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CHAPTER SIX
RELEASE
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“Everyone, listen up! We’re almost finished! As I was saying, we don’t know much about the Redcoat’s fourth demon, who refers to itself as ‘Treatise.’ It showed up a few months ago and has been robbing us blind ever since. It’s tall, lean, and pale with curly blonde hair, long horizontal scars across both cheeks, and an unplaceable European accent. Hopefully you identify it before that last clue, because its voice is capable of compelling you to do whatever it wishes. The moment you spot anyone that matches this description, make sure to observe from a distance, contact HQ, and in the event it approaches, immediately plug your ears as thoroughly as you can. Only when you can barely hear your own gunshots may you fully open fire. Fail to do this and you might as well kill yourself quick. Believe me when I say you’ll regret letting it dictate how you go out. Treatise is, let’s say… rather imaginative.”
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When I look up at the Redcoat’s face, I recognize it immediately. Traditionally pretty in a British Boy Band sense, save for the bloody lines stretching from the corners of its lips, and topped with springy golden curls. Other than it being here, the biggest thing that surprises me is its eyes. They’re as soft a hue of blue as the day sky used to be. They almost look… kind.
“I should kill you,” I snap, fighting against the bonds that keep me from attacking and deflating when I lose my breath. “Please… just let me go. I’ve had a long enough day already. Please.”
Of all the demons, bloody fucking Treatise frowns at me sympathetically, emphasized by the curving of his scars. “Release.”
Huh. I didn’t expect it to actually listen.
Idiot.
Before I can lunge with Eagle’s knife, Treatise sighs.
“Don’t!”
And just like that, I can’t.
Again.
“Teach me to trust a Martian…” the demon grumbles. “You realize I’m here to save you, right? I mean you no harm. Now, I’m no expert on architecture, but I consider it a miracle that we’re still standing on solid ground, so I’m going to let you go one more time, okay? But this time I’m giving you two options. Come with me somewhere safe that they can’t get to, or run off the nearest ledge and find out if you can survive a ten-story drop. Ready?”
I have to resist flaring my nostrils while nodding my head.
“Release.”
This time I don’t hesitate to ignite a Rose Rush and lunge the knife at Treatise’s heart.
“Damnit!” it shouts, squaring its shoulders and widening its stance. “That’s not one of the options!”
Then, practically effortlessly, the demon grabs my arm and sweeps under it, swinging me over its upper back with enough force to sling me off of the rooftop like a rocket.
I should’ve created a Rose Zone, but I can’t. And not because he commanded me not to. The warmth in my chest feels like a dying coal.
As I scream and inhale a ton more of the rancid black smoke, I realize why. I’m not breathing it like air. My power is constantly healing the damage, and now I’m near on empty.
When I breach the dark clouds and see the wide open skyline beyond, I can’t help but ask myself if I’d been too hasty with my decision.
Also: how far did the Redcoat just fucking throw me?
The acrid stench of sulfur is stronger up here, this close to the heaviest of ashclouds. It’s also warmer than I expected, given how frigid the surface is. Crimson sunlight washes over me as the wind violently whips my curly black hair into a frenzy, and I end up laughing as my chest flickers with newfound power. I can feel it soaking into my skin while I soar hundreds of feet over Philadelphia’s fragmented streets. That must explain why the demons mostly come out at daynight.
Treatise would have known this would happen, then. Which begs the question: did it rejuvenate me on purpose?
And how the fuck am I supposed to reconcile that with the fact it’s responsible for the death of my older brother?
Hell, the demon even threw me Northeast—the opposite direction of Camp Mullen—toward the Scar; a huge valley that splits Philly in half from East to West, connecting the Delaware River to the crater formerly known as Fairmount Park. The edge of MSA territory.
Not that any of this changes how badly I want to kill it. Not a single Goddamn thing.
Sorry, HaShem.
I finally begin falling and start dreading my inevitable landing. As strong as I have become, I’m pretty sure Treatise sent me flying around half a mile, which said a lot about the difference in power between us. I recognize the crumbled ruins of a local university from the last few weeks of patrols, and I’d apparently been thrown at the largest standing building on campus.
I might deserve this.
CRASH!
The good news is the upper floor of the library’s rectangular glass walls have all been shattered.
The bad news is that I land face first on the glass covered cement floor, skid all the way across the room—breaking rows of upturned tables and scattered chairs along the way—until I eventually lose all my momentum. At that point, the Colonel’s ashen coat is torn and tattered, and most of the bones in my body have been shattered.
I’m sure you’re asking, ‘Why didn’t you protect yourself with a Rose Zone?’
I tried, but failed to time it right. It practically collapsed the second it finished taking shape, thanks to nothing stopping me from flying straight through its edge. In the end, I only wasted precious power.
“Holy…fucking…hell…that hurt,” I croak out. All the remaining warmth I’d regained is now pouring into my body to repair my snapped back and broken limbs. It’s not a pleasant sensation, and it takes forever. I even start to crawl through the wreckage of furniture just to keep my mind busy. “So…fucking…bad. Fuck!”
What? Swearing helps too.
“Stand up! Stay still!”
Even though my body hasn’t fully healed, I do. Standing with a fractured spine? Not a good time, believe me. Especially when forced to remain still by an invisible force.
“Face me!”
Rather than contest each other, the orders work together, like I’m being spun around by the strings of a puppeteer.
When it’s done, I’m left face to face with bloody fucking Treatise again. The kindness in its eyes is gone. No less blue, but filled with rage.
Then its anger melts away from its expression, leaving behind a seemingly ordinary twenty-something guy with a poor taste in clothing and a minor facial disfigurement.
“…Release.”
I fall on to the dark marble floor, panting through sharp jolts of pain. The power in my chest is too dim to finish my regeneration and the roof on this building is intact, preventing the bloodstained sunlight from reaching me.
“Roll on your back and sit up,” the demon commands. When I don’t, it continues. “If you want to survive, it’s best you start listening to me.”
I don’t. “Go fuc—”
“Roll on your back and sit up!” it yells.
I fight against its power with all my will, and I fail.
Treatise takes a step towards me and brandishes Eagle’s knife from his trouser pocket. “You just had to refuse,” it sighs, walking closer. “Two perfectly reasonable options and you choose murder,” it exclaims, swiping the tempered steel blade in the air dramatically. “I get you’re having a bad morning, but calm down. Your life isn’t in immediate danger.” Then it sighs again, crouches down next to me, and starts rolling up one of its sleeves to the elbow. “I swear it. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just trying to fix the damage I already caused.”
Before I can utter ‘Please shut up and put me out of my misery already,’ it uses Eagle’s knife to slit its own wrist, then holds out the bleeding wound near my open mouth. It smells… sweet. Reminds me of Dad’s favorite dessert wine.
“Go on. Drink up quick. Before I heal. I can’t suppress it forever.”
Of all the orders it’s given me, this is the only one I obey by my own will. Though I do bite into his wrist a bit… animalistically. I may not have been able to stop if I tried.
“That’s enough,” it says, pulling away its blood-soaked arm and jumping ten feet back. “Truce?” it asks, holding Eagle’s knife up with one hand and an old, fancy matte black flintlock pistol in the other.
My body recovers quickly, but once it’s done, I only have a few sparks of power left. I rise on steady feet anyway, clenching my fists at my sides, and bark, “I’ll kill you!” while reaching for the last of the warmth—
“Stop! Why?”
There’s no wiggle room, judging by the fact I can’t stop myself from saying: “Because you killed my brother!”
Treatise reacts like he’s been stricken. “What! When?”
“A month ago. Early November. Middle of the night.”
“Bullshit,” the demon exclaims. “I haven’t killed anyone since—”
Treatise pauses, shaking its head. “Who told you this nonsense?”
“Everyone!” I shriek. “All of Camp Mullen! Even the fucking—”
Colonel.
“Well, there’s your mistake. You trusted the words of Martians.”
I almost scoff at the audacity. Treatise has to be lying. It’s a Redcoat for HaShem’s sake!
“You still don’t believe me, eh? After I let you feed on my blood? Even knowing I can force you to? Go on, then. What’s the official story, as the MSA tells it? No, wait, let me guess. It’s conveniently vague and paints them as great heroes and us ‘demons’ as heartless monsters?”
I don’t know what to say. After what’s happened to me tonight, it’s impossible not to notice the stark contrast between how the Colonel and Treatise have treated me.
I never thought my mother was capable of lying. At first she’d looked so heartbroken on the surface, all while seething inside with hatred. Compared to the woman who raised me, it was like she’d abruptly become a different person. But really, she’d only been kind to lower my guard and draw me out. When that failed she couldn’t help but reveal her true feelings.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Tell me.”
“November 5th, 2021. Sergeant Barnaby Estrada-Rosenthal died in action after being taken hostage by the Redcoats when responding to a bombing at Penitentiary Hall. The demon known as Treatise attempted to negotiate their escape with the Sergeant’s life as a bargaining chip, but the Platoon Commander refused and ordered his soldiers to execute both with R303 incendiary grenades. The Sergeant’s last words: ‘Bring it.’ He died a hero, although the Redcoats ultimately escaped. Treatise had used him as a disposable shield.”
“Funny,” Treatise says, its voice as dry as physically possible. “That’s not at all how I remember the Fifth—”
“Bullshit!”
The demon startles at my shout. Its face starts to blur as it slowly nods its head, then abruptly walks away and whispers, “Poor girl. The MSA really did a number on you, huh?”
Though I would’ve rather heard nothing, I’m glad it gives me a little privacy, because not long after I’m sobbing.
I refuse to believe it. I just can’t. It would mean that my mother has been lying about what happened to Barny for weeks. If she really believes that I’m a demon then maybe I can accept her murderous abandonment as misguided, but the rest? It just… can’t.
When I begin to quiet down, I hear Treatise walking back toward me.
“That story is mostly true, I’ll admit. At least until the end. Last I saw your brother, he was healthy and whole. I swear on my life, it’s true. So look—I know with everything you’ve been through, this is going to be difficult to process, but let me break it for you fast and clean. The MSA lies. Like, a lot. Pretty much about everything they can. It’s the classic Authoritarian Government M.O.
“Subjugate your people with fear. Assert dominance over the weak and condition them to do mindless labor just to live off your scraps. Spread misinformation and agitative propaganda to literally demonize anything that stands in your way of totalitarian rule. Build a great military willing to sacrifice their lives against your enemies. Eliminate those who know too much—no matter who we might have once been to them, or what it costs them…
“…is any of this ringing a bell?”
I still don’t want to believe it, but part of me already does. The part of me that aches from my mother's betrayal.
Before our confrontation on Broad Street, I’d never believed she was capable of such a thing. Now I’m not sure what to believe.
“Then where…the fuck is…my brother?” I choke out, forcing my eyes back open.
More than ever, I need answers. Like when exactly did I fall back onto my knees?
“My power ran its course. I can’t compel people forever—especially other Reborn—which means you can attack me again, though I’d really prefer it if you didn’t. Unlike you, I’ve got plenty of juice left, so I can keep this stalemate up all day. Unless, that is, you’re finally ready to hear me out?”
I look up, wipe my tears on a sleeve, and meet Treatise’s robin egg eyes. “What did you…just say?”
“What? Like, the whole thing? Or one thing specifically?”
“Reborn,” I hiss, exhaling the breath I just managed to catch.
“I suspect you already know,” it answers softly. “Or… not. I guess most of us need others to help put together the pieces. You died, friend. But something decided to give you another chance at life. Just with some… added features. I’ve heard them called Miracles. Most say Curses. There’s likely as many terms for our powers around the world as there are for our kind. Hell, Arabella considers us Angels, and I even heard from a dubiously reliable source that Japan worships us as Kami. To be honest, I’m convinced we got the worst end of the worldwide apocalypse stick, getting stuck in a hateful place like this. So please, for the love of whatever God you believe in, you can stop crying. Despite what your former overlords say, you are not the spawn of Satan.
“Nor am I, for that matter…” he adds.
“You’re…lying,” I mumble through clenched teeth. My body quivers like a candle’s flame.
“Search your feelings,” Treatise grumbles. “You know it to be true.”
The way he says it, that sounds like a quote. Something he’d been told?
But something about that word, Reborn. It just feels… right. I had—had… died. Yes, I can—I can… remember.
I can remember the group of civilians wearing black masks and red coats ambushing my squad during our patrol. They’d outnumbered us, but even with stolen R18s, R40s, and R303s, they couldn’t get their hands on any suits of tempered armor, which made all the difference. We’d quickly overwhelmed them with our superior positioning and returning fire, driving them to flee, when our Squad Sergeant Vasquez gave the order to pursue them. As the fastest team in our squad, Wallace, Darling, and I took the lead with Two Bulls not far behind us—
Only to stumble into a trap. An apartment courtyard with a bomb planted in the center. Without realizing it, we surrounded a portion of the group, disarmed them, handcuffed them, pushed them down on their knees, then spread out to unmask them and question them for their identities—all standard procedure—but it appeared leading us there had been their intention. By the time I uncovered the plan, it was already too late.
‘Bomb!’ I screamed, threw Darling as far behind me as I possibly could, and kicked away the man kneeling over the concealed explosive so I could throw myself on top of it. I was prepared to die, but I hoped and prayed that my tempered armor would be strong enough to contain most of it.
It wasn’t. I’d practically been obliterated.
Then I… I wasn’t.
That corona of blood and guts that surrounded me, when I awakened… it had been my original body.
And from a pyre of bloodred light, the body I have now had been remade—naked and whole—in front of the few survivors of the blast.
‘Private Rosenthal! Stand down! Now!’
And you know the rest.
“There you go,” Treatise says. When did he get so close and kneel down again? “You remember!”
After blinking the tears from my eyes, I match his thin smile. Then I ignite a spark of power and Rose Rush a fist into his face. Hard enough to send him flying.
It also knocks Eagle’s knife out of his hands. I grab it in a bust of speed to stab him in the heart and—
“Stop!”
As soon as I freeze on my feet, both of us collectively sigh.
“This is getting ridiculous. I swear you Martians are brainwashed, and of all people, I would know, wouldn't I? Why are you still trying to kill me?”
“Because I just remembered how I died. Your Redcoat lackeys lured me and half of my squad into a bomb! All of the shit that’s happened to me today starts with you!”
“Lackeys?” Treatise scoffs, as if he’s offended. “We don’t have lackeys. Any insane bastard with a deathwish can find a red coat and wear it, but that doesn’t make them a Redcoat. There’s four of us, and we rarely interact with mortals—let alone give them missions. There’s been a lot of bombings lately I’ve heard blamed on us, but Musket is picky about what we hit. Again: Welcome to Authoritarian Governments 101. I’m your Professor, Mr. Travis Benoit. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Then he walks closer and reaches out with an open hand. “So what’s your name?”
If I wasn’t frozen in place, I would skewer his palm in a heartbeat. “Bethany,” I blurt out instead. Even if I could believe him, he doesn’t deserve to use my nickname.
“Okay, Bethany! That’s progress! Though I can still tell you want to kill me. So what can I do to convince you to stop, without having to use my Curse? Sing a song? Dance a jig? Or do you perhaps have some dark questions burning deep inside you? I doubt I can answer them all, but I promise to try my damndest.”
“Go fu—” I begin, cutting myself off. “Fine. Let’s pretend I’m willing to believe anything you’re saying. Why don’t we start with: why are you here? And why were you there? And to both: how?”
Treatise nods and his smile widens as if pleased by more progress. “Dying and being remade—something I've heard called the Epiphany—usually draws the attention of all nearby Reborn. Some, like yours, have a stronger… gravity, if you will. Enough that I felt you on the other side of the Scar and came to investigate. I’d arrived a little before your beloved Martians began shooting into your—what did your mother call it? Right! Time dilation field—then got on top of the apartment when I saw you get inside. Why did it take you so long to get to the roof, anyway?”
When I don’t immediately answer, Treatise keeps prattling on.
“Anyway, having eavesdropped on your whole conversation with your mother—who, pardon my French, is a right cunt, by the way—I felt inspired by your situation to help you escape. Generally, Scarlet is against recruiting new members, but something tells me you two would get along quite well. All things considered.”
Considering everything I’ve heard about Scarlet, I severely doubt that. Not that I have any intention of joining them.
“That still doesn’t explain how. You threw me over half a mile away. Now you are suddenly here, minutes later. If you were on the other side of the fucking Scar, how did you get to Broad Street so quickly?”
Treatise’s smile manages to grow even wider. “I think that reveal is better if I show you.” Then he starts walking over to the only doorway in the room, which somehow is standing despite the walls around it falling, and closes it softly. “Listen, if I show you this and you decide to betray us, we’re both going to be in serious trouble, so I’ll ask you only once. Do I need to compel you to never utter a word of this to anyone?”
Honestly, my interest is piqued, so I shake my head without honestly digesting the question.
After a moment of consideration, Treatise shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t trust you to be rational. Not yet.”
Then he inhales a deep breath and says: “You, Bethany Estrada-Rosenthal, will not speak of or show anyone what you are about to see. Furthermore, you may only reproduce this in the presence of a Redcoat. Say yes if you understand and swear to abide by these rules.”
“Yes.”
The word brushes my lips before I can begin to form a thought, and once it does, both Treatise and I briefly lose our balance.
The only word that can describe how I feel? Violated.
Once recovered, I spit on Treatise’s matte black, steel-toed boots. “What happened to not being able to compel people forever?”
The Redcoat shrugs. “Technically it won’t be forever, assuming I die first. Want me to do it again to make sure you can’t harm me too?”
I shake my head, mildly traumatized. “No thank you. Never again.”
“Look, I’m not happy about it either. I hate using my Curse. And while I’m willing to risk my own life on a hunch, I draw the line at putting children in danger. Plus it’s not like I can’t undo it later. So please, just stand there and watch.”
While he faces the door, I blink dumbly while turning over a word in my head. Children. The Redcoats are protecting children?
Knock, Knock-Knock, Knock-Knock, Knock—
Treatise raps a familiar rhythm on the door. ‘Ring around the Rosie.’
—Knock, Knock-Knock, Knock-Knock, Knock
On the other side of the door, something knocks back. ‘Pocket full of posies.’
Knock—Knock—
‘Ashes.’
—Knock—Knock
‘Ashes.’
Knock-Knock, Knock—
‘We all fall—’
CRASH!
The door thumps loudly and swings itself open. Between the frame, a rippling portal of rose-colored light hangs like a window into what looks like a… a bar, with several round tables, big square booths, and a long glass countertop cast in dim pink light. In the back, a masked bartender steps out from a room behind a curtain, looks at the portal, sighs, and disappears back inside. I can smell food cooking within and it smells delicious.
It’s official. I must be hallucinating.
Treatise walks beyond the portal and turns around to reach out a hand. “I’m going to give you two last choices. Come with me and I can help you find the answers you’re looking for, like what actually happened to your brother, or get left behind to go find them on your own. Ready?”
Reluctantly, I nod my head.
“Release.”
Without a thought, I turn around and start walking away.
“Seriously? On your own, you’re just going to end up dying! And for real, this time!”
I stop and look back. “You’re really giving me the choice?”
“Yes. I’m not so invested in your survival that I’m going to stalk you wherever you go and keep bailing you out. But listen, I’ve been where you are now, not long ago—lost, scared, confused, betrayed, rageful—and my greatest regret is that I hadn’t accepted someone’s help before I—”
Treatise stops himself, then after a brief period of silence, sighs. “Before I had a damn good reason to regret it.”
The way he says that makes him actually sound… human.
“Fine. Say that I do go with you. I can leave whenever I want? Wherever I want?”
“Wherever is debatable, but yes. You can be dropped off somewhere within reason.”
I turn around and meet Treatise’s eyes. Even through the rosy portal, they shimmer a bright blue. “What reason?”
“If you want to find out,” he says, very smugly, “then you’ll have to join me inside.”
I blink at Treatise’s boyish grin. Am I really considering following a Redcoat into his reality-defying lair?
I look over my shoulder. The sun will be up for a long while, and with my powers I could easily survive until nighttime. How hard can it be to find a safe place to hide in downtown Philadelphia, anyway? Over a hundred bloodhounds somehow managed it.
More than anything, however, I need answers. Answers that Treatise is offering to provide.
“Okay,” I say, tightening my grip on Eagle’s knife and walking closer. “I’ll come with you for now, but no promises on if I’ll be staying long.”
“Cool,” Treatise says, backing up to make room at the bar entrance and spreading his arms out wide. “Then allow me to welcome you to ‘La Résistance!’”
The moment I pass through the rippling light—which feels no weirder than a full-body tickle—the door behind me slams itself shut with a resounding thump.