“Hey’a jackass! You’re a diver ain’t ya?! The hell was all the yapping about? Ya’ like broadcasting your yearn for suicide across for all Inhaled to hear?”
Finding himself now within a well lit and stocked underground bunker, Rye lifelessly slouched against a hard cushion. Scolding him was the blacksmith from earlier who had assisted him in his resupply.
“You really oughta know better.”
The words passed through him as if nothing was said at all.
“Can you at least act like you give a damn?! You nearly lost your life just a second ago. And by the looks of it, you wanna die.”
Dread slowly wrapped around Rye as he lifted his head, muttering:
“I wanted to protect her in the end. Honestly, with all my power I wish I could.”
Rye grit his teeth as he smashed his fist against the table. An emotion entirely new to him swelled from his gut. Worse than any kind of fear wrenching situation he had ever dealt with.
—It was an emotion he quickly grew to hate. All his life, he accepted the fact people would die at any moment without exemption. This was something every person was forced to readily accept underground. Even upon losing his mother from overworking, he readily accepted it, knowing it was all life offered. Sure, the pain embedded in memories still lingered, but what else could he do? Being a Diver took most of the pain away, and it had been a long dream away since mother last encouraged him with a smile. At least the endless adventures up in the unknown were plenty enough to keep his mind from wandering. Then there was Kelli...but she was just Kelli; merely a pestering woman who always irritated Rye in starting a family.
Family.
He understood the aspect from having a mother, but the concept of fatherhood, or rather raising a child of his own had never been an occurring thought for him. Why would it be? In the past, he dedicated his spare time by helping mother with chores, leaving no room for an idea of anything else.
He only cleaned, helped mother with her work, and prepared meals. That’s all that was necessary to live. After mother died, he joined the military to take his mind off it all. There, they made sure to train his body and mind for the horrors of combat. After a few years of training, Rye eventually left the army to become a full fledged diver. He used his military background, even if short, to boost his odds for being offered jobs. There, he spent many drifting years searching the above for ancient artifacts. And not a single thought about family. He usually grew distant towards others, such as Jay, so that when they left him it wouldn’t be as painful as if he did.
Then Traz came along. An irregular girl for this world, completely falling blind-sighted to the monstrous world. A purity so unlikely in this world, even a terrible slave trader saw her potential. Rye was dumbfounded how a girl like her wasn’t afraid of the surrounding limitless threat, and thought how bringing her to safety should have been a top priority. Venisi should have been her best bet in receiving a sort of resocialization of the world.
But now, his choice seemed like a maniac's sick joke. Everyone had gone insane alluding to some sort of light, and with all the nonsense to the dome. Oh, how he regretted his choice.
Regret—a feeling he only solemnly knew.
“Hey, jackass.”
A winding voice course of liquor called out.
It was the blacksmith.
“Any damning thought as to why you just about screamed yourself to death?”
A simple shrug was all he could muster in response while his gaze wandered about the underground shelter. There were ruffled up parents and children, each who lifelessly stared down at their own respective tile of the room.
“I honestly haven’t a clue. Maybe…” Rye paused, thinking for a moment on why he actually called out for her. But his mouth beat his mind to the answer. “Maybe I wanted to thank Traz for giving me a glimpse of what fatherhood could have felt like.”
Silence fell upon the two for a moment.
“Say, you need’a let that dream of yours die.” The blacksmith broke out.
Rye couldn’t help but weakly chuckle at his refute. “I know I should seriously hit you right now, but there's still a part of me hanging on, even if deep down I know how hopeless such an obviously ignorant wish that is.”
But it was all too high of a wish. The Mist was no benevolent force: it’s merely a work of nature. Just as air is for breathing, a need and reason comes from the Mist. All works of humane actions no longer have any room to exist, as the Mist is only serving the purpose nature had given it.
The blacksmith ruffled his hair as he sighed.
“Listen up y’all!” The blacksmith turned to face the other survivors. “I’m positive no one else is alive or sane in the city, so this is it. If you were hoping to see any more loved ones, you best kill that idea before it swallows you up, cause ain’t no one else coming.”
He gave it to them as up front as possible. Of course, the survivors ignored his words, and hung upon their thread of hope. Rye couldn’t blame them. He felt a similar rash of anger swell inside wanting to yell at the blacksmith You’re wrong! Absolutely wrong! Traz is a tough girl, she’s gotta be up there somewhere…
But he knew. Knew there was hardly a reason to support himself on a tight roped fallacy.
“By the way, you know why everything went to deep shit?”
The blacksmith stuck his curious nose out with an ostentatious grin. One Rye instantly grew to become annoyed with.
“The Mist.” Rye replied blankly.
“Hmph. You’re only, say, half right! You’ve got the effect, but still missing the cause. Any clue as to what might’ve happened?”
“None whatsoever.”
He formed an even more annoying grin that Rye thought was impossible, and pointed straight up. “Dome. It was the dome.”
Rye watched as the other survivors questioned the blacksmith. “The dome…?”
“Righto. Some outlandish ideology made the already nutty bastards of this place want to climb their way up to the top and chip away the dome with pickaxes and explosives. And the thing is, they actually did it! Take it, the majority of the city died instantly from the outburst of Gas, but an accomplishment is still an achievement no matter the cost.”
A city filled with nothing but stupidity. And the worst of its kind: blind stupidity. To think Traz died for such an arrogant reason completely pissed off Rye. Not only because someone was stupid enough to believe the lie of “the white light brings ease”, but that they followed it for some time without ever giving it a thought as to why they follow such a thing.
The other survivors wept, crying for any and all of their loved ones who didn’t make it. They held each other with a warming embrace, as if they had nothing else left in the world, but looked as if they had lost themselves.
Rye was no different apart from being a silent weeper. He was never one for tears; rather, he tossed around in his mind repeating over every action in silence. He would dwell on every small option that was available and play a simulation of each and every option, until he found one leading to a better ending. He would replay these failed memory lines, until he was forced to move by a person or by a threatening force. But in the end, all he could do was move on.
All was sorrow from what Rye could tell.
—All but a single person looming in the back corners of the shelter. The person hovered over a couple that held on to each other preventing the other from further breaking down. The person was the only one to bear a taciturn grin out of everyone else.
Rye couldn’t help but wonder who this person was, and why they held no gripe about any loss.
“Excuse me?”
Rye approached the person, and with more visible lighting found them to be a woman. A blue robe covered her similar to the other survivors, but a peculiar black square patch was sown over the chest. Rye had never seen a unique variant of the dress code, and wondered what kind of special status this person had. A hood barely held the threads of her black hair, as if they tried clawing their way from under the hood. But worst of all was her misplaced smile.
“But…what exactly are you?” he continued.
The stranger had been surprised by Rye’s question. Her pale complexion complimented her emerald gaze, mixing the feelings of what she truly meant from her expressions. She covered her mouth, giggling, before responding:
“Why, that would be the most silly thing anyone has said to me! Pardon my curiosity, but what led you to ask such a thing?”
Her words carried an eerie passion along with her swaying hand motions. She was well-spoken and with fluid body motion, striking the pair with such perfect symphony that she herself could make Rye follow her movements without realizing it.
Rye ignored her question, and focused his entire mind behind one question: “Who are you?”
“My, aren’t you a curious one! You do realize you asked me the same thing just a moment ago, have you forgotten?”
Rye couldn’t help himself.
But he also couldn’t blame himself.
A strong urge of intuition caused him to reach for the pistol resting neatly in his holster. But before he could, the woman let out a wicked smile so powerful Rye nearly felt a shiver.
“Say, what separates a follower from a slave?”
“…”
No matter how much he willed himself to, his hand wouldn’t lift the pistol.
“Ab-so-lute-ly nothing! Not a damn thing! The only minor difference is a slave knows they’re being forced to work, while followers…” The woman practically glowed from her joyous expression as she revealed a small canister, with her finger ensconced around the pin. “...are completely oblivious to the end.”
Her fingers pulled the pin, even swinging it around her finger as some kind of toy.
“A slave will always be a slave, and a follower will always be a façade of a free man, to which they live upon their dream with comfort.”
Her grimacing words were followed by a cynical chuckle. The survivors focused their attention on her, but were too lost in their mindscape to realize the horror that was moments away from being released. Even Rye couldn’t have guessed the atrocity this woman was about to follow through with, or the kind of regret he would feel later about not killing her when he still held the opportunity.
—A mesmerizing white mist began to seethe from a chiseled hole within the canister. The woman tossed it within the crowd, each who leaned on one other and simply stared in awe as the white smoke left the comfort of its metal.
The people around had not the slightest clue what they were staring at, but each of them felt a flare of solace from the smoke. It took their minds away from the tragedy that had occurred, even if only for a moment. But a moment was all they would receive as they would all be killed by their savior.
By the time he snapped from his daze, he knew it was over for those helpless. Rye got hold of himself and grasped the guzzle of the mask, deftly using his hands to adjust it. Purified air entered his lungs just in time to secure his sanity.
“Everybody! Get the hell away!”
Rye cried in desperation to keep the others safe. But in his rare flash of emotions, even a rarity can prove null.
Five seconds.
Five seconds was all the time it took for the Mist to spread across the room and onto the survivors. And 3 seconds was all the time it took for their lungs to inhale the miasma, killing most of the bastards instantly.
But those were the lucky ones. A quick death from the toxins was considered a blessing knowing the other horror that awaits a surviving Mist breather. If a person was unlucky enough to keep their insides from collapsing all at once, their mind was next. The substance affected a person's thoughts in horrendous, unimaginable ways to anything they had ever encountered, altering them to become completely deprived of any formal thoughts.
Next, their body would begin adapting to the Gas. Muscle structure increased greatly in strength or flexibility, varying on each case. This creates a deformed body, or a human who lost both their mind and body. They were also poorly dubbed the Inhaled—those who breathed the Mist and lived.
A young woman, probably barely entering adulthood, fell to the ground clutching her sides. She writhed with followed screams of agony. The torment would have continued on only if the blacksmith hadn’t swiftly ended her life. A flash of light brightened the white smoke, causing the handful of survivors remaining to recoil back with hands covering their eyes.
“To anyone who has yet to inhale the Mist, drop to the floor and stay against the walls. To those who did...well, I’ll make sure you die quickly before turning.”
The blacksmith expelled a sign of annoyance, showing his annoyance was clear. In his hand was his personal handgun, and beneath his boot: the woman who earlier agonized now drenched in a pool of her own blood.
After such an immediate incident, Rye came back to his senses. His first instinct was to check where the monster was who had released the canister of Mist. She no longer stood stoutly with her smile, and what was left had been a torn note with scribbled words:
Hope you like the surprise <3 <3 <3 Hope to see you soon! Love, Eliza.
The Mist itself was an illogical force of nature as is, warping any living thing that gasped a single breath of it. But to capture and use it as a biochemical was practically unheard of. Rye only thought of the Mist as something he needed to actively avoid from above. But to be on the lookout for the Mist, and their products of Inhaled underground, would shake the entire underground world. Bandits would definitely want their hands on it to raid, or even just have fun destroying cities with one canister.
Rye knew he couldn’t let something like that happen. One canister was all it would take to destroy any metropolis, including his home. If anything, Kelli surely needed to hear about this
“Hey'a diver!”
The blacksmith called out while systematically firing his gun at any survivors who inhaled the Mist.
“That bitch sprinted towards the tunnels, and is probably heading into the main streets! Odds are, she’s gonna take a rail cart outta here. Kill her before she has the chance to leave.”
Rye nodded without hesitation. He glanced back at the people holding their breaths, attempting their best to stay low and against the walls, but he knew it was only a matter of time. The clock would be merciful for only a moment.
It was only a matter of time before the blacksmith would winnow their lives.
Rye made haste to follow the monster of a human as he sprinted down a long corridor of pane glass with different assortments of colors. The colors at the beginning were a lighter hue, but the further he went, the more the colors darkened.
There was still no sight of her. Even with a minute head start, Rye wondered if she had hid in any of the rooms he passed. And if she hid, then there was one place he absolutely needed to secure before anything else: the Transport Cart bay. If she escaped, similar horrors could spread without limit, killing off entire cities until she finally reached Kelli.
That was something he had to avoid at all cost. If he let her slip by, the entire world he watched Kelli build from the ground up would crumble from a single weapon, from one individual. The only piece of info Rye got from her was her voice and unique patch of clothing, which citizens here seemed to have a trait of wearing colored clothing stratifying people into different groups, or classes.
But the largest piece of evidence he got was the signature on the note she left that read “Eliza,” a name he recalled from that cultist he saw assassinated on the street.
“I won’t let you leave, bitch.” Rye muttered, reaching a suite of stairs leading back to street level. The white mist awaited him as patiently as a mother for her child, but it’s embrace was more chilling than warm.
Behind every turn, a corpse lay with hands covering their throat.
Inside every building, flesh and blood lay rippled like an artist's free painting, with the addition of an Inhaled chewing on their prized heart.
And in every open area rested the miasma with potential to kill any mind. He watched these events occur without grimace, as if this were just another ordinary day, and focused his everything on the transport cart dock.
Rye had yet to find any trail to the witch, which he figured she probably kept to the shadows to hide from Rye or any Inhaled, meaning he had a head start. If he could just beat her there, he could kill her before she could produce more of those bioweapons.
The transport cart dock was merely a sprint away. The carts in the distance became clear in view, as did the business cart they had stayed in before Traz was stolen away. A slight churn bit away in his stomach, but he ignored the sensation to focus on the main objective, which was—
“...my feeling of feeling alive…”
—Rye came to an immediate halt.
A shuddering noise that seemed to rumble in his throat came from a distance not too far from the train. Rye tuned in to the noise, finding it not to be just a redundant noise, but a song.
A song? A song in this fallen town...Traz mentioned something of a song when I found her, didn’t she? A song she loved… a song she wanted to show me…!
An eager hope swelled inside him. A part of him knew the feeling could very well be meaningless, knowing the Mist would have easily killed a child without mercy. But even so, a small part of him urged his mind to believe such a thing wasn’t true—that the possibility of the natural force could be outdone on very rare, underlying occasions.
So he sprinted.
Sprinted faster, before he even knew it, than when he was chasing the witch. He wished for Traz to be waiting for him eagerly with her familiar curious smile as if nothing had happened. Blinded by the glimmer of hope from such an inane fallacy, Rye sprinted deeper into the city of the suffocated.
***
Traz knew something was wrong. Ever since everything became swallowed by the white. She noticed Saash, as well as the lack of her friends, slowly dwindled from what she knew. Body movements became increasingly fast and sporadic. Saash’s words were more slurred and sheepish. The increased attention, and how Saash would never leave her side especially creeped her out. Traz also noticed an increase of red in Saash’s left eye.
But Traz had no spare clue as to why Saash would suddenly change. So to compensate for the sudden change, she complied with everything Saash wanted her to do.
“What of this song...no, what of this song? Never mind my stupidity, this one brings out the musical brilliance far more than the others…”
Traz lifted her head against the weight of the Gas mask for the presentation of songs Saash was preparing for her to listen to next. Traz felt terror encumber in her chest as she watched the person she admired mysteriously mold into something else in a matter of moments. “E-excuse me, m-miss Saas—”
“Sh-sh-sh. Hush now dear. All this thinking made me forget what masterpiece held the best song… I know it isn’t this one, no no no no no no.” Saash held a black disk close, observing the piece with a careful eye as if there were transcriptions written on the sides. Then, she smashed the disk on the ground, causing shards to fly everywhere. “NO! Where is the masterpiece?!
Traz shouldn’t have to hear the low recorded garbage; she should be listening to only the pristine music saved up!”
With a wide eyed fear of expression, Traz sank under the concealment of the gas mask, watching as a lone stream of red slid down Saash’s cheek.
“I’m...gonna go look in the back. I know you’ll wait on me, won’t you, Traz?”
Her question was fully fear inspiring. With a lick to her lips, she disappeared behind the door to some room. Traz now sat in a chair surrounded by piles of what Saash had referred to as songs and albums stacked upon one another, with some piles even reaching her height. Other than music, there was a clock that never ticked, her chair, and one window in the room, but it had been scratched so heavily she couldn't see much outside apart from the heavy mist of white.
“I want to see Mr. Rye.” Traz muttered under a muffle of metal attached to her face.
She looked around, noticing she could push a well-sturdy stack of songs near the window, which was just tall enough to be out of reach for her as she stood from the chair. Nearby, there was a tower of CD’s, to which she began pushing towards the window. They were surprisingly light as she had no difficulty moving them, but held her hand on top just in case to prevent the tower from collapsing. After reaching the window, she used the chair to hop onto the pile of music, getting a much better view of the outside by squinting her eyes through the scratch marks.
With glittering awe, she glanced at how the city, which she had found to be a lovely place with friendly people, had now been twisted into pure white. She couldn’t get a good enough view to see any movement there, but she was sure a few shadows galloped in the mist.
Traz knew she needed to get out. Her stomach no longer gave the vibrant glow of happiness it once did when first meeting Saash. Instead, it gave a more sinister, fearful wrench.
So, she sprung into action.
The window itself was reinforced shut, meaning Traz had to find another means to escape. She leaped from off her chair, and went up to the door where Saash had left from.
Saash sure is taking her time… she thought, growing curious as to where she could be.
Traz knew the fastest way to escape meant slipping by Saash, but she wondered how well such a plan would actually go for her.
She glanced up and hesitated for a moment, before shaking her head.
“I can do this!”
Surprisingly, the door knob complied with her as she expected it to be locked. A wisp of blinding white seethed into her prisoning room, revealing a horde of stacking albums and songs. They were leagues taller than Traz, in which she could hardly see much of the room at all.
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She deftly navigated the room, and unknowingly became sucked into a labyrinth.
As Traz cautiously made pace around the room to not make anything fall, two devices which caught Traz’s eye were rectangularly stout metal boxes Saash referred to as speakers were stacked atop one another. She carefully lifted the first to move, hoping to make room for her to walk over one just fine. But as she was inches away from placing the device, her thumb slipped on a button, causing the speaker to erupt in static. Her face swelled in fear as she turned every knob and pushed every button she could to turn it off. Eventually, she hit the same small red switch to the side, and shut it off. Traz stared at the box in disbelief, knowing without a doubt that it was loud enough.
And before she could further ponder whether it was loud enough or not, a rattling shout burst from behind another door:
“Music… I hear music! TRAZ GOTDAMNIT, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?!”
It was Saash, who entered the room of the music maze.
Oh no… Traz instinctively rushed over the second speaker, and under a table supporting countless more. The sound of rough footsteps hitting against the wooden floor grew in intensity as Saash only came closer.
“Where oh where could you have gone my sweet little muse? Is your patience for such a melody so short tempered you couldn’t resist coming to listen? Y’know, all you needed was to ask!”
The creaking intensified, until Traz could see her black leggings hovering over the table. She held her breathing dead still, and made absolutely no movements. She tucked herself deeply under the table to the point where she could hardly see anything around her, so she hoped, or rather, wished everything would turn out fine…
“—Damnit Traz!!”
The table shook as Saash slammed against it with her fists, and small pieces of wood fell on her head.
“Quit playing this fuckin’ hide-and-seek!”
Traz brushed the wood from her hair, and looked up...only to see the bloodshot eye of Saash peering down at her through broken cracks. Horror filled Traz as she sunk down onto the floor, as if attempting to mesh with the tiles. Splinters pressed into her skin as she pressed down, but fear allowed the pain to practically vanish.
“M-m-miss Saash…?” Traz beckoned as Saash moved away.
Traz could hear the sounds of metal clanking and rummaging as she intently watched for Saash, causing Traz to fear what might come from the peeping hole. She backed away, fearful of the unknown, until a metal stake protruded from the hole where Traz peeked mere moments ago.
“Trazzy my dear! You’re being awfully disrespectful...what happened to our beautiful connection when we first met?” Traz watched Saash’s beady eye peer from the hole. As she lifted herself upon the table to look, she started to cause the table to tip. “Agh! Damnit brat, maybe if you were to listen more, the need for punishment wouldn’t be an issue.”
Traz flipped herself to a crawling position, quietly inching away furthest from Saash while still under the table.
“And where…” Saash pierced another hole with the stake reaching down to the floor, barely grazing Traz’s right arm. Afraid of the pain, Traz crawled faster to escape. But Saash made another strike. Then another. And another. And... “...MIGHT YOU BE GOING?!”
One after another, the grasp of death weighed closer as Saash nearly impaled her every time. It took every bit of spirit and strength to not slip under the pressure, as she was often inches away from being stabbed. It was enough fear to the point where Traz decided to fight back as she took a piece of shattered wood and lunged herself towards Saash’s legs.
Surprisingly the wood scrap perfectly entered her shin.
“—little bitch!!” Saash stumbled backwards, collapsing over her piles of songs.
Traz took this opportunity to grab the music box and dash back to where she had awoken to. Saash immediately recovered from her fall and limped after her, leaving behind a small blood trail.
But before Saash could catch her, Traz slammed the door on her face and locked it.
Where do I go from here? She thought, scanning the room for any kind of escape, before the blinding white glare of the window caught her eye.
With the music box in her arms, she deftly climbed the chair prone to the wall. She noticed there was some sort of wiring attached to the speaker, to which she tied around one of the windows railing. After securing it tight, she threw the speaker at the window with all her force and shattered the glass.
“Gah...Traz?! Did you lock the fucking door? C’mon, I promise ain’t nothing gonna happen to ya. Just let me in, and I’ll apologize! Just—!!” A loud thrash clashed against the door causing Traz to jump in fear. “—Let! Me! In!! Kss…”
Saash broke down the door, stumbling head first into Traz’s safe room. Blood drenched from her scalp with low rumbles of tongue clicking beginning to audibly form.
Traz took a deep breath in, and made sure to never look back.
A low melody of rock stirred below as mist filled the room. The wiring thinly stretched out, but remained stable enough to support the speaker's weight with flowing music.
“The hell are you thinking Traz? If you’re gonna jump, then at least do it without hesitation.” Saash regained her balance, using one hand to cover the blood on her head and the other to scratch bumps adjacent to her awry grin.
“I don’t wanna! I want to see Mr. Rye again!” Traz used her small arms and everything she had to lift herself up on the window.
“A whore! That’s all you’ll ever be! Slaved away for the taste of others while losing your own sense of pleasure. Be like everyone else, and die like everyone else...ssk.” Ignoring the fact she didn’t even know what ‘whore’ meant, Traz paid no mind to the descending rambles of Saash. Somewhere, somehow, she had lost her sense of mind.
“NO!!” Traz squealed, and jumped out the window. The small burst air felt oddly soothing until the hard yank of friction enveloped her hands. She yelped, but kept her teeth clenched. Amazingly, the cord to the music box kept strong.
She glanced down, knowing fully well the moment she let go, it was over for her.
Peering from above, Saash looked over with a monstrous expression of anger. “Oh you little shit. Think you’re crafty, huh?”
Mr. Rye! Please, Mr. Rye… I’m scared. I can’t even scream for your help right now from this constant shaking over my body. There has to be another way to call you… Traz clenched the music box tighter, hiding her tears from the laughing witch above. But as she pressed tight against the box, the music grew louder. Realizing it was her hand that had caused this, she found the dial that increased the volume, and flipped it all the way up.
Bursting sound blared from the box. But this was the sound of a newborn hope for her, too.
“Why you bitch!” Saash took hold of the wiring that supported the speaker, and started swinging it against the wall of the building, all while her droplets of blood toppled onto Traz. “Think about your worth for a slight moment…” Saash growled as she gripped the cord, now swinging from left to right. “...and how everything you ever accomplished was for naught.”
Traz instantly found herself nauseated from the movement. She did her best to hold tight, but the increase in speed made the task all the more difficult.
“I really thought of you as something special Traz...but I’m seeing your true light right now.” Saash muttered as if she were hurt, before putting all her force into one swing.
But instead of directing it left or right, she moved it away from the building.
Traz, looking at what lay ahead of her with wide eyes, watched in horror as the wind breezing across her mask increased. She gained momentum, until hitting the window pane with full force. She lost grip of the box and fell into a lower floor of the building, feeling a sharp spike of pain in her left leg. Clenching teeth didn’t help this time as she cried out from horrific pain.
Being able to lift her head, she saw exactly what the root of pain was: A glass shard protruding above her ankle.
Traz had never felt this pain so intense before in her odd sum of life. She frantically recoiled, barely lifting herself upwards with the support of her arms, but quickly yelped back at similar sharp pains in her hands. Holding her hands up to vision, she saw dozens of cuts, many large and others hardly visible, with the cause being the shards of glass from the window spread throughout the floor. Her body trembled with fear and pain as blood dripped from all sides.
“Ohhhh TRRAAAAAAAAAZZ!” A shout, along with repeated creaking of wood screeched above. “Get back here this instant! Do you know how much trouble you’re making me go through when all you needed was to listen and obey?!”
Traz swayed her head in disagreement, even if she knew Saash couldn’t see her. She needed to keep running until she escaped the building. But first thing first…
The shard of glass nestled in her ankle dragged along the wooden floor as she crawled, and she could hardly bear the thought of any more. Even just looking was enough to fall unconscious.
Please please please please please please please please please please please please please… Traz repeated over and over, keeping her thoughts purely on one side to avoid anything else and prematurely grit her teeth. After gaining enough mental momentum, she took hold of the shard and yanked it clean out.
“—EEEEEECCCK!!” Traz screamed, writhing while still to prevent herself from thrashing around to get any more unnecessary cuts. A heaving breath and swelling tears shortly followed, along with a heavy stream of blood, but it didn’t stop her. Nowhere near it.
Placing one hand on a clear spot on the floor, she forced herself to stand. A feeling of nausea washed over her as the wounded leg wobbled, but at least the pain was beginning to be muffled with numbing. Blackness swooned her vision. It seemed as if any second now she could collapse under the tired pressure her head put out.
—She took a step forward, and nearly fell forward doing so if she hadn’t caught herself against the wall.
“Traz Traz Traz Traz!” Above her, the beatings grew louder, as did the lust of killing in Saash’s tone. “Let’s make up! I’m sorry for all of this, I swear!”
Saash exclaimed with passionate excitement as the ceiling collapsed, with her falling onto the same floor as Traz.
Her mind could hardly stay awake, as her legs could barely support the will to keep standing. But one way or another, she forced them to move. Traz used her working leg to make the push forward while having to drag the injured one along. Even if she could use the walls as support, it was unbearable dragging her feet to survive.
“Aw...you poor whore. Does it hurt? Getting impaled for such a little girl too...but THAT’S HOW IT FEELS! WHEN YOU BETRAYED LOVE, THAT’S WHAT THE PAIN FEELS LIKE-Khhhh…!!”
Saash, or the monster, gritted its teeth. The sound was vaguely reminiscent of grinding metal and stone, with it being mixed by rage.
As Traz dragged her wounded leg, she could feel the warm burning sensation stinging with every bit of movement. The pain was unbearable, but behind her was a person who lost their right sense of mind, becoming a killer. And that itself motivated Traz to keep going.
“How much longer are we to play this childish game of tag?” Traz felt the monster’s howl increase with anger as it slowly closed the gap. “Just allow myself to embrace your Atarax before impurities set in.”
She knew nothing of what Saash spoke. Every word, even through learning a lot in the past day, flew by her. Whatever it was, Traz figured must have either been beyond her understanding, or something completely delirious.
The closing door was nearly in arms reach. Once she could reach it, then maybe…
“Hey little whore!” Traz felt a tight grip on her right arm. “Need a little push out? Here…” Saash shifted her footing, allowing herself to swiftly make a turnaround while swinging Traz in a single turn, and throwing her forward, crushing the door down. “...JUST STOP ALREADY!”
As she collided against the wood with a hard impact, she broke into the next room into a roll across the floor; an aloft cry escaped from Traz’s weak lips. Pain thrashed from all over her body as her head was the only part she could move. She looked back at the chuckling Saash, slowly pacing towards her with a curvature lick to its lips.
“M...Miss Saash…! It hurts. It…I don’t understand!.” The young girl agonized under a teary face. But her most visible expression was confusion. “Why? Did I make you angry?! Is this my fault?”
From her past, her captives made it clear whenever Traz did something she wasn’t supposed to, as well as a responsible punishment. She would learn from these experiences and move on. But this was nothing like before. There was no clear rule she had broken, and she wasn’t aware of any unspoken rules either.
A small feeling returned in her right leg as she was able to somewhat move it up and down. So she kicked the ground to slowly crawl away from the horrid Saash.
“Get away get away get away get away get away get away get away get away get away!” Traz begged, pleading for her life, which only recently she began to enjoy. A life that was beginning to have fun, thrills, and an opportunity to travel the world and see what stories it held. But just as the dream had begun to sprout, an insect had already wilted the wish. “Mr. Rye! Please Mr. Rye, where are you?!”
Even as her wailing cries screeched the walls, Traz knew there was no way Rye could hear her. But the crying gave a small sort of solace from the idea that the father-like man would come to her rescue.
“Khhhh...a child. Limited knowledge of ignorance and purity is what truly made you beautiful, but it seems you’ve been tainted by this world. Ah was it a pleasure to experience the mere presence of such a moment. But now, that immaculacy is over, and comes the time I must clip your time before your body becomes tainted as well…sksk…”
“Wh-wha…?” Traz kicked up in the air in an attempt to push Saash back, and felt a strong force of weight pressed upon the leg that had already been pierced by glass. Her head fell hard against the dusty floor as she yelped, seeing as Saash had stomped it with her own foot, putting all the weight of her body in keeping her down.
She pushed down with ferocious strength. The more Saash put down, the more groaning and tears came.
Saash frowned, and she started to ramble; all of which Traz could hardly understand:
“Oh, I truly am sorry my dear treasure. This pain is merely a testament to my love of purity you once contained, as well as my devotion to seeing it returned. So before your life gives up, grant me the weight lifting blessing of knowing you regained your purity after death, and that you continue being your previous self before you met that wretched old man Ry—!!”
Cut off from her hysterical rambles, a figure toppled over Saash. The motion of the two was too swift for Traz’s mind to follow, and could only be processed as shadows flying to her side.
Traz lifted her head with a hand covering her leg. The immense pain of weight had been lifted, but her leg twitched to a numbing song: there was no way to even limp with it.
Off to her side, Saash thrashed and fought her attacker.
“Get off! OFF!! Impudence before Traz will permanently taint her. Now whoever you are, get the fu—”
Fingers tightly gripping the arms of her assailant, Saash was able to successfully resist enough for her to come face to face. But her lower lip trembled as the sour words exited from clenched teeth.
“...Codd? What the...the hell are you doing?!” Confusion spread across Saash’s face, being impartial to both anger and heartbreak.
“What am I doing? WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?! SAASH! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!”
Codd shook the building more than the confused girl beneath him could ever do. Traz watched the glare in his eyes flare, and used this time to get away any amount she could by inching away, elbow by elbow.
“Codd?! The angel is escaping into impurity! I mustn’t allow her to escape this world before I lose the chance to take the route of cleansing her myself!”
Saash struggled with intense ferocity of growling, clenching her blood gripped fingertips around deep into her palms. Codd was able to keep her pinned, but her sporadic movements caused him to start slipping.
“This is my fault. I failed the band. I failed my best friends in this shit-rotten city. Hell...I couldn’t even be a decent wingman for Zett. And to you.” Codd’s grip burnt out, forming into an embracing hug. “It’s weird, ain’t it? How both of us had potential to transform into one of those monsters. Turns out being childhood friends might really be something special. Now...we’re here. The end. Our end. I think...I think Zett’s already gone. We should join him Saash, he must be getting real tired of waiting for us.” Tears branding the reflection of Saash fell in interloping streaks across Codd’s cheek, until coming onto a point of falling, landing onto hers.
Transparency had died. Swelled; clouded by white fog of the Mist the city had let in. Codd, who once knew Saash from the beginning and knew practically every little bit of data held in her brain, knew not a single thing of what she could be thinking.
Friendship can be easily forged, and even molded into a mask of deceit. But the bond of the once trio music lovers was completely real. They withstood the challenges of growing up. They even formed a dream together, and more impressively acted upon a senseless idea. Through all their accumulated time spent with one another, they stood their solidarity stance. Though, Zett’s recent development would have indefinitely thrown a mix of chaos into their friendship, as feelings of love inside a group always have.
Still, I wonder the beauties we could have accomplished from mere dreams. Codd solemnly thought as the final lights of his world gave vision, before falling to the side drawing his final quiet breath.
“For a past life, you could have whispered to me a thousand tales, and maybe a tear of my own could form. But there is a light brighter than anything I’ve ever seen before. A light continuously shining. A light of absolute purity. That is Traz”
Pulling her hand from Codds stomach, a mesh of bloody contents strewn from the wound. Saash widened her blood covered fingers and wrangled them in a stretching pattern. Hovering over her mouth, blood trickled down her hand and onto her tongue. “Hmph. We t-AS-te too similar.”
If Traz could imagine how much time remained in her life, would she toy with such a thought? With the feeling of only fear and pain enveloping her mind, her only thought was to crawl. To continue crawling until Rye arrives. Never the idea of how such an event would ever happen occurred to her. Just the fantasy of such a thing. Maybe that was why she kept pushing herself to suffer through the pain of cuts through her hands, arms, stomach, legs, and especially the impalement in her leg.
—Blinding dreams can truly give the weakest person the motivation to go through the most horrific events. It’s not the level of horrific events a person should be concerned with; it’s the duration of the person’s spirit.
“Solitary and ser-EN-ity! Finally, an environment suited for the two of us. I’ll enjoy this short duration until these nails dig into your esophagus. All for your pu-RI-ty of course.”
Curling her lips into a twisted smile, Saash lifted herself up from the ground. She slowly began her pace towards Traz’s frail attempt of escape.
“Mr. Rye... I think I might be hurting. Everything’s slipping away.” Traz mumbled under her breath. “Miss Saash is acting more strange than ever. I wonder…if we were to pick up some bread like you promised, could we share it with her?”
Looming over with a vicious smirk across her face, Saash smacked her lips in temptation from her gift. “Absolute purity remains, yet is still fleeting. I must preserve, t-EN-ding to the immaculate being which she is by releasing her now. And that is why Traz—”
In a dive bird-like position, Saash took a moment to prepare, and aimed her claws on Traz’s heart.
“—I must sedate any tr-AC-e of pain, for this will be a beautiful transition of death.”
Mr. Rye was nothing special of a man. Honestly, he could be summed up to be a cranky, immoral, and scary old man. He held little emotional barring when it came to killing another person, and never flinched when the time came for the next. He was built to be alone; a solitary being. His best coping methods of living were the thrills of combat, making his taste of adrenaline pumping action different from most others.
He took a diver request based on difficulty, not payout. He adapted his weaponry and environment tactics to pull any dirty trick he could think of. He even tried getting rid of her. Of all the people Traz could grow on, Rye was least reliable.
—But he supported her, even if in his own awkward way, when no one else did. Rye was there for her, and that one small act led to her seeing him almost as a parent figure she never had.
If only she could have spent more time with him, then maybe he would have opened up as well.
“May we meet in similar conditions Traz, and your pure aura be as strong as ever—!!”
A muffled bang, followed by a quick muzzle of light erupted from behind. Traz’s hearing fell to a low ringing, and Saash’s body fell next to her, slightly twitching from the bullet wound in the back of her skull.
“—az!...Tr-! Tra—!”
A voice. Breaking through the ear ringing bleach gun calling her name. The sound alone made her want to squeeze her ears and rip them off. Anything to clear the rustle of noise.
They kept shouting her name in disjointed bursts. Part words; other ringing. She ignored the sound, focusing on putting forth all her strength on moving forward. To see Mr. Rye, maybe he could save her from this situation. Maybe he could be the one to fix her shit life and just…
“Traz!!”
The voice clearly called out, breaking through the encasing trap of ringing.
“Shit. Shitshitshit?! The hell happened to you? Eh, forget that; we need to stop that bleeding in your leg immediately!”
With Traz’s vision hanging on by a thread, she was only able to make out a blurred figure rush over to her side, landing on his knees. He traced his fingers over countless cuts and wounds before coming across the biggest problem: Traz’s impaled leg.
“This is..fuck.” He grimaced, and looked back at Saash’s body with a hateful gaze, muttering “what a bitch,” before resuming his attention on Traz.
“Mr. Rye…?” Traz called out. Or whispered? She couldn’t tell herself. Her consciousness, though barely clinging on, focused solely on the man who closest resembled the figure she heard called father. His expression was more serious than usual as the face under the mask broke into a heavy sweat.
She was happy, even ecstatic, to finally see him again. But as he checked up on her, he still hadn’t looked her in the eye once since returning.
“Mr. Rye…?”
An irking worry caused Traz to speak her mind.
The man wanted to look at her. With all his heart, he truly wanted to, and say with his chest puffed out:
I’m here for you now, there’s nothing else here to hurt you.
But he just simply couldn’t. With how she looked, he needed to hastily fix up the leg, same for the other cuts as well. The problem of more Inhaled hearing the sounds, and attacking also proved to be a valid threat. They also required a safe route of escape.
Overall, nothing was proving to be on their side for the moment.
Rye bit down on his lower lip with force to easily cause a leak of blood. He did his best to make sure Traz would see another wall of rock again.
And so, he quickly got to work. Wipe and clean, administer anti-infection fluids, and then stitch together any abnormal cuts. She would need a more potent med for her leg, but if she withstood the pain for a little longer, he would find her some morphine to last her quite a few trips.
“Mr. Rye?” She could hardly speak in a soft spoken tone.
But it was enough to break every train of thought he had. His fingers trembled at hearing her speak. He finally grew the courage to look into her eyes, and through a crack on her oxygen mask, he could see her blue eyes.
Anxiety swelled in him as he saw the crack in the visor.
“H-hey?! Don’t breathe any of that in, understood Traz! Just keep your nose shut until I find a new one, or…” His mind went to every place as he frantically looked around in search of any method able to help her.
“Mr. Rye—”
“What’d I say?!?! Don’t say a damn thing until I get you somewhere you can breathe! So just please, don’t say anything, and stay still!”
“Mr. Rye—”
“Traz! How many times do I have to—!”
“—Mr. Rye!!” Traz coughed as she gently screamed, using every bit of energy she could to get his attention. “There’s a small crack, but I don’t think any air is being let out. You’re overreacting over a nose-sized crack.” She pointed out the length, being it perfectly the vertical length of her nose.
Upon closer look, he found it still functional, keeping air within its confines of glass and plastic. A shred of relief passed over Rye knowing at least the possibility of one problem was through.
“Had me really worried there you know. But somehow, you managed. And brilliantly might I add!” Rye praised her, and surprisingly, in an enthusiastic way.
“Brilliantly, what do you…”
“The music! How could I not hear blaring music? It led me straight to you from this maze of a city, so really, you saved yourself.”
Traz hadn’t realized it, but as she focused back from the pain, she could hear an erupting sound apart from the ringing. It was an unfamiliar song with an incredible emphasis on loud banging. This, in its own way, also played a part in creating a beacon.
She could merely gaze in amazement, realizing if she hadn’t created noise, she would have been purified by Saash.
“I wouldn’t think too much about it. You’re here now and should focus on maintaining your breath. For now, just put these over your ears to keep the noise out.”
Rye placed what felt like two cozy couplets over Traz’s ears. She recognized the feeling instantly, being they were the headphones Saash gave her to listen to. Luckily, she remembered how to operate the wondrous device, and twisted a switch, powering it to play music.
The song of which she first heard Saash and her band play came on, and she lost herself to the manipulation of sounds.
She fell asleep quickly, all while Rye had carried her on his shoulders, backtracking his way out of the apartments.
Stacks of strange dark circles practically crowded the walking space, like a hoarder's fantasy. As he made his way out, he noticed a table with countless holes had been moved to barricade a random part of the house. It was meant to keep opening the door on the other side difficult, while all Rye had to do was push the table off to the side.
A pristine blue door sat perfectly, differing from the rest of the apartment's torn down atmosphere. Rye turned the knob, curious as to see what was inside. He gently pushed the door inside, and took a quick peak.
—And he saw all he needed to from the horrific scratched markings spread all across the wall, with messages such as “this is my fault this is my fault this is my fault,” and “if i was even a fraction of a man, i could've saved her.”
But above all else, he was able to make out a silhouette of a shadow hovering above the ground.
That was when Rye understood what the final band member had done, and closed the door as gently as he had opened. “Forgive me for disturbing your peace, may you find whatever comes after death to be more gratifying than life.”
As Rye finally found the exit, he had found the streets were much more peaceful. He cautiously glanced around every corner, before he noticed the white aura in the air begin to fade.
—He saw the mist in all its mass get dragged along the breeze, off to drift until finding its next stop. Rye let out a relieving sigh as the Inhaled were generally only prevalent during a storm, and in a case when the storm passes, so does their oxygen. Thus, their force of life ceases.
Nobody’s left. The only sounds are of glass cracking underneath my boots and the snoring of Traz. The city’s fallen. It’s Dead.
A gust of wind cleared any residue of stagnating light, allowing the little bit of sunlight left in the day to embrace from above the dome's cracked walls.
Rye’s hair brushed alongside the refreshing gust. On his shoulder slept Traz, whose snoring breath seemed to stabilize. If it weren’t for running back and forth to medical shops, Traz would be in a much worse position than he would like to imagine. But he came to thank her stubbornness as a child, as it kept her alive.
Rye let out another sigh, shifting his attention from Traz to the docking port of Venisi, or where they first entered. He remembered the city barricading the route to prevent anyone from coming or going, but he held somewhat of a strong suspicion…
“C’mon Traz. We’re getting the hell out of this place.” His spare hand reached for the bags he’d packed as supplies from looting the city, getting goods such as canned food, extra clothing, and useful chemicals. He even stopped by the bakery where Traz had adored the scent of bread, making sure he packed a good bit for her whenever she awoke, and walked into the shadow-struck city of Venisi.
Something about the serene environment cursed Rye with a smile. Even with the emptied streets, where the day before life bustled; he now stepped over their strewn corpses. There was a calming sense of security about being the last remaining survivors in sight of a dead city.
—Or maybe, it was just seeing Traz well and alive. She could have easily been one of the many bodies around, but instead she was there resting on his shoulders. Her soft straddled breaths fogged up the visor on her mask all while she mumbled a spew of random nonsense. He often wondered what kind of dreams her mind would muster, yet he failed to connect on any level of workings in a child's mind.
To keep himself protected and going above all else. That’s the way of life he built to follow.
—But the girl he carried threatened his way of life. Traz was hardly anything like him. She was interested in others, and wanted to invest her time in getting to know others; a complete opposite of how Rye felt towards others.
Shifting his sight ahead of him, a balance of relief and anxiety struck Rye, for the rail cart dock held mixed signals. On the better side of luck, the blockade had been blown clear, allowing for an exit of the city. While the negative side of luck meant that the terrorist Eliza must have planned for this after locking down the city, and escaped. She could destroy countless other cities just as she had Venisi. But as for now…
“This transport cart should do nicely.” Rye eyed a cart in decent shape while talking to himself, and decided it would be their way out. “Here you go…” he lowered Traz on a seat to lay her down, “rest easy, I’ll get us somewhere new.”
Traz’s breathing may have stabilized, but it still seemed a bit weak. Rye shot a worried glance at the unconscious girl, before focusing his attention at the railing ahead. With a huff of his own, the sound of metal clanking began, and would ensue until he reached another destination.
And he left Venisi without looking back. He would definitely remember this city as his original idea of dropping her somewhere safe quickly turned to shit, and eventually gave in to protecting her.
And so, he made it his duty to make sure the girl he found enslaved would stay safe.
***
After some time, Rye lifted the lever to slow the cart. As the clunky tank of metal came to a halt, Rye thought of his next plan.
The most important was cleaning Traz’s wounds to prevent any infection. He glanced over to where he set her to rest; her breathing was calm yet light. He knew a fever was sprouting from the sweat and heat indicated by her forehead, and he needed to treat it accordingly.
So, he ultimately decided it was best to take a route out of Venisi that leads completely out from the caves; he wanted to take her to the above.
The railroads had many splitting paths that, if used properly, could direct someone to many locations. But there were some paths hardly anyone knew the purpose of, which meant hardly any used them.
Rye switched the path of the rails to face another direction, knowing this was one used primarily by divers. He knew the plan in his mind was completely awry, but he looked at the situation from the worst perspective:
If Traz wasn’t making it much further, it would be best to take her to where she dreamed of being the most.