the room, cloaking it in stillness. For a few seconds the only movement is the light trail of smoke curling up from the barrel of EJ's gun. Then, Est's head slumps down to her chest, her breathing growing strained.
"...EJ, I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the b-both of us, I guess. We're both... in the same boat, in a way. I'm just following orders... You're just following orders. It's easy to... forget who we are. What we're doing. I-I'm told to dehumanize you, you're told to dehumanize me, and somehow we all just... forget that it's another person on the other end, don't we?"
Est shuts her eye again, focusing on breathing. Silence once more dominates the space between the two, but is broken after a few agonizing seconds.
"...kill me, then. End it. If you're right, i-if all I've done is... for naught, if I'm guilty, then kill me. Do what you're here to do. I can't make up for the crimes I've committed, even if you let me live... I'll never be able to bring any of those people back. I'll never be able to rebuild the houses, or ease the pain, or anything like that."
A deep, pained breath wracks the cyborg.
"Pull the trigger."
-
From outside the factory, a gunshot can be heard, muffled though it is. And then... nothing. The moon breaks through the smog for only a moment to shine upon the already-frozen indigo ice left by some nameless pawn's bleeding body, and then is shrouded once more in pollutant fumes.
Inside the factory, a trembling woman wonders if she made the right choice.